Reply to Rebecca #14

The sound of musak, Wales, a handbag? and Puddlegate -- not necessarily in that order.

Dear Rebecca

Thank you for another delightful letter — delightful despite the handbag insult.

On that subject I daresay you know of the definitive interpretation of “A handbag?” from The Importance of Being Earnest?

I can assure you that the handbag in that photo wasn’t mine. It belonged to the lady standing next to me, who you correctly identified as my wife. I should like to say how lucky she is to have an incredibly famous and talented writer (modest too) for a husband. Which reminds me: I must leave her a note to that effect.

But your comment reminded me of an incident in the Post Office a few years ago. I had to get a parcel weighed and priced up, so I went to the Post Office, where I engineered matters such that I ended up being served by an incredibly attractive young lady. (I’m no fool.) This is the conversation we had:

Incredibly attractive young lady: What’s in the parcel?

Me: A dress.

IAYL: Oh yeah?

Me: It’s not mine!!

IAYL: Yeah, well, I’ve only got your word for that!

We both had a good chortle over that.

---

The Sound of Music had, of course, a very serious theme, but it was all so ubiquitous back in whenever that I could no longer stand it. Any mention of Julie Andrews brings me out in a rash.

Do you know, there was an elderly lady who went to see the film every single day when it was on at the Dominion cinema in London? In the end they gave her a free ticket.

The interesting thing (for me) is that the song My Favourite Things became a jazz classic. The best version, in my opinion, is that by John Coltrane. I have to warn you that it might be an acquired taste, but it’s worth persevering with. I love the piano solo. Chill out with this one time, Becks:

Wales. I’ve been to Wales a few times, with Elaine. We always stay in self-catering cottages. On one occasion we were informed by the owner’s instructions that under no circumstances must we allow the cat into the house. Well, they should have told the cat that, because every morning when we came down for breakfast the cat was sitting on the sofa waiting to be fed.

The cat

It was an idyllic place. One day we were chatting to a woman serving in the local shop, and she told us that her husband was the local estate agent and their 16 year old daughter was working in the cafe for the summer. This was the cafe we went to every day for a sandwich and a coffee. The next time we were there I had this conversation with the daughter:

Me: I’m psychic you know?

Daughter: Really?

Me: Yes. It’s always been a gift. In fact, I am sensing something about you right now?

D: Oh yes?

Me: Yes. I’m receiving an image of an estate agents. There’s a man inside. I think he’s related — yes. It must be your dad.

D: <turns white>

Me: Your mum. Does she work in a shop?

At this point the spell was broken by Elaine violently (and entirely unprovoked) elbowing me and saying “Stop it!”

On another occasion in Wales, the self-catering cottage was in the grounds of the owners’ house. I had to send an article off to an editor, so I went to the house and asked them if there was a wi-fi signal anywhere. The lady said I was welcome to use her computer if I could connect it to the internet. Apparently they’d had the engineers from a large telecomms company which I should probably not name, and they were not able to fix it. I said I would have a go.

She showed me to the computer and asked me if I would like a cup of tea. What a silly question! By the time she brought the tea I’d sorted out the problem and sent off my article.

Do you know what was wrong? The engineers of the large telecomms company which I should probably not name had stuck the cable from the modem (we’re going back a few years, Becks; try and keep up) into the wrong socket.

Now, you asked me about Puddlegate. I’ve been too depressed to mention it, but seeing as you asked, here is a photo of the situation right now:

Photo by Jenna Bash on Unsplash

In other words, to reach the bus stop you have to take an ocean liner, which is not the most practical thing to have to do on the average Wednesday.

By the way, the scene from Jaws that you did not wish to include became an instant classic because of the filming technique they used. You can read all about it here.

I am writing this in the heart of London, an hour away from home, starving, and wanting to put my feet up on a cat. So I hope you won’t mind if I love you and leave you so to speak.

All the best

Dr Tel x

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