Agatha Armitage: letter two

A continued (and similarly absurd) adventure... featuring the same hot air balloon, an enviable collection of pond-water & a paprika room diffuser.

Dear Friend,

Please do excuse the biscuit crumbs which will, invariably, fall from the envelope when you open this. I hope they don’t make you too jealous, but I’ve had a craving for digestive biscuits since my Hot Air Balloonist forgot to offer me one, and couldn’t help but buy a couple dozen packs from Sainsbury’s (I would have bought more, but they issued a Formal Letter of Trespass after my thirty-sixth packet…).

Where was I? Oh, yes. The hot air balloon.

After my dear Hot Air Balloonist jumped from the side of the balloon, I was left in something of a predicament.

I wanted to put out the fire, but the view was also quite beautiful. And you know what they say — you should always take in the view, even when you’re burning half-to-death. Who am I to argue with idioms? So, with the fire crackling around me, I set up my viewing chair and stared out over the ocean. It was just glorious, glimmering with most beautiful silver I ever saw… a colour almost as beautiful as the inside of a crisp packet (which reminds me, actually - I am all out of pickled onion crisps, and really do need an emergency shipment. I trust you are still working as a Pickled Onion Crisps consultant? If not, kindly do tell me because I will have to find another supplier).

The fire only added to the experience… Until, that is, I realised I had forgotten my Marshmallow Bucket! Can you believe it! Who travels to Dorset without a Marshmallow Bucket?!

When you don’t have any marshmallows to toast, fires suddenly become quite offensive, and I couldn’t bare to look at the flaring thing, so I had no choice but to put it out.

All I needed was some water.

Now the good news is that I always travel with my collection of pond water specimens (47 glass vials packed neatly in my case, if you remember correctly), but the bad news is that I couldn’t use them. Can you imagine the sacrifice of such a thing! My vials hold some of the best pond waters in the country; I even have some water from that peanut-shaped pond near your grandmother’s house.

If you’ve been reading this letter carefully, however, you’ll recall that I was, by this time, hovering over the ocean - and, if you didn’t know, the ocean is very wet and made basically entirely of water.

It was simple, really. All I had to do was lower the balloon far enough to dip the basket in the water, rise back up, and HEY PRESTO!, I would be at the Cat Museum in no time!

However, disaster again struck when the basket hit the water, because it was only then that I remembered I forgot to have a bath last night (you won’t judge me too harshly, I hope. You must remember that it was a highly stressful evening, and that I had a rather disgruntled fox to keep happy). On a normal day, this wouldn’t have been TOO much of a problem, but I didn’t particularly want to turn up at the Cat Museum stinking of bananas and paprika (don’t ask… I’m trying out a new room freshener). I’ve heard cats can be snobby about things like that, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being asked to leave.

And so, you see, I had no choice but to abandon the hot air balloon and go for a swim, lugging my suitcase behind me. Thankfully, I always travel with a pocket-bar of soap (you can never trust the ones in restaurants), which meant I was smelling fresh and decidedly un-paprika-like in no time.

I had also landed conveniently close to the coastline, and it didn’t take all that long to reach the beach. I must have looked quite a sight, walking out of the ocean with my suitcase, but—

I would continue, but I’ve just been given a lovely leaflet advertising a vintage railway, and know your scrapbook will want to receive it without delay... I shall seal this now and run in search of a post office this very moment!

I shall write again soon, but you’ll understand that such things simply cannot wait.

Your friend,

Agatha

Illustration by the wonderful Chris Riddell.