Majorca Flats -- 187

My darling Jason,

I feel so with it to be writing emails. The other day when Lady Fitstone, Gladys Grantham and Honoria Jimbleton (you do know them all, I think) came to play bridge, well I was boasting a little about writing emails so Janet Fitstone asked me in that sharp way she has who I was writing to, as if it were any of her business the nosy cat, and I was so taken with my hand (of cards I mean, not my real hand, you know how wrinkly and crinkly that's got) that I said you, so she said, where is he, her little piggy eyes sparkling with curiosity just exactly like Mr Minim does when he smells my breakfast bacon, all greed and glitter, but fortunately I was alerted by then so I said oh you hadn't said precisely, which is quite true, since you didn't give a street address, but that I rather thought that perhaps you'd gone to stay with your nanny in France, and was it Aubeterre or Bredy-la-Falaise, I wasn't quite sure? That's a dreadfully long sentence but it all came out in a rush. So next thing that tiresome women gets on the blower to her friend Emma Whitehouse who tells your mother and next thing she phones all in a bate about where you are and are you all right, and I gave her the same story. So silly: if you had wanted to write to her you would have. I hope I shan't go to hell for telling a few white lies, but the Church does say that in time of war it is acceptable to lie, though I didn't discuss it with Canon Green because he's likely to disapprove such a moral old stick but quite dear really and it is rather war-like here with your mother and father.

Luckily none of the others noticed because Honoria spilt her gin all over herself just then and Parker had to come in and sponge her down. Really she'd getting quite dithery (Honoria I mean, not Parker who is as crisp as ever and so formidob and by the way sends her regards, by which I think she means her love, odd woman) but come to think of it she (Honoria I mean, dear me this is getting so complicated) was always dithery even when she was a girl with me at school.

Anyway, I hope no harm's done. But your mother came round (!!) and asked me to persuade you to tell me where you are and then insisted that I would have to tell her when I had found out. As if she could insist to me. So I went all vague and dithery myself and when she left I heard her telling Parker sotto voce that I wasn't quite myself by which she meant that I was getting senile. It's a miracle to me that I should like and love you and Amanda and Mark so much when I simply do not get on with your mother. Anyway I try to be civil to her for your sakes but I cannot forgive her for the way she treated you and Brent, in fact it makes my blood boil which is probably a bad thing because then I'll have a stroke and then what will happen?

Must go now, it's time for Mr Minim's walk, and he's looking at me all doleful and drooping.

Love

Gran

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