Reply to Rebecca #20

Billy Wagglestaff and his plays, cycling, running and potholes

Dear Rebecca

Thank you for your epistle #20, which provided me with many chortles. I was delighted that you managed to unearth all the cat connections associated with Billy Wagglestaff. Permit me to furnish a few more insights into the origins of some of his works. Grab a cup of tea, ease yourself into an armchair, and learn.

The Wagglestaff Papers

Wagglestaff was obsessed with food. You can tell this from the titles of some of his plays:

Julius Cheeser.

Omelette.

The Merchant of Venison.

MacBroth.

You may not know this, but a couple of his other plays were originally named after fodder.

Take The Taming of the Shrew. He was stuck, quill in hand, suffering from rotter’s block. Suddenly, Anne screamed out:

Oh no! The soup has boiled over. I wish there was a way to tame this stew!

This immediately inspired Wagglestaff to pen The Taming of the Stew, but he was persuaded by his publisher to change the name.

His seminal work A Midsummer Night’s Dream was written the day after he’d enjoyed a fish supper with some of his mates. It was originally called A Midsummer Night’s Bream.

Don’t bother looking up these facts to verify them. Current “experts” in the field have not yet caught up with my scholarship on these issues.

Cycling

Thanks for your admiring comments about my ability to cycle uphill at 18 miles per hour. And, unlike some people, I don’t cheat by having an electric bike.

We went on a Bikeability course recently, which was taken by a nice lady called Fay (name changed to protect the innocent).

Fay: A lot of drivers don’t bother with hand signals.

Me: Oh I don’t know. I get a lot of hand signals, often using just one finger.

Elaine: I did a course when I was in my 20s.

Me: That was a long time ago.

Elaine: He’s older than me!

Fay: I can see what sort of a day this is going to be.

It was very good, and we both learnt a few things we hadn’t thought of. For example, my predilection for overtaking drivers at traffic lights while shouting “Eat dust!” is apparently not in the National Standards. Who knew?

Still, at the end of the day we were given a badge and a certificate, so please show some respect.

Tomorrow, or today by the time you read this, we will be on a bike maintenance course. That should be a laugh — not. We’re going to learn how to repair bikes. My skills in such matters leave a lot to be desired. Anything involving repairs, decorating or doing anything in fact that doesn’t have a button and a plug is far beyond my capabilities.

For example, when I bought a house, before I met Elaine, I thought I’d put up some bookshelves. I spent ages on it. I even used a theodolite — or was it a spirit level? Anyway, I employed something that was supposed to ensure that the shelves were level. When I stepped back after three hours to examine my handiwork, I saw that the shelves were perfectly lined up with each other — at an angle of 45 degrees. I haven’t touched a hammer and nail since. As Clint Eastwood in his Dirty Harry guise was wont to say:

A man’s gotta know his limitations.

Running

I learnt today that you completed your 5 K run. Well done! I couldn’t do that. I prefer gliding sedately to my destination.

You did it in good time too. But if you’d shown me the route in advance I could have advised you where to catch a bus without anybody seeing, or where Jim could have parked his electric bike for you to cycle a few K on it.

Penpals meeting

When it comes to our one year anniversary of writing these letters we could meet up in person. As my mother always warned me about strange women it would have to be in broad daylight, in a crowded place, and I’d need to have the venue inspected by my personal bodyguard in advance. Here he is:

Stormy weather

Why are storms given daft names that make them sound friendly, when they are anything but. I mean, Storm Betty? Come on! They should give them proper names like Storm Don’tmesswithme, Storm Thinkyourtoughdoya and so on. Much better.

Potholes

There were a few letters in the Daily Telegraph recently about the potholes on British roads. Elaine left a comment stating that there should be a regulatory body in charge of pothole production, Office for Potholes, or Ofpot for short. Someone responded by saying that the scheme would never get off the ground because it was full of holes. Someone else said a European Commission would need to be established, to ensure pothole conformity. I think that the government should appoint a pothole tsar. I did mention that brilliant idea to the Prime Minister, but it was hard to tell his reaction given that I had to shout it from the end of the road because Downing Street is gated and guarded by armed police officers.

In the meantime, I’m doing my bit by producing pothole posters like this:

But enough of this persiflage! I need to eat.

Yours simultaneously

Dr Tel

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