My Dear Captain West

I write this from a small locked room in a tiny house in Majorca. My dear Nurse, Rosie Pomfrits, has accompanied me on what I thought was a mission of mercy, to attend to the local elderly ladies of Majorca, who were seeking bingo lessons. I packed a tiny bag, with my lace handkerchieves, lavender water and a good stiff bottle of Gilbey's, thinking it would be a quick trip for the weekend. Pomfrits has smuggled in some lavatory paper, on which I write this hasty missive. I beg you, Captain West, please forgive this ungainly writing paper and understand that I am held captive by two haggard old women with rings through their ears. They were not at all interested in learning bingo, but have been teaching me a strange card game called Tarrow, or something, with lots of funny pictures and some strange incantations.

As I write, I fear you may never receive this letter. I think of you suffering on the battlefields of Basra, and my heart bleeds, knowing you may bacome dust in the desert of unfulfilled dreams. But I am afraid, Captain West, for a strange man keeps peeking through my window. He has flaming dark eyes like an eagles, and a huge, muscular, hairy, chest. His ebony hair flows down his back, and I see he means me no gentle courtesy, my lord.

as I write, I feel weak from nerves, and fear I may be shortly overcome with a fit of the vapours. Know that, til the end, I have stayed faithful to your love.

I remain

your own true


Miss Penelope Rutledge
653 Fotheringham Avenue
Crappon By The Sea

lately of Majorca