Dear ______,
Many thanks for your advice that I should change my postal code. I have now done so. Already I am receiving the advantage of an enhanced credit rating. You can take the moral credit!
There has been one unsought consequence to my initiative. I am wondering if you have experienced it. I am referring to a vengeful maledictor Violet, the friend and protector of Hilda.
It was three days after my postal code change that i received the first telephone call. Without preliminaries, she opened with a devastating attack. "I suppose you're quite content to know that you've ruined people's lives and broken up families, aren't you?"
ME: Hello. Can I ask who is calling?
SHE: Don't try to play the innocent with me! You know who it is. Just a victim who has the strength of spirit to confront you. When I think of what you did to Hilda! It ruined her family. They can't bear to touch each other now. You know that her brother is looking for you?
ME: Is this a joke from Chris Hart or someone, playing a mad woman?
SHE: This is no joke, you loathsome toad! I can arrange to have you confronted by your victims en masse. And that's before the police catch up with you. It's only right that you be forced publicly to acknowledge your guilt. But first, who was in it with you? Was it that bitch Angelica?
ME: Look. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know any Angelica. Your conversation has no relevance to me. I suggest you are calling the wrong number. Goodbye!
Three hours later, the phone rang again.
SHE: I just thought I'd verify your assertion that you didn't know Angelica. Is it true?
ME (with ponderous finality): I don't know any Angelica
SHE (with ill-suppressed triumph): Then in that case why were you seen last night fooling about with her in The North Star with your drunken associates?
ME: I meet lots of people casually. We're not always formally introduced.
SHE: I can well imagine that disgusting spectacle! Meanwhile, what about poor Hilda? The fact that she's suffering this terminal illness just adds to your paltry triumph, doesn't it? You know her mother has had to enter a nursing home don't you? . . .
On and on she went. She had the stamina of a Rottweiler. I soon learned to put the phone down as soon as she called and to burn the cascade of correspondence immediately on delivery. I thought she would turn to someone else. I could not have been more wrong!
Our next encounter was a couple of weeks later at the National Verruca Institute, which is sited on Grange Road, Ealing.
(The Institute devloped from the old Ealing Verruca Club. You will recall me telling you of an unfortunate incident in whch memers of the EVC, dressed as pixies, were arrested for fighting in Greenford. This resulted in a police report that was mistakenly posted to the Ealing Council Grants Committee. Naturally, the Committee were mystified by the document, but could think of no other course than to "make an award". The award led ultimately to the foundation of the Institute.)
As you may know, I am now Professor of Mordant Morality at the Institute. I had been polishing my latest article for the journal, titled "Ethics and the Submissive Pustule" and decided to stretch my legs by walking over to the refectory.
Throughout the Institute we are lavishly equipped with total en suite luxury facilities. However, people still like to congregate in the numerous leisure venues. I was relaxing in the Complicity Complex when I heard the voice which I had come to dread. It emerged from a group in the corner. It was Violet!
"Yes," she told her audience, in that barking tone of menace. "Often I find men need to be chivvied along for their own good. They are invariably crude swine, given to filthy habits and practices!"
I peeked around the the corner and got my first sight of her. This was the vengeful woman who had been tormenting me. Violet was a stocky, middle aged lady. She was dressed in a tight pink suit, out of which emerged a tough rugby player's head. Her heavily applied cosmetics failed to mask her purple muzzle. She was surrounded by a group of female acolytes. They were younger, anaemic and suffering from eczema. Clearly, they were devoted to Violet. She had them enthralled!
"I can handle most men," she claimed. "I find that in the end the toughest nut will crack!" She paused and whispered something to one of her minions, pointing towards me. I withdrew in haste.
Later, I was secluded in the Epidermis Suite, where Violet's minion cornered me. Her greeting was like Violet's. Inserting her face within inches of mine she announced "We know all about you now. You bastard! Violet and her Sisters have plans for you."
As she spoke I absorbed a fine spray of halitosis. She continued "As you can see, Violet is busy with her staff. However, she knows exactly when to contact you. Your reputation will be in ruins in three months. Better start looking for a new position." (This from a mere junior in the Verruca Aesthetics Department!!)
What could I do, except what any self-respecting academic would do? Research! Using my tenure authority, I ploughed through Violet's files. I obtained some rewarding facts.
Violet was employed as a Receptionist/Diagnostician to deal with new patients. She could treat minor ailments (e.g. corns) on her own authority. I then discovered that she had no professional qulifications at all!! Her previous occupation had been that of meat inspector!
GOT HER!!
I will keep you in touch with developments.
Yours,
Conrad
