(Yet Another) Strange Email From Alistair Crowley

Dear Margaret

Thank you for your perfunctory reply to my last email, I really thought that you may have expanded on a few of your points, but no matter.  As previously mentioned, I'm penning a comedic book and have cut and pasted some of the content below.  I hope that you like it as I'm planning to publish it via Amazon Kindle once I've written 9,567 more words.

Please write again soon!!!!!!!!!!!

Lots of love

Alistair

If we're talking character comedians here then look no further than retro act Garry Morris and His Elderly Auntie Doris - Garry's actually my great uncle, but prefers to live in his son's (my uncle Dante's) shed these days. Not much is known about their act now, because they were very exclusive, but Garry used to perform a monologue whilst suspended by his underpants over a tank of terrapins. Doris, for her part, ambled onstage and poked Garry with her walking stick at regular intervals.

Disaster struck in 1985 when Garry's perished underpant elastic broke and he hurtled towards the tiny turtles' tank. Luckily, no soul was injured, but Garry's reputation was ruined and he ended up working in the Catford branch of Woolworths. 

My Email Correspondence With Alistair Crowley

You recall me writing about Alistair whom I met at the South London Board Games South London Board Game League (SLBGL) – yes, him.  Anyway, we’ve been exchanging email correspondence for a while and here’s a cut and pasted example of one:

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Dear Margaret,

RE: The SLBGL – Or ‘The Sad Lonely Bustards' Gaming Losers!!'

Oh I do love an acronym, I really do.  Call me sad, but that really chivvies on my floatilla.  I must admit, since we've been exchanging emails it has really cheered up my sad and somewhat lonely existence in the bedsit.  My upstairs neighbour has started line dancing again, well that's what I think anyway and by that I mean 'NAKED LINE DANCING' - lol, lol etc etc.  Ha ha.  ROFL.  

About me - you asked about me?  Right?  Er, I was born Anthony Douglas McNaughton, but decided to change my name when I hit the ripe old age of eighteen.  I grew up in St John's, which is near Deptford and certainly not to be confused by its almost (but more expensive) namesake St John's Wood.  Ha ha.  My Father worked on the railways as a sleeper polisher or something like that - he used to come home at 9pm each night and shout at my mother for buying economy ham.  Happy days.

I went to technical college and studied hard for my BTEC First in animal husbandry.  I once won an award for my guinea pig's agility at The Lewisham Show.  She was called Buttercup and eventually, growing tired of the confines of the shed, decided to seek her fortune in sunny Dartford where she appeared as the stunt rodent in a production of An Audience With Karl Howman.  

I'm rambling.  Please write soon!!!

Yours (well I can be - at a price (not too expensive - lol!!!!!!!!!!)

Al
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Oh no, not again.  Why do I always attract this type of gentleman?  

Auntie Barb's Birthday

As I was on the 6am-2pm shift today at the Central File Repository I have just returned home.  I thought I'd update you on the highlights from the weekend.  It was Auntie Barb's Seventieth Birthday and a party had been arranged for her in the local scout hut by her fellow members of the 'We're Well Past Thirty' club - a community group which meets every other Wednesday in, you've guessed it, the scout hut.  Most of the members are over eighty, so Barb's a 'mere slip of a thing' according to Dirty Stinky Stan (a gentleman who resides in the local recycling centre.)

A party wouldn't be a celebration without Barb's honoured guests, namely her three cats, Jon Jon, Captain Beefcake and Priscilla Duckweed.  She tends to take them out and about in a triple cat stroller and has been doing so since they were ejected from the De La Warr Pavilion after being smuggled in the confines of a large knapsack to view a performance of Duncan Norvelle: The Musical.  Anyway, they were all dressed up suitably for the occasion in spangly outfits.  

I drank and socialised for about an hour until it became too rowdy for my tastes.  Mr Frobisher, Mr Hayes-Rembrant and Mr Berkeley decided to recreate the famous 'Balloon Dance' routine by stripping to just their socks, shoes and neckties.  I made my excuses and left.  

Timothy The Terrapin

Working in the Central File Repository is a strange experience that's for sure. This morning I attended a 'Meet, Greet and Eat' session in the main boardroom. It was nice of them to provide food as it's a fairly unusual occurrence these days, but it was, well as bit odd to say the least.

The 'meet' section comprised of senior management performing a choreographed dance whilst miming along to the Departmental song 'Come On Feel It Arrive', which was an experience if nothing else. I enjoyed it though, it was nice to see dishy Percival Bicks break into a sweat.

The 'greet' element was somewhat odd. It consisted of us all gathering around in a circle shaking hands with those located either side. We had to write down an interesting fact about ourselves on a post-it note, place it on the person opposite's shoulders, memorise it and then eat it. It worked well though.

Finally, the 'eat' aspect was a sandwich lunch decorated with cocktail sticks. The File Store has its own well, so we drank that as it wasn't a direct cost to the taxpayer.

Timothy the Terrapin's tank was wheeled in at 13:45. We duly bowed to him and returned to our work at 14:00.

Harvest Festival

This morning I attended Harvest Festival at St Cuthbert's Church with Father and Auntie Barb. Father found God after being released from the Earthworm Community and likes to share the Good News every Thursday morning during the Senior Citizen Speakeasy Session which is usually held in Mr Tomkinson's unheated conservatory.  We brought along the following items to give to the local foodbank: one tin of Marrowfat peas, a Fray Bentos Steak and Ale pie plus a packet of Batchelor's Quik Rice - I can imagine that such fare will invoke quite a stampede.

Mrs Taylor-Burroughs was present.  Mrs T-B was a great friend of my late Mother's and truly believes that she can commune with her via her 'spiritual guide' The Divine Davide.  Apparently Mother's not a fan of Auntie Barb's cats and has invoked the spirit of our dearly departed moggie, Sir Humphrey, to attack the living felines.  The Vicar, The Right Revd Keith MacDonald, PhD (Cantab) wasn't a fan of such heresy and has threatened to remove Mrs T-B's ecclesiastical privileges (she has her own calf-skin bound edition of the King James Bible) if she continues to speak ill of the dead.

Sigh - it's work tomorrow.  My word, how much I hate working in the File Store.  The extra commute doesn't help matters either.

Mid Year Review

Unfortunately, due to a management re-engineering scheme I now report directly to Gareth Snodgrass, the Grade 6 I have spoken of before.  I don’t really like him, few do, but he’s a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure.  Gareth started his own departmental choir six months ago and christened it “The Snodgrass Singers” – I made the mistake of attending one of the rehearsals once with my friend Amanda and almost instantly regretted it.  There seemed to be a whole load of Ubertrackers there and for those not in the know, these are the crème de la crème of the civil service and usually consist of Oxbridge graduates in their early twenties with first class degrees and Grade Eight Oboe under their respective belts.  One slightly older male Ubertracker began singing a loud, albeit melodic, tenor into my left ear and as a result, I couldn’t concentrate, so I asked to be grouped with the other altos.  Unfortunately, all of the songs were in Latin, German or Spanish, so it was almost impossible to follow the music.  Oh dear!

Anyway, as ever, I digress.  My mid-year review - right.  Well, let’s just say that apparently my unique skills as an experienced Executive Officer (his words) would be fully realised by sending me out to work in the filing depot for the next six months.  There’s a huge back record conversion project taking place out there and it’s Snodgrass’s opinion that my talent and knowhow of Departmental record keeping could really prove to be a positive asset to the existing team dynamic.  I mentioned that I knew of another EO who had left the filing depot one evening at 5pm never to return.  Apparently he was sighted a fortnight later on a cross channel ferry dressed as a goat.  Nobody knew quite why that was.  They still don't.