I first met Alistair Algernon Neal over 30 years ago at one of my late aunt Flora's Thursday night séances. His musty middle name comes from his great-uncle Algie and is of French origin, meaning 'moustached man'; conjuring up an image of a repressed, heavily whiskered Victorian in a frock coat. Although Alistair does indeed sport a bushy crumb catcher, 'repressed' is the last adjective I'd use to describe him.
There wasn't a breath of wind that night of the séance. Nonetheless, when I opened the front door to welcome Mr Neal, the tall, thin, rather shabby looking figure I met on the doorstep appeared to be at the mercy of an invisible breeze; swaying back and forth and side to side like a sunflower on a hill top. The condition afflicting him was one which I knew would have a violent affect on Aunt Flora; causing her inner paroxysms of anger and disgust. Mr Neal was what she would darkly condemn as 'well-oiled'.
"Salutations Sir. I'm Alistair. (Never call me 'Al' - sounds like a gangster,") he said, extending a shaky hand towards me.
"Hello, I'm Neil."
"Ah, we share a common name! - Although yours is obviously more common than mine. Have I arrived at the residence of Madam Flora: Priestess of the Paranormal, Mistress of the Mystical, Guardian of Ghosts and Ghoulies - that sort of thing?"
"Er... yes," I replied, recoiling as a powerful wave of ethanol fumes blew into my face. When I had recovered enough to reopen my eyes, I saw that Alistair's had narrowed into a squint and that he was now peering at me.
"You okay old chap?" he asked, leaning his lofty frame precariously towards me, a look of drunken concern on his face. "You've just turned red and your eyes are watering."
"Yes - fine thanks... Fine," I replied, nodding a little too enthusiastically.
"Oh I am glad! Anyway, I'm here to have a chin-wag with my dear Aunt Hilda. Poor old Hillypops had been in the queue for the exit door for years, but finally cashed in her Premium Bonds last Wednesday. Had a dicky ticker you see."
"Oh... I'm sorry to hear that."
"Mmm, it was very sad. We were all heartbroken - not least Casanova. He was devastated."
"Casanova?"
"Her pet rabbit. The shock has put him off sex completely. He's now as chaste as the Pope!"
As Alistair's jacket flapped open mid-sway, I noticed what looked like the neck of a small unopened whisky bottle poking out from the inside pocket.
"I'm afraid that Aunt Flora doesn't allow alcohol in the house," I said apologetically. "She's teetotal and says that its presence alone dilutes her psychic powers."
"Oh how thoughtless of me! We definitely can't have that can we," he said, reaching for the bottle, unscrewing the lid, then tipping the contents into his mouth in one miraculously fluid movement. I watched dumbfounded as the intoxicating brown liquid rapidly disappeared down his throat like water down a plughole. "All tickety-boo now?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand while the other tossed the newly drained bottle over his shoulder into next door's hedge.
"Boo?" I replied, confused; not having heard the phrase before.
"Dear oh dear! - You're going to have to do a lot better than that to frighten me dear boy."
Before I knew it, Alistair had lurched forwards and was barging his way unsteadily past me into the house. Twisting my head, I watched him come to a sudden stop and gaze goggle-eyed around the lobby. Lit with only a few flickering candles, its walls were lined with hundreds of bizarre, often quite disturbing objects, each casting its own eerie shadow so that it looked like some cranky Victorian's secret shrine to the uncanny. Aunt Flora had spent a lifetime travelling the world in order to assemble her collection of curiosities, and had once told me that some of the places she'd found herself in were so remote they were still unknown to cartographers. The objects included shrunken heads, sinister-looking tribal masks decorated with cold, staring eyes, tattered sepia photos of long dead mediums vomiting streams of ectoplasm, pairs of carved wooden figures carrying out inventive acts of violence on one another, and a monstrous menagerie of hybridized reptiles; crudely conjoined during some Frankensteinian fit of deranged taxidermy.
"Is that Alistair, Neil?" Aunt Flora called to me from the living room; her voice echoing spookily around the walls of the lobby.
Alistair froze, swivelled his head nervously from side to side, then looked up in wonder at the creeping shadows on the ceiling.
"Yes it's Alistair... Is that you Aunty?" he replied before I'd thought to answer.
"Of course it's me! Who else do you think it is?"
"Ha! I see that death hasn't made you any less grumpy."
"Sorry?"
"Wow! This is incredible. I can't believe we can talk like this. We don't even need a medium!"
"What in blue blazes are you talking about?... Your voice sounds odd."
"Well are you surprised Aunty? You can't expect a crystal clear telephone line between here and the hereafter. It's probably even further than Australia!"
Just then I saw Aunt Flora appear at the doorway behind Alistair, who was still staring up at the ceiling. Giving me a conspiratorial wink, she raised a forefinger to her lips.
"Ah but Alistair, I'm much closer than you think," she said.
"Oh?"
Aunt Flora moved furtively forwards, then clapped her hand down hard on Alistair's shoulder.
"Aghhh!!" he shrieked, toppling to the floor and assuming the foetal position. "Alright Aunty - It was me who set fire to your knicker drawer! If I hadn't, Tibby Tubbytuck from Charterhouse would've told everyone I like wearing women's..." Alistair stopped when he saw Aunt Flora's bewildered face peering down at him. Slowly unfurling himself, he rose jerkily from the ground and began to scrutinize it in the dim light. After a few moments he tentatively reached out a hand to touch her cheek; snatching it back when he found its fleshy contours solid. "Hold on - You're not Aunt Hilda! You're not even dead!" he said; his face a picture of confusion and embarrassment.
"That's right Mr Neal - I'm not Aunt Hilda. I'm Aunt Flora and I'm very much alive," she replied, beating her chest like an excited gorilla. "So tell me..." Aunty continued, looking him up and down and pouting her lips. "What's your favourite outfit?"
Alistair's jaw dropped and his eyes grew to the size of double G cups. The question was left hanging in the air.
The light in the living room, like the lobby, had been darkened. Four silhouetted figures sat silently around Aunt Flora's large circular table which was
covered with a black cloth on which was set an Ouija board and two silver candelabra, each holding three lighted candles. In the very centre sat a steaming
bowl of vindaloo curry, a plate of spicy poppadoms and a bowl of onion bhajis.
"Oh that smells scrummy! I never expected nosh," gushed Alistair, ogling the spread as he entered the room. "Don't mind if I do," he said, reaching for a poppadom.
"Hands off!" commanded Aunt Flora, rapping his arm. "The food's for the spirits. Although they've ceased to enjoy the fruits of our corporeal existence, they still crave physical nourishment."
"Really? It's a bit of waste isn't it? Come on, you're not telling me they actually eat it?" asked Alistair.
"My late husband Cyril refused to eat anything remotely foreign," chipped in Mrs Vanderpump; one of the four sitters. "Dyed in the wool meat and two veg man, bless him. He wouldn't have been seen dead eating a vindaloo."
"Great! I'll have his portion," boomed Alistair, clapping his hands together.
Aunt Flora scowled at him.
"No?.. Okay then..." nodded Alistair; downcast. He began to stroke his chin. "Any chance you could re-heat the 'leftovers' later?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, can we please get on!" cried Aunt Flora, exasperated. "Right everyone, this is Alistair. Alistair, this is Colonel Plumley..."
"I'm 104 you know!"
"No! - That's amazing! I'm afraid us Neals have always died young - usually something to do with the liver. No idea why. Must be genetic. Anyway, you Sir definitely deserve a medal," said Alistair.
"I already have plenty of those young man. I earnt them fighting for our country so that you wouldn't have to be under the jackboot on a diet of sauerkraut and swastika-shaped sausage rolls."
"You darling man!"
"Oh yes, I beat Jerry but I'm afraid that this old soldier will soon lose the fight against our ultimate enemy. I'll be back on the battlefield; a Mark IV Panzer tank roaring over the hill towards me. But this time Death will be at the wheel; his bony foot flat down on the accelerator, sending my spirit to Paradise and my beloved Ethel. She was one of the Land Girls 'digging for victory'. I can see her now, harvesting a crop of marrows; her ripe buttocks bulging in her breeches whenever she bent over to tug a swollen gourd. That's my last memory of her. The next day a buzz bomb hit her bungalow and blew her to kingdom come."
"Well Colonel, you'll be able to talk bombs, vegetables and sexy wartime fashion with her yourself soon!" enthused Aunt Flora.
"Oh Lord, I haven't felt this excited since VE Day!"
"Okay Alistair, you've met Miranda, widow of poor Cyril 'meat and two veg' Vanderpump. Well this is my friend Jocasta Spellman who's also a psychic."
"Hello there. If you hear me say anything peculiar or risqué, or utter the odd expletive during the séance, don't be alarmed - it's not me. I'm simply channelling the voices of passing spirits. I don't know, sometimes I feel like a battered old crystal set; picking up endless wandering radio signals. It's the lot of the psychic I suppose."
"Indeed it is," sighed Aunt Flora. "Right, I think we're ready to start. You can make yourself at home in that empty chair over there Alistair," she said, pointing to the space inbetween Jocasta and the Colonel. "I expect you'd prefer to curl up on the floor, but I'm afraid the spirits like us to sit upright. Now, would everyone like to... Oh, hold on - we only have five people. That won't do at all. Neil, would you sit in please. You can squeeze between me and Miranda."
'Squeeze' was the apposite word as Mrs Vanderpump (not a small woman) possessed bulges to rival Ethel's 'ripe buttocks'. I groaned quietly to myself, carried a chair over and soon found myself wedged under her armpit.
"Are we all comfortable? Okay, let's all join hands," said Aunt Flora.
Alistair turned his head to look at Jocasta; a dreamy look on his face.
"Only our first date and we're already holding hands. I can tell it's the start of a beautiful relationship," he whispered. Jocasta rolled her eyes and gave him a tight-lipped smile.
"It looks like the Colonel feels the same," she replied, nodding towards him. Twisting around, Alistair saw that the old codger was grinning at him.
"Ow! You have quite a grip there Colonel," Alistair said, yanking his hand away and grimacing.
"Well what do you expect young man? These are instruments of death," he replied, holding up his impossibly wrinkled hands and flexing his fingers. "When all the rockets, hand grenades and bullets ran out, do you think we stopped fighting? Of course we jolly well didn't! Come nightfall we'd crawl out of our stinking trenches, play hopscotch between the mines across No Man's Land, then throttle Jerry in his bed. It wasn't just the Tommies in the first scrap who had all the fun!"
All of a sudden Aunt Flora banged her fist down hard on the table; making the heavy candelabra wobble and the onion bhajis jump like popcorn in their bowl.
"For Swedenborg's sake shut up!! The spirits won't come if we're noisy," she yelled. The sitters froze and stared at her; their faces uniform in their look of fright and astonishment. "Thank you... Alistair, who do you wish to contact?"
"Er... Hillypops..."
"Hillypops?"
"Sorry - Aunt Hilda."
"Okay. We'll try to summon Hilda. If she answers I'll ask her some simple yes or no questions first. Then, if she chooses to speak through me, you'll be able to ask any question you like. Now, everyone please join hands and close your eyes..."
For the first time since Alistair, Aunt Flora and I had entered the room, there was silence. Then, in the darkness I heard Aunty take a long, deep breath before slowly exhaling as if it were a sigh.
"Our beloved Hilda, we bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us Hilda and move among us."
Silence...
"Our beloved Hilda, we bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us Hilda and move among us."
Silence...
"Our beloved Hilda, we bring you -"
The room door slammed shut.
Miranda gasped and pulled me tight to her body so that my face became wedged in her cleavage. As I struggled for breath in its fathomless depths, several disturbing thoughts flashed through my mind, not least that most men dream of dying this way. When I surfaced, Aunt Flora spoke again:
"If you're Hilda, or you have a message from her, make something on the table move."
Six pairs of eyes were instantly trained on the objects in front of them. Miranda breathed faster and squeezed my hand tight. The Colonel ground his teeth. Jocasta licked her lips. Alistair belched and leaned in closer, while Aunt Flora stared ahead poker faced.
Seconds later I saw something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end: The edge of one of the poppadoms had begun to tremble. All at once it shot two feet into the air, flipped like a pancake, then dropped back onto the plate. There was a collective intake of breath.
"Oh my God, that's so weird!" exclaimed Alistair. "I was sure she'd go for the bhajis. - Aunt Hilda loved her onions."
Aunt Flora tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
"Is that you Hilda? Rap once for no, twice for yes."
The sitters raised their heads expectantly and waited in rapt silence. A few moments passed, then two low thuds that seemed to rise up through the floorboards shook the candelabra and sent tremors through my body. It was a sound I imagined the damned made; hammering their fists on the Gates of Hell. Aunt Flora's eyes flashed open and stared unblinkingly into the darkness as if she'd just woken from a nightmare; the candle flames flickering restlessly in her irises.
"Do you have a message for Alistair, Hilda?"
One thud.
"Would you like to speak to Alistair through me?"
One thud.
Silence...
Another thud.
Aunt Flora let out a low moan then rolled her eyes back into her head.
"I think your aunt's ready to answer your questions now," whispered Miranda to Alistair.
"Really? That's capital!.. Hello Aunt Hilda. How are you?"
"I'm dead dear," replied Aunt Flora.
"Well yes... But other than that, is everything okay?"
"Not really."
"That's great. Look Aunty, I'm worried about your money."
"My money?"
"You didn't leave a will so your estate's been split amongst the family who've decided to sell your house. What I want to talk about though is your life savings. You once told me you'd hidden the money somewhere in the house as you didn't trust banks. The problem is we can't find it. So I think the right thing for you to do would be to tell me exactly where you put it. - Before the house is sold and the new owner finds it."
"What would you do with the cash if I told you dear?"
"Well, as you died intestate it should really be divided fairly between everyone in the family. But between you and me, I think you should be able to do what the hell you like with it. After all it's your money. The rest of the family needn't know anything about it. I just don't want to see it go to waste, that's all."
"I want all the money to go to a rabbit sanctuary."
"Okay," replied Alistair, raising his eyebrows.
"Now you're not going to spend it all on gambling, cigarettes and booze are you dear?"
"What kind of monster do you think I am Aunty? I'll make sure Flopsy and Cotton-tail get every last penny."
"He'll sod the bunnies and blow the money!" exclaimed Jocasta loudly.
Alistair jumped in his chair, then shot her a filthy look.
"Alright dear. As long as Mopsy and Peter get some too." said Aunt Flora.
"Marvelous! That's settled then," replied Alistair. He stared at her in silence for a few moments. "Well?"
"Well what dear?" asked Aunt Flora.
"Where did you put it?"
"Put what?"
"The money!"
"Oh now you're asking me... Yes, where did I put it?.. I could've hidden it in the grand piano. No, that can't be right. - It played perfectly when your uncle Ronald serenaded me on it with Da Ya Think I'm Sexy? in his Marks & Spencer's thong. Mmm... Maybe I put it inside the stuffed sheep. No, that's where I hid my gin. The toilet cistern?.. No. The rabbit hutch!.. No that can't be it. - Casanova was very house proud; wanting to impress the ladies. He would never have stood for it... Oh hold on. - I know where I put it!"
"Where Aunt Hilda? Where did you put it?" asked Alistair excitedly.
"How could I be so stupid?! I put the money in...... No. - That's where I kept my valium. Oh, I don't know. Can we talk about something else? I'm sure it'll come to me in a minute."
"Alright Aunty. Erm... Do you still knit and do your flower arranging? - Oh, what am I thinking? You probably don't have any wool or dried flowers where you are."
"Oh no. - We've everything we need and more dear. All the mod cons."
"Really?... Are we talking freezers, microwaves, washing machines...?"
"Yes."
"...tumble dryers, dishwashers, plasma screen TVs?"
"LCD dear. Plasmas don't last five minutes."
"Mobile phones? Don't tell me you have mobile phones?"
"You'd be surprised."
"Wow!"
"I've always had a thing for technology. Do you remember that amazing 50 inch colour television I had, Alistair?"
"Oh yes, the Bang & Olufsen one."
"That TV was my pride and joy... Oh I am rude. There's me wittering on about electronic appliances when I haven't even asked how you are. I see that you haven't smartened yourself up since I last saw you."
"I call it shabby chic Aunty," replied Alistair, looking down admiringly at his threadbare jacket.
"I've never heard a scarecrow described like that before."
"Ha! Your clothes weren't exactly Paris catwalk material either. Remember your beige hessian jumper that thought it was a sack? And that black crinoline frock? - So dour it made Queen Victoria's mourning dress look like a Liberace outfit."
"Okay Alistair, I admit my dress sense wasn't as good as it could've been... What was that white silk scarf I used to wear? I think it had a pattern on it."
"Morbidly obese Cupids sporting rictus grins?"
"Yes, that was it!"
"That would have gone well with your sack jumper."
Aunt Flora gave a long sigh.
"I lost all of my clothes in that dreadful fire. Did you know that, Alistair?"
"Oh."
"When the smoke alarm sounded I rushed upstairs and saw huge flames rising from my knicker drawer."
"No! That's horrific."
"My beautiful 50 inch colour TV went up like a rocket. Your uncle Ronald had bought it for me so we could watch art films in bed together. Not one single thing in that room survived."
"Frightful. Truly frightful."
"You were there that day weren't you?"
"Erm..."
"Yes I remember it clearly. You had that ghastly boy with the lisp with you. What was his name?... Tiberius?"
"Oh, Tibby."
"Do you know we never ever found out how that fire started. Do you have any ideas Alistair?"
"Me?.. No... It was such a long time ago. I think I was out in the garden playing Twister with Tibby for most of the day."
"It's a very odd place for a fire to start don't you think - my knicker drawer."
"Mmm, very odd."
"I mean it's not every day that a girl's lingerie spontaneously combusts."
"I suppose not."
"Are you sure you don't know how the fire could've started? Think hard Alistair."
"Did you have any hot pants in the drawer?"
"Do you find this amusing?"
"No... Of course not... I was just trying to lighten the mood. Sorry."
"Alistair, tell me the truth. Did you go into my bedroom on the day of the fire?"
"I don't think I ever went into your bedroom."
"Pig fat lies - porky pies!" cried Jocasta.
"Really? Now that's very strange Alistair."
"Is it?"
"You knew that Ron and I had a Bang in our bedroom. How could you have done if you hadn't been in there to see it?"
"I'd just assumed you were a happily married couple."
"I was talking about the make of TV: Bang & Olufsen!"
"Oh sorry. - You probably mentioned it to me Aunty."
"And you also seem to have a very intimate knowledge of some of the clothes I had in my bedroom wardrobe."
"There's no mystery there Aunt Hilda. - I saw you wear them."
"Well that's the thing Alistair - you didn't. The two pieces of clothing you described belonged to my mother. They hung in my wardrobe for years; never leaving my bedroom. I didn't get round to dumping them you see. Then there's the matter of the silk scarf. My darling Ronald bought it for me as a gift to celebrate our first wedding anniversary. Soon afterwards I stopped wearing it outside as it was too precious to lose, and decided to keep it in a safe place, where it stayed. That means that the only way you could possibly have seen that scarf and been able to tell me about its lovely Cupid pattern would be if you'd discovered its home. And where was that Alistair? - My knicker drawer!" Aunt Flora rose theatrically from her chair and, gripping my hand tighter, jerked my arm forward so that my entire torso became horizontally suspended across the table, pointing accusingly at Alistair; my fringe dangling in the vindaloo. "Alistair Neal, I put it to you that on the afternoon of Sunday 17th March 1974, you and Tiberius Tubbytuck entered my bedroom, where, aided and abetted by the latter, you deliberately set light to the contents of my knicker drawer, causing a devastating fire which could have resulted in unspeakable loss of human life."
"No... No... That's not true."
"Liar, liar pants on fire!" yelled Jocasta.
"DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT BURN MY KNICKERS?"
"Alright, alright, I burned them! I burned them!" gasped Alistair.
"Thank you," replied Aunt Flora, sitting down again; a look of smug satisfaction painted across her face.
"I didn't want to Aunty. Tibby said he'd -"
"I'm not interested in the whys and the wherefores Alistair. I just wanted a confession from you."
"I'm really, really sor -"
"Two-faced twit - same old squit!" cried Jocasta, cutting him off short.
Alistair glared at her with dagger eyes.
"Look, who in God's name are you?" he demanded.
"I'm your aunt Hilda dear."
"What?!" Alistair looked back bewilderedly at Aunt Flora. "Then who the hell are you then?"
"Can't you guess... Al?"
"Mother?!"
"By George, he's got it! I decided that it would be more efficacious if I pretended to be Hilda as she's a bit too doolally to have gotten the truth out of you. - No offence Hilda."
"None taken dear."
"Thankfully her long-term memory is still pretty good, so she was able to fill me in on most of the facts. I was also able to coach her to say 'liar, liar pants on fire!' at the crucial moment when I gave her the nod. Hilda's other impassioned contributions were all her own work."
"I'm having trouble taking this in," said Alistair, a horrified expression on his face.
"I found it hysterical you believed we have TVs and microwaves here. Did you think you'd be able to spend the afterlife watching dirty foreign films and eating ready meals?"
"What? I never believed it for a second."
"Of course you didn't Al."
"Hold on. - How can I be sure you're my mother and not some malignant spirit? Tell me something about me that only she'd know."
"While still on your honeymoon you seduced three Catholic nuns during their annual coach trip to the Shrine of the Virgin."
"I was doing the work of the Lord; testing one of their holy vows. Unfortunately they were found wanting."
"When poor hysterical Philippa found out, demanding you admit the truth, all you could say was: 'Three nuns! I must be the only atheist who can say he's enjoyed communion with the Holy Trinity.'"
"Okay, okay, you can stop Mother! The thing is you tricked me."
"I was a barrister Al. I was trained to trick people."
"Defendants and the jury Mother! I'm your son!"
"God help me."
"I don't believe this. I innocently turn up at a séance and what do I find? - That my late mother has hijacked the whole thing; cajoling a saintly, confused old lady into joining her in an underhand scheme to make me confess to something that happened decades ago, as if you were back in the courtroom and I was standing accused. All I wanted was to reminisce with my lovely aunt Hilda. It breaks my heart, it really does."
"Reminisce! The only thing you wanted was to get your grubby little hands on Hilda's money!"
"Oh, don't you ever stop Mother? When your clogs finally popped I thought I wouldn't have to listen to your unremitting codswallop anymore. How could I have been so naive as to believe death would be an obstacle for you? Haven't you got anything else better to do, like sit on a cloud and play a harp? Or perhaps you're on furnace-stoking duties in the basement."
"You were a vile, spiteful, self-centred child from the beginning Alistair Algernon Neal! Your poor father tried to persuade me that it was a phase you were going through. He was right of course. - Although I doubt he realized that that phase would be your entire life."
"You're cruel Mother, so cruel."
"How do you spend your days now Al? Still swanning around with those repulsive Hooray Henrys getting sozzled? Gambling? Fornicating? Where on earth did I go wrong? I was a good mother and always tried to listen. Have you even got a proper job?"
"Well I -"
"God knows where you get your debauched genes from. Definitely not from me or your father. I still wonder whether they mixed the babies up in the Maternity Unit. Oh Al, what exactly is your role in society? I really want to know."
"I -"
"Arsonist? Alcoholic? Gambler? Transvestite?..."
Alistair tensed his shoulders and shot an anxious look at everyone around the table.
"Trans what?.. No!" he spluttered.
"Alistair, I'm your mother! You probably spent half your childhood fumbling inside my and my sister's wardrobes. I once found your Action Man's helmet in my panty girdle!.. Adulterer? Habit-ripper?.."
"Okay Mother.- So what worthy role did you play?"
"I sent down more criminals than any barrister who has ever come from Chipping Norton! Needless to say my death was a huge blow to the criminal justice system. Had I lived longer, scores more delinquent scumbags would have got time in Her Majesty's Pleasure Palace."
"Didn't that upset Prince Philip?"
"No. Why would it?"
"And the criminals benefitted from this?"
"They came out better than when they went in."
"Good gracious! The sacrifices that woman made for our country!"
"That's right.- Make everything into a big joke like you always do."
"You're just upset that your life was cut short when you thought you had years of moaning ahead of you. And now the only means you have left to get at me is through this ridiculous séance. Well that's it Mother - I'm pulling the plug!" said Alistair; yanking his hands free from the grip of Jocasta and the Colonel.
Aunt Flora and Jocasta's eyes closed and their heads flopped forwards. Miranda and I shuffled nervously in our chairs, then exchanged a knowing look; trying to avoid eye contact with Alistair.
"Well... That was interesting," said a grinning Miranda, finally breaking the silence.
"Interesting! It was remarkable!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Not since the Uzbec forces were annihilated by the Russians in the 1875 action of Makram have I known one side get so completely outmanoeuvred on the battlefield."
"Oh piss off you silly old sod!" snapped Alistair, rising awkwardly from his chair. "Much as I'd love to hear more about Ethel's buttocks and Cyril's meat and two veg, I have to go. Don't bother getting up. I'll let myself out."
Alistair staggered across the room and went out into the lobby. Hearing an impressive stream of Anglo Saxon as he struggled with the front door latch, I quickly got up to follow. When I reached the lobby I found the door wide open. Looking out into the dark street beyond, I heard a yelp, what sounded like a wheelie bin falling over, then a moan. As I stepped out to investigate, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Aunt Flora. She raised her arm and pointed towards the front gate. There was a tinkling sound. Then out of the shadows a small bottle appeared, rolling steadily down the long garden path towards us. As it reached Aunt Flora, she raised her leg and trapped it under her slipper. Bending down to pick it up, she stared at the label. It was Alistair's whisky bottle. After a short sojourn in the hedge it must have fallen onto the path where it had waited to exact its revenge.
"Dear oh dear. - Poor Alistair," said Aunt Flora. "That's the third spirit that's got the better of him tonight."