All mention to Tracey Edges is by kind permission of Her Majesty’s Government..... (Thank you David)
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Dear Readers,
Again? Where is my oar in this storm, I ask you! I am reduced to pouring my own tea and making shift with dried toast on the days that the boy’s letters arrive. My staff have formed a bizarre coalition poring over his adventures and trying to guess what in God’s name a telephone could be… At least, I still have a good stock of sherry to fortify me.
But what is your excuse? I call on anyone with resources to see if you can track down the boy, pry that pickle jar out of his hands and attempt to instill a bit of a routine or some discipline. There must be a school out there that would be delighted to have an imaginative maniac of a certain young age who time travels and has a lovely interest in all things he conjures from his fevered brain. I predict he will have great success as an author one day.
But here we are. I share with you, reluctantly, his latest, and urge you to get out your magnifying glasses, microscopes and whatever other devices you may have to locate my Spot. If nothing else, I can promise you that he will make your life extremely exciting.
Aunt Alice
***
Dearest all understanding Aunt Alice,
Spot’s in a pickle. I took your last message to heart, it brought tears to my eyes, Auntie. The way I read it, you more-or-less said that I should take hold of myself and straighten up! Well, I thought I would follow it, but I’m now in trouble.
When I released Richard’s brother Dickie, from that jar of Branson pickles, he gave me three wishes. The first, the ability to travel through time, of course you know of. What you do not know are the other two. I hope Sherry is nearby to comfort you, as I throw light on another one of those desires.
Incidentally I have stopped rubbing that thing in my pocket, it’s now permanently attached to my finger.
I asked Dickie to give me the intelligence that writers must have. It is taking longer than I thought. As an example of what I aspired to become, I mentioned that chappie, Huckleberry Finn. He wrote many a good book with his friends Widow Davies and Tom Sawyer. Such funny names, they amused me but have stayed in whatever brain I have. Having been abandoned by my parents, my knowledge of adulthood is rather limited. As you know I am a nomad, with nowhere to plant my flag. Sad really, isn’t it!
If it were not for you dear one, then I believe I would have gone insane by now. The thought of your adoption of me had crossed my mind on more than one occasion, but luckily there is now dear Tracey to care for all my future needs and wants. I have my eye on the future, Auntie, but not the very near future.
Taking your studious advice I pointed out my age to her, adding that at sixteen our engagement would be for a long time. I could hear her jumping up and down in disappointment. Just to make her aware of what I shall expect, I propose to visit now and again and read from a philosophical affair called the Kama Sutra. Deals with marriage I believe.
Anyway, the thing is that Dickie said I had a screw loose in wanting to write. As I’ve never had a screw, I don’t know what he meant. For the past week I have been trying to think of something to scribble onto paper, but nothing has inspired me. During that time I have consumed sixteen boxes of chocolates, twelve tubs of ice-cream, and I must not forget the coke; forty-nine cans! I am becoming rotund again, my belly is almost as large as my height. I have put back most of the weight I had lost, and that has caused me concern.
Will Tracey still be in love when I become a writer and she eventually sees me?
She has returned from those three days of dog walking, and although we have spoken via the telephone we cannot meet, she now, unfortunately, has an engagement at the very brink of England’s green and pleasant land; Land’s End!
I think she said she was going to jump off, but it seems a long way to go just for a swim, particularly as the water is freezing. Perhaps coming from Grimsby she is used to cold seawater.
I must close now, Auntie, as I must think of a way to distract Brenda permanently away for my pending wedding nuptials. I’ll need plenty of undisturbed time to arrange the necessary over the coming years. Can’t have her disrupting any of that, can we?
Love and devotion,
Spot.
A message of strategic importance intercepted by British and American Intelligence Services, and released for public awareness. BEWARE.
“Oh yes, it's so nice to hear your crisp, clear voice! That's right, Myrtle... Didn't I tell you, the Virgins have the best ones around? Shut up and listen: Remember when that English Spot, left you with nothing to su— What's all that noise in the background? The Sunday Girl, show? Good girl, Myrtle! You keep your ears to the English walls for anything Tracey Edges has to say about that no-more-gum-chewing, Spot! That's what I was trying to talk to you about... He stopped using gum for teeth, and you were left with nothing to su— You need to turn Tracey's show down! Better yet, how about you have your father listen to it? He fell asleep while taking a bubble bath? You know, I forgot to tell you Myrtle, your father's favorite thing is listening to the Tracey Edges show, when the radio is set on the side of his tub, and he's submerged in water and surrounded by bubbles. Well, how could I have mentioned it before, if I had forgotten to tell you? Just go plug it in for him! No, don't wake him... Let his subconscious gather the information.
You're right, Myrtle, I am a thoughtful wife. Thank you for helping me treat your father with the sort of kindness he deserves. Okay, shut up. I've been laying on this tugboat and riding these super-fast moving waves for days now... I need to figure out where I am. I don't know why you're worried about me. Let me tell you, when I got thirsty, all I had to do was remove my bosom hammock, and those trained pigeons returned it filled with fresh water. As soon as the pigeons are within my grasp, I place them beneath my breasts, which actually cooks 'em faster than when they were in the hammock. I do the same when Tuna swim too close to the boat. Exactly right, my dear... Your mother does have an appreciation for a variety of foods. I look forward to the day, when I finally reign as Queen of Wales... I shall celebrate my victory over England, with a private party. Yes, private! Just me and those two English, fighter pilots... The ones who taught me how to slip, while they slide because the oil was just right. Won't they be surprised when I show them how soothing, and aromatic, Tuna oil is!
Well, look at that... You're not going to believe what I see! Two ships: A Russian research ship and a Chinese icebreaker. They are stranded in ice! How do you know that means I am in the Antarctic? The news, huh? No wonder my foot is cold! I can't remove it from the water Myrtle, because I'm using it as a rudder. I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I bet the Russians, and those Chinese, ice-is-for-sailing-in, sailors, have seen me. Hear that, Myrtle? That's the ice breaking... Here they come! Before I hang up, listen: I want you to get Mack out of jail. WHAT? SHUT-UP! Have Mack, find a helicopter and meet me somewhere between Russia and Africa! And make sure you find out where Spot is! I have to hang up so I can use my hands as oars and get the heck away from these hungry Russian and Chinese sailors! I ain't sharin' my pigeons, and they're not gettin' anywhere near my aromatic Tuna oil! Good-bye, Myrtle!”
A spokesperson for NATO said. “ We are watching the situation closely. Any person found to be abusing Tuna oil will be dealt with....forcibly! A Royal Navy Battleship, H.M Prince of Wales, is steaming to the area as we speak.
**
Dear Spot,
I know I thought you well rid of Brenda but I am very much concerned that if she has involved the Royal Navy and the Chinese and the Russians and is somehow a threat to fisheries and penguins…. Things are out of hand! Of course, all those problems fade when one considers the nightmare of Welsh trained pigeons flitting about out of—well, I cannot write the words but let us just say that a woman of good breeding does NOT store poultry in unquestionable places upon her person.
Having said that, I do remember a certain Lady who would put live animals in cages on her millinery creations… Until an unfortunate incident with a lap-dog and a monkey which I won’t scandalise you by repeating here.
I’m still not sure what a radio is but if your Miss Tracey has the device well in hand and can alert the authorities to Brenda’s new location, then I think that it would be best. Heroic measures are required!
I suggest locating a pub down there. No doubt, it is the first place she will go with her tuna encrusted prisoners and her reliance on shock and awe. (I highly doubt that the penguins will pay her any attention until she starts eating them like popcorn, wretched woman!)
And how in the world did you attach that thing to your finger? It must look extremely odd! Mind that you do not point it about unnecessarily or you will zap yourself into some caveman’s dwelling and alter the course of human history.
(Look at how I’m adapting to your insanity! I’m quite proud of myself actually. A year ago I nearly fainted when a female friend mentioned an interest in wearing pants—and now look at me! Bossing about a time traveller, saving the British Empire from treasonous Welsh women and tippling sherry like a champion!)
Ever your,
Aunt Alice
Can the British Empire be saved? Will Mack save Antarctica and the penguins from Brenda? Will Sherry ever stop tipping over? Find the answers to these and many more stupid questions in the next edition of.....Aunt Alice and Spot.
Female First magazine.
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