Celia's MailbagWife on Earth
Hello – Celia here. The podcast seems to be going down very well, and I just wanted to let you know that if you want to get in touch to ask a question, you can email using the email address email@example.com and I’ll do my best to answer.
I’ve received literally some letters from people wanting to know what on earth is going on.
Here’s one from Melanie Barton, Hello Melanie – she asks
“Are you real?”
Gosh, what a question. I don’t know – perhaps I’m not real, perhaps you’re not either, Melanie Barton. Perhaps you, me, and everyone we know are just figments of the imagination of a man called Spinks who lives in a garden shed on an allotment in Dunbarton. Perhaps everything I’m saying now is just taking place in his mind as he crouches there, breathing in creosote and nibbling on a pickled egg. Sorry – I’m just being silly. Of course I’m real. I know I’m real firstly because I have a Marks and Spencer loyalty card, and secondly because I know Jennifer Coil, and she can’t have imagined me because she has absolutely no imagination.
Here’s another one from James Richards, who asks
“Where is Lower Upping?”
Lower Upping is the village where Fred and I have lived since 1980. It’s six miles from Toxborough, the nearest large town, and it’s in the county of Kent, next to the West Sussex border. It’s a lovely area with many interesting landmarks – Lord Tony’s Seat, Wrong Cock Hall, and “Owd Betty”, Europe’s largest oak tree, which was recently demolished to build a Lidl (Fred’s livid about it so don’t mention it to him unless you want a three quarters of an hour lecture on the local council.) People from round here are called “toggies”, and Fred and I are both proud “toggies.” I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
And finally, Cheryl Walton-Scott asks
“How did you and Fred meet?”
Oh that’s a good question. Golly, it’s such a long time ago..well it all seems like a dream. A bad dream. Sorry I’m being silly, I’m joking of course. It was at Blandings Tennis Club – in the summer of 1976. I’d gone there with a school friend, Jessica Pashley. She was a strawberry blonde with freckles and one of the horsey set – she had a piebald pony called Bonnie. I wonder what happened to her?
Anyway, Fred and his brother Frank were playing a game in the next court over and when they’d done Frank shouted over to ask did we want to play mixed doubles? So we did. I partnered Fred and Jessica played with Frank. Actually I’d wanted Frank but Jessica bagged him first. Frank’s a bit taller than Fred, about six foot one, with broader shoulders, and very blue eyes.
Anyway, we played – I can’t remember who won – and afterwards we were walking to the club house and Frank suddenly fell into step beside me and seemed about to say something but at that moment a wasp stung Jessica and Frank had to administer first aid to her and in all the hubhub Fred asked me to be his plus one at the golf club ball on Saturday and I said yes, I will, yes, and that was that.
I do sometimes wonder what might have happened if the stupid wasp hadn’t stung stupid Jessica Pashley on her stupid big bottom.
Frank lives in the French Riviera now. He’s an architect.
…Anyway – thank you everyone for writing in and please send more questions to keep me busy, won’t you? firstname.lastname@example.org
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Written by Joseph Nixon and Joanna Neary
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