DARK COMEDY EPISODE 1
Perfect . . .
Evangeline Tankerel and Pom-Pom Percivals’ first days at the Perfect Retirement Housing Complex
The Pom-Pom Letters: Memoirs from Alternative Accommodation are written in the persona of Evangeline Tankerel (Dame Commander of the British Empire) who is a retired MI6 operative of undefined status. She has moved — together with her associate Pom-Pom Percival — into a block of 56 flats for the elderly, in the rural county of Corsettshire, UK. It is the year 2000 and Evangeline is sixty years old. The flats are staffed by a resident manager (Our Leader) and his deputy (Our Deputy). It becomes rapidly apparent to Evangeline that she has moved into a premises of perturbing character, and so she embarks upon a correspondence with her nephew, Ralph Wodehouse. Ralph is 24 years old and resident in a tower block in the city of Carpool. He is a member of a “far left” political group and is addicted to the inhalation of Glu-Stik. Evangeline’s letters — utilizing paper and ink — form a commentary on events occurring inside the Perfect Retirement Housing Complex.
My Dear Ralph
Just to let you know dear, that Pom-Pom and I have finally arrived at our new demesne in Corsettshire. Our new abode is not quite so delightful as one might have hoped; the grey concrete frontispiece looks a trifle forbidding, and I can see how one could mistake the rectangular tower-like structure — at the far end — for a gun turret. But we were anxious to leave a multitude of Pom-Pom’s creditors to the rear of us, so-to-speak. Under such circumstances, choice is scarcely at a premium. You will remember that our precise address is strictly hush hush, won’t you pet?
I do wish one of us had thought to inform the management of the Perfect Retirement Housing Complex that Pom-Pom and I are a duo as — owing to my being a notable Tankerel and Pom-Pom a (less-famed) Percival — we have been separately accommodated, albeit on the same floor. (This may actually be a plus point owing to our previous squabbles over a largely incompatible television itinerary, and other little issues not suitable for mention here.) My own domain is inhabited by a rather scurfy pink carpet which, due to lack of funds, I am presently unable to replace and a salmon pink wallpaper. I can at least apply “magnolia” to this latter excrescence. Given that we are at the apex of the building, it is just about possible to discern the communal garden below, through binoculars. In fact, within a week or so, I had noticed what appeared to be a starving cat hanging about the periphery. Pom-Pom had also spotted said animal, and we have spent quite a number of hours winging slabs of dinner out of the window in its direction. At least, we did do this quite openly until a large, laminated, notice appeared on the notice board downstairs, to the effect that some inmates or other were feeding up the rats! I ask you pet. If this is the sort of mentality demonstrated in one’s very first week in our new abode, what new horrors can possibly be in store? Mabel, next door, has since whispered — in confidence — that it is best to lower dinner, at the end of a rope, after darkness has descended. She has exhorted us to do this at the least possible speed because the security lighting snaps on at the slightest provocation. We appear to have moved to a class “A” establishment if one invokes the nomenclature used by custodial dwellings!
Another challenge presented itself during the course of our trying to locate a private means of egress from the building. Having attempted to leave via a minor door — practically sealed shut by disuse — our activities were promptly leaked to Our Leader by an inmate occupying the premises overhead. This Ferret does appear to have eyes rather closely juxtaposed, but possibly my opinion is affected somewhat by recent experience! Anyway, the upshot of this individual’s report was that Pom-Pom and I were hauled into the office and told that it was dangerous to leave by the afore-mentioned exit because: a) we might slip on the grassy slope outside or: b) someone might suddenly swing open a window and decapitate us! The whole thing seems to anticipate a constant state of siege, death and disaster. Life — as it should be lived — contains an element of risk. In my experience, it is the disasters that one has not anticipated that all so frequently end up occurring. In any event, that leaves us deciding between exiting by means of an abseiling rope or the actual front door. This may sound all too silly to you pet, but there are a large number of inmates who seem to spend nearly all day loitering just inside this door — and most of them are excessively nosy. Pom-Pom may not, after all, wish to admit to any regular habit down at the betting office and I, myself, may be off to hone my skills at the local gun range.
How are you doing dear? At least you have your very own domain to reside in, and that is undoubtedly a boon and a blessing given what I have had to relate thus far!
Yours
Aunt Evangeline
