Aunt Alice and Spot. By Renee Bernard, Vonda Norwood and Danny Kemp.
Yes, yes. I know what you are thinking. (And for those who sent words of encouragement regarding my acquisition of a small dog, I am very grateful. But the cute dog pictures and cat drawings are now overwhelming, so stop it. Apparently, it’s a form of bonding to fuss a bit over this new contraption photography, especially of pugs, but I don’t know any of you enough to bother with this.)
Spot’s correspondence never fails to amuse so hang on tight, friends. I believe we are approaching a turning point.
THE END APPROACHES
A message from Brenda to her daughter, Myrtle.
“That’s right Myrtle, I think the people of India have their shores rigged with bombs because that motorized life-saver I rode, exploded the very second it made contact with the tip of their country. I tucked and rolled. Yes, all the way through India… And Pakistan. Well, as the future Queen of Wales, I must always be a positive example for the world. I sure influenced these men here in Afghanistan. Yes, yes I did! That’s true… I will be the best Queen, ever!
These men understood sleeping on the ground was no way to treat the landlady of the great Castle Harlech. They wove baskets together and made a flatbed surface for me to lay on top whilst they weaved around my resting figure. With my comfort and safety in mind, they worked all night to create a carriage that lifted my massively gorgeous body from the ground.
You should see how beautiful the canopy of many colours is! Because canopies keep away the hot sun. Oh, and they attached a fire making device so I stay warm at night. It pushes air into the canopy and keeps me not only warm, but off the ground too.
No, Myrtle. I can’t fall. The men secured rope around me that fits like a second skin. Yes… I told you they learned from me, to be safety conscious. From head to toe. My phone is at my ear and mouth. Rope holds it there. How else do you think I called you? You need to start thinking for yourself, Myrtle… I used my tongue to click send. They worked so hard to care for me, I couldn’t complain— Even though my big toe is itching. It’s okay… I’ll just wait until they bring me the buckets of food and then I’ll have ’em scratch it for me.
Of course you’re jealous of me. I feel like I am sailing through the sky!”
AND SHE DID.
A warm, gentle breeze blew her inflated balloon steadily on a southeasterly course. Intoxicated by the slow burning stems of the Papaver somniferum plant, infusing with the gases given out by the vast amounts of food gorged on whilst luxuriating in the comforts of Afghanistan, Brenda slept soundly, bravely ignoring the discomfort of an itching big toe. Until, on reaching the Sahara desert…..
AUNTIE, AUNTIE, wherefore art thou, Auntie? Spot needs you.
Guess what I see! There’s a psychedelic coloured hot-air balloon on the horizon and by judiciously (such a juicy word. Do I love an adverb, or what!) using my telescope, bought it from that friendly Arab I told you of, I spy a person beginning with the letter B. Yes it’s Brenda. She’s all tied up laying on the floor. There’s hole in the side and I can clearly see that it’s her. Oh yes, my golly gosh it is! What luck.
I have my vinegar soaked, oven-baked, winning conkers and catapult with me, carry them everywhere, they’re as hard as steel. I will launch an attack. Standby, Auntie. Going in now. Tally ho, tally ho. Bandits one-five, and closing!
Auntie, Auntie, the deed is done.
My aim was spot-on, the deed is done. My Exocet conkers pierced the gas-bag like butter through a knife. (is that the other way round) Anyway, no matter, I have captured the evil one. She is slung across the back of Betsy. Didn’t notice that; done and one rhyming. Seems a natural ability this poetry thing of mine.
I’m getting lots of comments riding along the High Street of Cairo on my way to the British embassy, one would think they had never seen a camel before. I googled the address on the way, so know exactly where I’m going. On the journey I happened to mention that I had bought all that sand to Brenda, she called me a nincompoop, adding that the sand could not be mine. As I have never heard of a nincompoop, and having lost my dictionary, could you enlighten Spot on its meaning, Auntie? Also, could I really have been misled by the turban wearing Arab?
That’s strange, there’s a hell of a lot of traffic coming in my direction. Ah, I see why. It’s a one-way road. Google earth is making a bit of a mares-nest about all this. Oh dear, a lot rude gestures coming my way. One does not have to know Arabic to understand them.
Help is at hand. I see the jolly old Union Jack ahead…Half a league, half a league to go. Let’s give them an ending, let’s put on a show! (there, I’m off again)
We’re at the gallop! Cars crashing all around us, thundering into each other. Bodies strewn everywhere. We are untouched as we charge through the Valley Of Cars. This is very heroic, brings a sense of purpose into life, must do it again sometime.
We are there and we are unscathed, not so Brenda. She is a mass of bruising, Auntie. I hope I don’t regret this day.
Right, mission accomplished. I have left her tied to the Embassy gates with a note of explanation around her neck. I would imagine that once they find her, and that won’t take long by the noise she is making, she will be sent to a secure English prison, and put on a diet of dried bread and water. One way or another, I believe this is the last we’ll see of the Queen of Wales.
Thank God! I for one was starting to truly fear for your safety! And what a terrible use for a lovely balloon! I’m so glad you thwarted her at last. I myself have never been on a balloon but I saw a print of a photograph of one sailing over the Parisian skies and was quite inspired.
And it is good to know that things are settling down since I am about to head out on holiday. Lord and Lady Winters have invited me on a tour of the country, and thanks to your endless courageous impulses, I am determined to abandon caution and go. (I realise of course there are hardly any dangers to be found in a tour of the Lake Country but I’m a bit older so I’ll measure my adventures on a smaller scale, if you don’t mind.)
In my absence, I know that you will continue to be a very good boy. Or that you will try to be a very good boy. Or that you will at least, remember what I’ve told you about being a very good boy. One of those will prevail.
Eat healthy, keep your pants on, and never stick your chewing gum under your host’s tables. It’s very rude, Spot. Also, stop trying to marry every girl you meet. It will make it very difficult for your future wife to understand and forgive. Trust me.
All my love,
Will Aunt Alice return from her holiday? Is this the last that will be seen of Brenda? Can Spot get a refund from the Arab, and will Betsy find a new home? Discover the answers to these ridiculous questions in next weeks edition of Female First, the UK’s most popular online celebrity gossip and lifestyle magazine.
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