Nil desperandum darling!
I, too, have had slight feelings of unease regarding the propriety of spying on my own son – whatever the likely justification. So, I have arranged for Ralph to sit in the coal bunker in our stead! To this end, I have engaged my extra-long drill bits in drilling a 30cm-long passage from the exterior of my dwelling – through the knapped flint – into the guest bedroom. It emerges at waist height, just to one side of the chest of drawers and is, hopefully, not in a location likely to attract the attention of guests for the night. It should, I feel, provide a fine view of the arena in question!
I spent quite some dusty hours threading a cable – which incorporates both a camera and a microphone – through this passage. And I have plugged its proximal end into the video recorder temporarily resident in the coal bunker. If anything of unusual interest does take place in the king-size bed on Friday night, Ralph will be well placed both to see it and to hear it.
Luckily, as we know, Austen has a quite well-developed detestation of cats and so will not be spending any more time in my own personal quarters, with Chumley, than he can help. I will be surprised if he can even manage to throw a tin of ‘Yum Cat’ into my darling’s bowl. Action, if any, should take place in a fur-free zone!
Yours with a level of (almost) keen anticipation.
Mum (in law)
P.S. I have been reflecting upon my own assiduity in this matter. I believe we have the (thankfully late) activities of Sir Charmer Tankful OBE to credit for it. Perhaps the need for justice – if belated by some decades in my case – beats in every human breast.