Ladies of Letters by Carole Hayman

Author:Carole Hayman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carlton Books Ltd
Published: 2009-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

7th November

My very dear Irene,

Whilst tinkling the ivories, (must get this old piano tuned!) I’ve been casting around in my mind for an occasion it might be appropriate to take you to with your current ‘cursing’ affliction. I wonder if you have “Pirouette’s” – a case of which I recently saw on reality TV? Do you have any other symptoms? Slapping people, or spitting, for instance? I believe a bang on the head can release all sorts of inhibitions. Most serial killers could have been stopped with a timely frontal lobotomy. In any case, the W.I. Autumn Fayre hardly seems it, I don’t think our chairwoman would take kindly to obscene name-calling (though goodness knows I’ve often been tempted), nor does the Vicarage Bonfire Party appeal, though the Vicar, of course, is quite used to it.

I think I might have hit upon the solution, though. Our local Am-Dram Society is about to give their seasonal treat at the Astor Arts and Crafts Centre, so how about coming to that? So much ‘language’ flies about between these theatrical types that if you called one of them a ‘silly old bugger’ to their face, I doubt they would even notice. They are a gay crowd and their first nights are notoriously pleasant. Everyone gets squiffy in the bar before and after (and on one occasion, during, if King Lear’s hiccups were anything to go by), and there’s always a party at one or other of their houses. To be honest, I’ve never been, though I’ve once or twice been invited.

Gerald couldn’t abide that crowd, which he always referred to as ‘the suede shoe brigade’. The only time I managed to get him to a show (that thing about two tramps – very boring) he had a violent sneezing fit and kicked a woman out of the seat in front. Was my face red! Gordon Scarth, the President of our Antiques and Collectables Club, had ‘directed’ it and he was sitting right next to me. I plied him with gin and tonics later and blamed the sneezing on Gerald’s hayfever. Speaking of which, that is the name of the piece the Astor Players are giving. I believe it’s very light – not at all ‘arty’ – so I don’t think it will tax what’s left of your poor old grey matter. It opens on the Thursday, so why not come that afternoon and stay for the rest of the weekend? I’ll think of some other place we can visit without giving offence. Little Potterton Deaf Centre, perhaps. I can’t wait to try you out on the 49 bus driver – do you know any Caribbean obscenities?

This business about a blow to the head is very intriguing. I was hit by a flying brick – a wolf-whistling bricklayer trying to get my attention – I was concussed for a week and afterwards married Gerald. Now you’ve started me wondering…

Till next week, my dear.

With all love,

Vera

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