Dear Clare 

I don’t want to cause any trouble, really I don’t, but I’m getting on a bit and Alfred passed away last year. 

I’m alright, though the stairs are a bit of a problem. ‘This mind is willing’ and so on. My son comes to visit once a week, and I’ve always loved the sound of the doorbell: it’s nice to have the company, and whilst the visitors get fewer and fewer when you get to my age, there is still the occasional friend who’ll come by and pass an hour or two listening to Radio 4’s afternoon play. 

I really don’t want to grumble, you see, but there’s a boy who lives nearby and he’s always ringing my doorbell then running away. It’s the natural exuberance of youth, I know, but what with my old hips it’s really getting so I can’t be bothered to go and answer the door. I don’t want to make a fuss, of course, but can you think how I might stop this silliness? 

I’m so cold. 

Martha

St Margret’s, Kent 
 

Dear Martha 

What a young scamp! 

It’s not the boy’s fault, and I’m sure you’ll agree when I say that it’s in his nature to play silly, thoughtless, truculent pranks. 

No, it’s his parents who should put a stop to this. It’s his parents who should learn the lesson you’re too kind to teach their son. Why not invite them over for a little chat? A nice cup of tea and a sit down? 

In the meantime, ask your son to bring a tube of super glue with him next time he comes round. Tell him you’ve gone and been a bit silly and knocked that porcelain shepherdess off of the mantelpiece, and go on and on and on about how Alfred bought it for you in Margate, well, when was it? Let me see? It was the year that Mr Chamberlain went to meet Mr Hitler, so blah blah blah blah. It doesn’t matter what you tell him, since he won’t be listening. Just get your paper-skinned, blue-veined, blotchy-shakey hands on that tube of glue. 

Next, turn off the power for your wretched little cottage. Take the leads that lead to the door-bell and jam them into the two bottom bits of an electrical socket. Now step outside and cover the bell-push with superglue. Throw the power back on and don’t be scared by the weird humming that fills the hall. 

Stick the kettle on, make a nice pot of darjeeling, and wait for the bell to ring. Don’t forget to cackle as the smell of roasting pork wafts through the letterbox. 

Clare.