10 Forsythia Grove
CORSETTSHIRE ZY6 4GT
June 25 2000
My Dear Ralph
I seem to be spending slightly more time repining at home than is my wont, and so it is far too tempting to dip my fountain pen into its green inkwell and pen epistles to yourself and Harriet. Do you like my note paper? It is of a weight and colour (deep lilac) designed to complement – and dignify – the ink. I have, further, invested it with a scent, the scent of lavender from my spray bottle, for I am an old-fashioned lady at heart. It is an opportunity, I feel dear, to also send some notion of my character and style.
And perhaps I have needed the uplift of the above, given the style of the correspondence received from the Bright Litton NHS hospital fracture clinic. I have been copied in to a letter that the medical personage at the clinic has sent to my GP. And quite apart from the factual inaccuracies scattered therein, there is one particularly offending sentence, which reads as follows: ‘Mrs Tankful is a self-employed gardener, who has “managed” to injure her wrist falling off a 2′ high stool.’ Beep beep dear. For a start, the medical personage is conflating two separate – and unrelated – facts. I may well be a self-employed gardener, but I sustained my injury indoors and not ‘out in the field’ so-to-speak. And, secondly, having done considerable damage to both my ribs and my shoulder – in addition to fracturing a wrist – it should be obvious to any thinking person that I did not just topple sideways into a flower bed while sitting on a stool (and wielding, for instance, garden shears). You would think – and you would hope – that this type of male would have become virtually extinct by the year 2000! The only plus point, as far as a communication of this quality goes, is that any, even slightly, decent recipient of it, would raise their eyebrows to the heavens (and give thanks that they had not been sent to see such a male themselves).
I was further dispirited by the telephone message I received from my GP surgery (that very same day) which went along the following lines: ‘Hello Mrs Tankful. This is the Empathy surgery here. We are just phoning to notify you that a letter inviting you to attend the Osteoporosis clinic will be arriving shortly.’ OSTEOPOROSIS CLINIC Ralph?! I have evidently had a slight fall indeed! At the age of only 64, I have entered the arena of OLD AGE!
The coup de gras (have I spelled that right pet?) was administered in an article written by a swimming coach that I came across in the Outer Hamlet public library. This rather excoriating piece stated that there were two types of swimmer who break their wrists. The first type, apparently, once clad in a plaster cast, never goes swimming again (perhaps this is because they are unaware that a waterproof cast is, theoretically, an option). But the other type of swimmer is undeterred! The other type of swimmer attends the pool and does ‘kicking sets’ – both above, and under, the surface of the water. So, guess what dear? I will be attending the pool, once I manage to get shot of the water-soluble plaster cast I am currently interred within. And I shall be attempting both ‘kicking sets’ and side-stroke.
Your loving Aunt
Evangeline Tankful (DBE)