A note from William Frederick, author and decent chap.
My Beloved received a phone call yesterday which turned out to be from her friend Jane. Jane and her husband Donald had stayed with us at our Argyll home for a few days before travelling north to catch the ferry over to the isle of Mull. (They didn’t get to Mull but that is another story).
I spent this morning pondering about what a decent chap William Frederick is.
Not only does he make his own marvellous Cumberland sausages, a past time that elevates him to ‘near god like’ status in my opinion but he has also learned how to use the GIMP. “Sounds a bit pervy,” do I hear you say? Well it isn’t really. In this case, it’s nothing to do with strange headwear. GIMP stands for GNU Image Manipulation Program and it’s the free-world’s version of Photoshop. So, if you happen to have a photograph of a Gnu, this is the program to use if you wish to manipulate it.
A day in the life of William Frederick, author and decent chap.
Today started as most days do, much too early. I swung my warm feet out of bed and into my cold slippers, made sure that my nightshirt was not held above see-level, stuck between my bum cheeks, and headed for the coffee pot.
Beloved was already up and by the look of the way that she threw yesterday’s stale bread at the birds, rather than to them, I surmised that she had got out of bed from the wrong side. Luckily, I am a very deep sleeper and didn’t notice her clambering over me.
“Good morning, dearest!” I cried in cheerful vain, as I attempted to focus on the kettle.
“That bloody mouse has dug up one of my potted plants and munched the roots. You have to do something!”
The shop stood on the corner of two streets. It was quite old and looked as though it had once been a dressmaker’s or milliner’s and had now been taken over by the sex shop business. It had tall windows, reflecting Bertram & Gertrude as they stood marvelling at the goods on display. The door into the building was sunk back a metre or so and the windows were set into narrow but shapely, turned wooden pillars, as was the door frame. Two wooden-framed glazed doors met in the middle of the entrance and their book-matched pair of polished brass handles in the shape of an elongated letter ‘S’ set the tone nicely.
Agent Bertram put his arm around Grietja, as though they were lovers on their way out for a meal and a few drinks. Stopping near to the boat, Bertram gave Grietja a hug and pretended to kiss her whilst he took a careful look at the barge, taking in every detail and memorising it for later.
The kiss was returned and quite passionately at that! When Bertram stopped, it took Grietja a second or two to realise that it had finished, so carried away was she at his advance. She came to her senses and stroked her skirt down, whispering, “Hey, you really are being quite the kisser, Agent Bertram. I was having no idea.”