Just received reply from Jean as to my latest dilemma (no, make that three or four – dilemmas).
Like Magpie Jean can always be relied upon to lend me helping hand (or clip me round the ear – depending on which more useful). So have decided to adopt them as my surrogate parents. Family relationships getting more complicated by the day.
First things first, Jean: What’s just happened is not so much a PROBLEM as feeding into my paranoia. Which increases proportionally every time I turn on the laptop telling me that I am not sufficiently protected. I am so paranoid that I can’t be arsed to do anything about it. Neither do I have any secrets. The two comps I mainly work on NOT connected to internet. Foiled someone there, Jean. A friend no less. Anyway have no time for stinkers who read other people’s stuff uninvited.
As to my recent incarceration, Jean, and please do not conclude from this that Britain is run less than efficiently, a few days ago I received same letter, alas this time not signed by Mr Pepper. Again threatening my arrest and demanding the £600 to be paid NOW or else. Once more being sent into Kafka mode (when you think you are a hamster on a hapless treadmill or, more likely, waking up as a dungbeetle) I phoned the Courts to save them the effort, reminding them that I had been tried and tested on 1 April this year, Magistrates Court, Poole. Nothing recorded on their files Nothing. You want NOTHING, Con? Come to Britain and you’ll be well served.
Fawlty Towers: Don’t mention the war. Eventually they called back and said that yes, indeed someone confirmed that I was trialed and let loose but unfortunately detail not retrievable since prosecutor on holiday or some such. Should you never hear from me again but be interested to see me in tatters look no further than the Tower (of London that is).
Still, that’s nothing compared to my other troubles: BHB, of all people, has mixed me up with Liz Taylor for all the world to see (in a comment at your cheerful monkey). BHB, it was La Taylor – NOT me – who said she’d only ever sleep with men she is married to. Your pointing the wrong finger akin to slander – considering that I’ve only been married twice (unlike Liz – the slut) and the last time I divorced is a good 15 years or so ago. I shall not consider allocating post of chamber maid, changing the bedding, to BHB because my reputation will be in tatters when she waves next morning’s evidence on the balcony.
Which neatly brings us to Jean’s concern for Ramana’s welfare. My father (not Magpie) has warned me all my life to be careful when entering a different time zone. It’s getting complicated. Indian customs (there are so many tribes, gurus and folklore) a mountain to climb. Still, my betrothed – and I respect him for being honest from the word go – has confirmed that men’s and women’s roles in India are clearly defined. Which is good: Who needs confusion over who is doing the washing up?
Since of a practical bend I am currently more interested in the logistics and expense of carting the whole of the Consortium and their regular commentators to the venue (as yet to be decided). Come to think of it – why don’t I get out my Atlas to find out where (geographically) my destiny lies 200 km east of Bombay or was it west? Doesn’t matter. Detail unimportant.
Yes, so that’s the status quo: Prospect of being locked up. Wedlock. Deadlock. And then there is Con. And the RING. Authoratively assisted by Barath who appears good stage manager/play writer material.
And it’s only 0630 GMT Wednesday 4th May 2011. No time like the present.