A brief summary of this ongoing crisis.
Please open the window and stand well back. I intend to catapult through it later.
Tell Doris to rush round on her walking frame when she hears a loud elastic 'TWANG'. Hopefully she’ll create a diversion.
Blackpool proved to be the final straw for our little group. Gerald left us to join the Tower Circus, having sampled life above ground at last. We hugged and cried and bade her good luck and farewell. She promised to write.
We last saw the canary in a karaoke bar belting out a rendition of ‘Chirpy, Chirpy, Cheep, Cheep’. I’m ashamed to say that we left half way through, being so familiar with that irritating little ditty.
Against my better judgement I did phone Dad to tell him that the tunnel plan was shelved and inform him of our ideas for the catapult. He didn’t seem interested. Apparently, he has progressed as far as he can with the baking and has signed up for Gordon Ramsay’s course on, ‘Language and its place in the modern kitchen’. I wished him good luck, but he told me to, ‘fuck off!’ Obviously he’s been studying already.
Misty and I made our way down the M6 on the 3 wheeled skateboard – we never did fix it. Misty scooted us along splendidly, whilst I did a stocktake on our provisions. At this point I discovered that Gerald had made off with the remaining lemon cake. I hope she takes a wrong turn into the lion’s cage, the hairy arsed, sweet toothed bandit.
As I write this I can hear Misty gamely sawing and hammering the timbers for our next project. I’m still worried about her sense of direction, as she will be aiming and pulling the trigger.
Please marshal the Blodwenette’s into a short blast of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’, because if I make this it will be quite a minor miracle.
Keep your fingers crossed, if I don’t see you soon, send someone to scrape me off the building.
p.s. Please show this note to the nurses. I may need someone on hand with splints, bandages, plasters…