The Library | Write to Sir Charles | Cast of Characters | Credits | This Week

May 23, 1997

From the Correspondence of Edna Thistle, Mrs. Peterson's Personal Products Percy P. Peterson, Proprietor Petersborough Dear Mr. Peterson, I, an upending citizen of the town of Fishampton, am writing you to tell you that although in the past I was a proud user of Peterson's Perspiration-Pruf Pit Pomade, that I will not ever again utilize your Pit Pomade to freshen those regions which should never see light of day! Perhaps you were not aware, when you solicited the endorphins of Lady Felicia Grandiose for your Peterson's Perspiration-Pruf Pit Pomade, that the 'Lady' in question is a fraud! A sham! Why, just last year she attempted to strangulate me! Oh, she says she just had her sleeve caught in my chunky cloisonne necklace, but I know she was going for the throat! Just the way she 'landed' that husband of hers, Sir Charles 'Pasty Pasty Rich Boy' Grandiose! In short, the woman is a shark, a fiend, and a mimic to society! Unless you remove her as your 'celebrity' spokeswoman immediately, you will find yourself the target of a boycott by a collation of women from my town, headed by myself and Mrs. Honoria Buttock (pronounced boo-toque), who once had the extreme privilege to visit Buckingham Palace on a day pass last Bank Holiday. Knowing you will do the right thing, Edna Thistle, Mrs. Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber Some fancy-schmancy estate somewhere abroad where he's depriving good British citizens the taxes of his ill-gotten-gains Who-knows-where Dear Mr. Lloyd-Webber, The other day I was going about my business--and I am not a 'modern' woman who feels impelled to hold down a job--no indeed. I am a Christian woman and a housewife and feel my first duty is to my husband, even if he has been dead these last twenty years. At any rate, I was dusting my genuine imitation porcelain figurines (darling doggies playing the various instruments of the orchestra . . . I feel that you would appreciate them, being somewhat of a musician yourself) when I stumbled into my son's room. He was listening to a 'soundcrack' of yours entitled Jesus Christ Superstar. Rather pleased that Sonny Boy had turned to inspurnational material for his solace, I sat down to listen with him. And then I leapt up, disgusted and amazed! Mr. Webber! Not only was the music that horrid 'crock and roll' that I hear so much about, but Mary Magdalene was imploring Our Saviour not to get, and I quote, 'uptight.' Mr. Webber! The Saviour Of Us All does not get, and never got, 'uptight.' Scarcely had I expressed my outrage of this obbrobrious behaviour when Sonny Boy piped up and noted that it was 'okay' for Mary Magdalene to address Her Lord that way because she was nothing but a. . . . I shall not repeat the vile word. But Mr. Webber! I sincerely doubt that my local church would allow Mary M. to appear in its stained glass windows--as she does quite prominently--were she the Woman of Ill Repeat you seem to think she is. Because of your outrages against decent sensibubbleties, the ladies of my prominent town, led by myself and Mrs. Honoria Buttock (pronounced boo-toque, who once saw your show 'Cats' on a Bank Holiday excursion and found the display of wanton licking too much to bear) will be leading a burning of your sound recordings in the town square. Really, Mr. Webber. Sonny Boy is but an impressionable lad of 37! Disgusted with you, Edna Thistle, Mrs. Mrs. Honoria Buttock Boyle House Fishampton My dear Honoria, You were wondering about the last meeting of the Ladies Organisation Of Proper Youth. Unfortunately, the LOOPY meetings do not seem to attract the quantities of young people they used to. At the last gathering, only six young people were present. After stirring renditions (with harmonies) of both God Save the Queen and Jerusalem, a brief pencil-game caused much laughter and merriment. A collection was taken, bringing monies up to two and sixpence for the poor starving children in Belgium. Discussions were made as to the next spelling bee, and Mrs. Jimson promised to show her new slides of her expedition to Weston-Super-Mare at the next meeting. A jolly time. That's what I think. Your friend in the cause, Edna Thistle, Mrs. Ramah Mujanihhi XVII writes: Most highly esteemed Sir Charles Grandiose, Bart.: It is our high privilege to be King of the Indian Ocean island of Bufuneo, known across the Empire for our excellent quality jute. Although we are no doubt among your most exalted admirers, we abase ourselves to humbly crave the hand of your most illustrious ward in marriage. Young Penelope Windsor-Smythe (may I call her Penny?) is now at least 84th in line for the throne, but upon marriage to ourself, as Most Favorite of my 17 wives and concubines, she would become the 15th in line for the throne of Bufuneo, after my 14 sons. No doubt a father's concern causes you to consider our offer with great care. Therefore, I invite you and Penny to visit our sumptuous jute paradise. You are specially invited to spend the night in our harem to see for yourself the delightful life that would await her. Upon the enactment of the marriage (in a simple Moslem ceremony), you, as our Most Exalted Father-In-Law, would of course be allowed to visit our palace and harem whenever you wished. Warmly hoping to see you soon, Ramah Mujanihhi XVII, King of Bufuneo Sir Charles replies: Your Highness, One is indeed most honoured at the prospect of marrying one's ward to the King of Bufuneo. An international dynasty, with the Family Grandiose at its head! Of course, one should probably inquire of young Penelope (who is indeed eighty-fourth in the line of succession) her preferences. She is already engaged to Sir Colin Bates; he is but a knight, however, and young Penelope has been known in the past to show a romantic weakness for men bearing large sceptres. One is not quite up on one's socio-culturo-whoosis. What exactly is a harem, again? It's something like a library, is it not? Much honoured at the thought of one's 'browsing privileges,' one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose Rodney writes: Dear Sir Charles, Thank you for your prompt reply to my enquiry. I do apologise for the inconvenience my enquiry may have caused, but it would be quite difficult to know where to turn for advice in matters of such delicacy were it not for your well-known kindliness and general niceness. I was startled to see Peterson's Prescription Palace noted as a supplier of the Perspiration-Pruf Pit Pomade, as I was recently given to understand that the chemist's in Poddington-on-Slossip had been destroyed by fire. Perhaps I have been mis-informed. In any event, the availability of Peterson's Perspiration-Pruf Pit Pomade in Dustcough Abbey is most fortuitous, as we (dear Twila, wife of thirty years, and I) shall be motoring to the abbey the second week of June. I may have told you of dear Twila's little monograph, "Thoughts of the Blessed Ethelburga - Today's Woman's Guide to Life and Everything"? Perhaps Lady Felicia has a copy in her library? Dear Twila is to be honored by the Dustcough and District Devotees of Ethelburga, hence our visit to the abbey. Not only will it be convenient to obtain a supply of Peterson's Perspiration-Pruf Pit Pomade at the chemist's there, but the timing could not be more apropos, as dear Twila is all a-twitter over her address to the annual convocation. This stress has quite understandably placed her personal daintiness in jeopardy, a stress which becomes more intense with each passing day. Fortunately the Rover is in fine fettle after the tour of Gloustershire. But I am told by the RAC that the road between Doddering Sloughleigh and Nether Drivelhampton is under repair. Do you think bypassing the works by way of Fishampton would be appropriate? It would give dear Twila an opportunity to chat with the Lady Felicia, and perhaps exchange recipes. Wishing you and yours a nice day, I am, Rodney Henne-Pecke The Hennery Weston-super-Mare Sir Charles replies: Good Mr. Henne-Pecke, What a pity. The Lady Felicia and oneself were planning to motor to the Greeny-Grass Bonny Lass Madrigal Barbeque that very week of June. It is the very event at which, oh so many years ago, one first met the Lady Felicia and accidentally touched one's own fingers to hers over the devilled eggs. Oh, the shock of electricity that ran between us. Oh, that first muffled gasp of pleasure. Oh, the memories! Of course--and you may appreciate the sentiment--that was before one knew that one was fated to marry the woman and live in chaste nuptial bliss for year after year after year after year. At the time, one merely anticipated getting a bit of crumpet. (Which was in a container next to the devilled eggs.) Planning to sow the picnic site with salt, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose Lord Kurgan writes: Dear Sir Charles, It is with heavy heart and teary eye that I write this letter. It is my sad duty to inform you that the beloved fifth cousin to the Duke of Wellington, one Mr. Richard Burnwater has recently passed away. He was a kind and gentle soul, known to all as a most pleasant and hearty fellow with a great propensity for hoisting a rare mug of ale with friends and exuding a great air of . . . . well, he was a great man. However, it may be news to you that Mr. Burnwater made mention of you in his last will and testament. It appears that you are named as beneficiary to his collection of Maude Benoit records. He made mention of your exhaustive knowledge of Ms. Benoit's work and thought it would be quite fitting for you to receive what must be the world's greatest collection. Please RSVP with the date and time that you will be able to stop by or send a representative to retrieve your inheritance. Sincerely Yours, Lord Kurgan Master of Klan Keep Sir Charles replies: Lord Kurgan, Maude Benoit, eh? Was she the tempting little singer that 'Itchy' and oneself . . . well, the story scarcely bears repeating, and the fines were paid years ago. Maude Benoit? The name does not register, but one will have the minions motor down to the estate and retrieve the bequeathal. One can then listen to the recordings on one's newly installed, up-to-the-minute technological wonder known as the long-playing turntable with quadrophonic sound. But terrible news, that. One remembers 'Itchy Dicky' Burnwater well. Several were the evenings that he and oneself would spend an evening together, imbibing our whiskeys. Then 'Dicky' would lean to one side, lift a leg, and . . . well, he was a great man. Solemnly, one remains, Sir Charles Grandiose