Is there a Doctor in the ’ouse?

Them folk at the Celticle Wireless Corporation ’as asked me again to write some words for this ’ere blog thing after my successful little piece of nonsense last month, so ’ere I am.

They’s got this programme called The Underground Ablution, see, and— [Underground Edition, Amelia. – Ed.]

There’s that bloody Ed again, pokin’ ’is nose in. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, that Underground whatever they calls it, with Bill Everard or whatever ’is name is— [Everatt, Amelia. – Ed.]

Will you kindly stop interruptin’ me, boy! It’s gettin’ on me nerves.

Anyway, like, there’s this little slot introduced by that nice Mr Ambrose Johns and— [Andrew John, Amelia. – Ed.] Whatever! An’ he reports from that nice little ’amlet called Little Bibbling under Flossock, what you can make out from the other side of the M39, if you’s sittin’ down. That’s where I lives – at number 42 Cobblers’ Cottages.

Now it can’t have escaped your notice, unless you’re a blithering idiot – and there’s a lot of them hereabouts – that there’s a new Doctor on your telly. I don’t know nothin’ about it meself, like, ’cos we only gets telly in the Ancient Bibblin’ language, see. But I hear tell it’s good.

Well, when this month’s Bibblin’ report first went out in 2008 – that’s in your calendar, o’ course, not the Bibblin’ calendar, which is altogether more logical with twenty-six and a half days per month, regular, like, none o’ this messin’ around with thirty-one days ’ere and thirty days there . . . But I’s forgotten where I was.

Oh, yes. This month’s report features an idiot Celticle Wireless Corporation reporter called Elvis Twinge, what went to our neighbouring village of Much Fondling on the Grope to report on the appointment of a new Doctor on account of ’ow the old one ’ad just resigned, like. Seems like only yesterday, dunnit?

An’ by the end of it I don’t think that nice Andrea Jones was very pleased. But you’ll ’ave to tune in – well, I thinks they calls it downloadin’ or sommat fancy – an’ listen.

You might as well listen to the whole programme while yer at it, an’ all. All a bit too jivey and loud for the likes of me, what is ninety-three, but there you goes. They didn’t feature me in this one, but that’s their loss! But I’ll be in some of ’em before the year’s out.

Oh, they ’as this thing called Easter hereabouts, and the folk at Celticle Wireless Corporation gave me a sort of brown egg. Bloody useless. Collapsed and went all melty as soon as I dropped it into a pan o’ boilin’ water, it did.

That’s modern stuff for yer!

About Amelia Spleenwort

My name is Mrs Amelia Spleenwort, aged 93, of 42 Cobblers' Cottages, Little Bibbling under Flossock, which you just see at the other side of the M39, if you're sittin' down. People says my part of the world is a bit weird, like, but I says it's the rest of you what is bonkers.

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