Posted By Bizzywig on April 26, 2009

My Dear Friend,

In the queue for the X88.

“I didn’t like to touch it…”

Things have changed on Havenwood Avenue. For one thing, the bus timetable has been ‘improved’ – meaning the buses now pass once a fortnight, so, when we eventually made it to the bus stop (after a heroic few days of walking) there was already a small line of tents and makeshift shelters. We summarily joined the end and struck camp once again.

As Carstairs busied himself with collecting firewood and Dervish settled down with a self-help manual and a Curly-Wurly, I took a turn up and down the line, introducing myself to our fellow travellers

At the front of the queue was a quaint old couple, Mr and Mrs Tolbert, on their way to town to celebrate their 65th Wedding anniversary with a day at the Artificial Limb Recycling and Re-Conditioning Centre and Surgical Appliance Museum. They had a carrier bag of corned beef and tomato sandwiches. Mr Tolbert rummaged in it.

“What do you make of this then?” he asked, pulling a small wooden stick, with a leather belt tied to one end of it.

I didn’t like to touch it.

“Show him the rest, Jockie!” Mrs Tolbert said, poking her husband gently with the pointy end of her umbrella.

“Oh Yes!” he said and pulled out a dark knitted sock, which he wiped to remove crumblets of corned beef before fitting it carefully over the device.

“It was Sparky’s,” he said, proudly. “Made it meself, I did. And Mrs Tolbert knitted the cover with his own hair so he’d not be tempted to gnaw it off. Go on, stroke it!”

I graciously declined.

At that moment, my neighbour from Bizzywig Towers, Mrs Adichie, walked up. I was very surprised to see her, so far from home. She parked her Zimmer and took a rather battered looking letter from her apron pocket.

“Postie delivered this by mistake, Mr Bizzywig” she said, “So I thought I’d bring it along to you on my way to the Butcher’s.”

I marvelled at the dear old lady’s fortitude and introduced her to the Tolberts before I perused the letter.

It was from our old friend Yo-Yo Cunningham.

My face pinked up and my legs turned wobbly at the thought of Mildred’s saparilla. She does not brew it for just anybody and in that moment I realised I was pinning my future on a woman with a past….

I woke up, surrounded by anxious faces. Carstairs was flapping me with a tea towel and Dervish was wailing and blowing his nose. Mr and Mrs Tolbert offered round sandwiches and cherry cake.

After I’d suitably recovered myself  I showed the letter to my friends.  Dervish was unimpressed at being classified as ‘moody’ and stomped off to lock himself in the tent. He could be heard rearranging his bookshelf at a most unnecessary volume.

Carstairs threw his enormous head back and laughed.

“I knew the old devil must be up to something!” he said, tears rolling down his face and dripping onto his well polished workboots. “There’s no way he could be that lucky. And I haven’t even got piles! That’s him!” He shook his head and chortled as he put the kettle on.

“But what about the sasparilla?”

“I’ve had better!” he said, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

Once again, I found myself on the floor being wafted with a tea towel.

Exactly how many of my friends and aquaintances have sampled Mildred ‘s sasparilla? Have you tried it, Dear Friend? I’m looking at her now in an entirely different way. Perhaps we should postpone the wedding for a while longer. I’m thinking, perhaps another seven or eight years? What do you think?

The bus is due in fourteen minutes and I promised Dervish a hand with his cravat, so I have to sign off now.

I hope you’re not too bothered by the blight. It can be rather difficult to clear when it takes hold with so much vigour. Keep up the vinegar baths.

Kindest Regards,

B

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Categories: Bizzywig, Gentle Humour, Short stories
Tags: Bizzywig, Bookshelf, Cherry Cake, Funny Letter, Travel, Workboots, Yo-yo