peer back over towards the property once I’d reached the relative safety of the road beyond. It was then, in a blinding flash, that I had what I now refer to – somewhat vaingloriously, I’ll admit – as my ‘Moment of Epiphany’.88
As I looked back at TP’s property from a greater distance, I was able – with the benefit of perspective – to observe that recent renovation works to the bungalow had resulted in the temporary removal of large sections of the external fascia,89 so that all that now remained of the property’s original structure was the roof, the window frames and a series of basic, internal walls and supports, many of which had been copiously wrapped in thick layers of protective plastic (to safeguard the property against the worst of the weather, I suppose). By dint of this expedient, I suddenly realized with a sharp gasp, TP’s home had lately been transformed (voluntarily or otherwise) into a giant simulacrum of a monstrous, semi-transparent poo-bag!90
As this – admittedly strange and somewhat hysterical – thought caught a hold of me, a second thought,91 running almost in tandem with it, quickly overtook my mind: if no evidence of excrement could be found in TP’s garden – not even faeces from her own four dogs – then where on God’s earth might it actually be…?
What?!
I suddenly froze.
‘MARY, MOTHER OF JESUS!’ I bellowed, then quickly covered my mouth with my hand.92 But wasn’t it obvious?! Hadn’t the simple answer to this most perplexing of questions been staring me in the face all along?!
The moor!
Our beautiful, unbesmirched, virgin moor!
TP had not – as she’d always emphatically maintained – been piously and dutifully collecting/bagging excrement left by other, irresponsible dog owners, during those long, dark, nightly hikes of hers. Oh no! Quite the opposite, in fact! TP had actually been carefully bagging prodigious quantities of HER OWN FOUR DOGS’ EXCREMENT and then CHEERFULLY FESTOONING THE LOCAL FOOTPATHS WITH IT!!!
‘Good Lord!’ I can almost hear you howl, your smooth, firm cheeks flushed pink with rage and indignation. ‘But… but why?’
I’m afraid that this is a question which – for all of my age and experience – I cannot answer. I can only imagine that TP must derive some sick and perverse feeling of excitement/ gratification from performing this debased act. Perhaps it is an entirely sexual impulse, or maybe she has some deep yet inexplicable grudge against the people of Burley Cross which she is ‘acting out’ through this strange and depraved pastime. Or perhaps the good people of this village have unwittingly come to ‘represent’ something (or someone) to TP from her tragic past and she feels the uncontrollable urge to punish/ insult/degrade us all as a consequence of that. Or maybe – just maybe – a whole host of entirely different impulses are at play here. Shoshana had the fascinating idea that as a small child TP might’ve developed ‘issues’ during her anal phase93 brought on by an overly strict and prohibitive potty-training regimen. She discussed this idea with a neighbour of ours who might properly be called an ‘expert’ in the field, and they explained to her – at some length – how as children we have an innocent, perfectly natural conception of our own faeces as a kind of ‘gift’94 which we generously share with our parents.
Shoshana wondered whether TP’s emotional/psychological development as a child was halted/blocked at this critical stage, leading to an unusual fixation with faeces in adult life, which, many decades later, still gives TP the childlike compulsion to ‘share’ this ‘precious’ substance with all of her friends and neighbours.95
Whatever the real reasons for TP’s extraordinary behaviour, the hard fact remains that she is currently posing a serious threat to the health and safety of the general public and must be stopped as a matter of some urgency. To this end I sent a lengthy email to Trevor Horsmith, insisting that he take some kind of positive action to deter TP from her foul and aberrant path.
Horsmith,96 while professing himself to be ‘very interested’ in my theories, calmly informed me that unless he was able to catch TP red-handed (transporting faeces from her home and depositing them on the moor) then he would be unable to take any kind of prohibitive action against her. Given that TP prefers to walk only after dark and Trevor Horsmith’s working hours finish promptly at five, the likelihood of this ever happening is – at best, I feel – extremely limited. Horsmith also went on to discourage me – and in no uncertain terms,97 either – from taking any kind of independent action myself, claiming that a matter this sensitive was – I quote – ‘always better left in the hands of qualified professionals’.98
So there you have it, Ms Withycombe: a detailed summary of the complex web of problems our small – but perfectly formed – village is currently struggling to grapple with. Call me a foolish old optimist (if you must!), but I have a strong presentiment that your input in this matter will prove most beneficial, and am keenly looking forward to bashing out some kind of joint plan of action with you at the start of the New Year.
Yours, in eager anticipation,
Jeremy – aka Jez – Baverstock
PS Merry Christmas! (I almost forgot!!)
PPS You will probably have noticed that I have taken the great liberty of enclosing a small, festive gift for your private enjoyment over the holiday season: an – as yet – unpublished book99 I once wrote about my nefarious activities as a reconnoitrer, black hat and mole inside the Royal Horticultural Society of Great Britain.100
XXJ
3, The Mead
Denby Lane
Fallow Hill
(nr Burley Cross)
20 December, 2006
Hold on to your hat, Jess…
And yell HALLELUJAH! Because MEREDITH HAS FOUND HER JESUS! She’s finally found him! I wrung it out of her while we were stacking away the chairs, straight after you left. You were completely right! It was exactly as you said! She’d known for literally weeks and was just keeping the information back (out of caution? Mischief? Spite?!). You said you didn’t trust her, Jess, and you were spot-on. Spot-on!
SHE’S FOUND HIM, JESS! And we’re officially THE FIRST TWO PEOPLE IN THE WHOLE WORLD TO KNOW ABOUT IT! (Well, apart from her, obviously, and ratty little Sebastian – her loyal henchman – who was glowering at her, furiously, across
