I am going batty. I fabricate freely. I barely know truth from (my own) fiction. Here is the proof. After writing the last post, I went out in the rain and posted that dratted form to the police. When I came back indoors, the phone was ringing. The Lovely Son said "Mum, it was me! I was driving you to the station!" And so he was, on the morning I was meeting up in Berwick with fellow-blogger Isabelle. He insists that the points must go on his rarely-used licence, not mine, although he did laugh at the thought of the police thinking "What a nice lad, taking the rap for his old ma"..... (yes, yes, of course the police think kindly thoughts like that).
But meanwhile, another crime is being committed inside that red postbox, I guess, covering up the law-breaking of another. Stern magistrate K (who had wondered what I was doing out on the roads at a time of day when I'm usually still in my nightie) says I must write to the police immediately and confess all, admitting that I am a batty old woman; she agrees with me that I could add that the ferocious form induces fear and guilt in even the innocent, and that the police have a duty not to entrap the feeble-minded into untruthful admissions of guilt.
We all agree that a bureaucratic nightmare is bound to ensue. I will keep you posted, if I remember, of course.
7 comments:
Hahahha.....that's pretty funny..... and now.. probably a nightmare to clear up...more quadruplicate forms... yikes!
When ARE you going to find a publisher? (I hope you're not waiting to be discovered.) Your blog competes admirably with 'Ladies of Letters' and that's now in print, on radio and on TV. I can just see you now . . . witholding evidence from police investigators, dressed in your nightie while brandishing a wooden spoon at them . . . I'd like a role too, of course, probably running up and down the street with an ironing board under my arm. x
Just so long as you are not one of those shrunken old dears who can barely see over the steering wheel...
You could have requested a photo of the incident as a delaying tactic, the beard might have given it away then :)
Dear Reader, I think Roger might be referring to my son, not me, when he mentions a beard. Not that my son has a beard either.... could he have meant me? Oh no - a shrunken old dear WITH A BEARD who can't see over the steering wheel! Death, take me now....
Is this catching? Did I actually send my earlier comment? Have I sent it to someone else/another post/into the ether or just deleted it?
I have to amit to this publicly, can't email as there is no 'contact me' link that I can find on your blog. Not being very tech. minded, I only know how to use half the buttons on my keyboard!
Maybe you are busy persuading the postman that, no, you did not mean to post that letter and please, can you have it back. Or even in the police station, grovelling while flapping eyelashes furiously!
Really looking forward to hearing more on this!
No, I can't work all this techie stuff either, or there would be links, and videos, and happy shiny things on the side bar. But I have put my address up there now, under the Us picture. Let's see if the Lovely Son's dire predictions come true, and I get cyber-stalked....
Post a Comment