I am reporting to you some bewildering changes to life at Spindle Towers. My daytime activities have been severely hampered as it would seem that the Tiny Terror and Hector have both decided to dedicate their lives to hermitude and isolation, and I fear I will never be left alone again! I casually questioned them about this new turn of events and it is because there is a virus circulating and the tiny terror is apparently vulnerable, she said she was venerable, but I heard venereal. A mild scuffle broke out as she fought to protect her good name. Words were exchanged. 

This news was quite alarming and I had to hurry and telephone to cancel all my week’s arrangements that I had made thus far. I have been an enterprising Spindle and have been hiring out one of the bedrooms for Nelson’s new hobby/business. 

On Tuesdays, Thursdays and alternate Fridays, he becomes Mystical Nelson, keeper of furtive secrets and all round fortune conjurer. It was his idea but I quickly saw the merit in it and agreed to host and split the profits. We had gone all out to set the scene and I had draped a beautiful rich red velvet around the walls, festooned the room with candles and had set up a large leather chair for him to perch in. 

I must say he looks very authoritative as he inhabits this persona, bedecked in a billowing gold cape and a ruched satin cap with a sumptuous tassel (all discovered in Hector’s wardrobe I may add). Thankfully Nelson’s errant appendage is now under more control with the aid of a specially commissioned pair of industrial strength lederhosen.

It had been rather illuminating so far. Sister Josephine had been a frequent attendee, as had an incredibly dashing chap called Eggy Elton. I must admit that his jaunty bonhomie and all round endearing smile had made my knees tremble and I have taken to wearing reinforced bloomers when he attends, lest I reveal myself. There have been queues of excited customers, clamouring for his attention, which he naturally loved. 

After a good hour of ringing around I congratulated myself on such a speedy saving of the situation. That was until the doorbell rang and I heard a familiar ‘cooeeeee’. I had forgotten to tell Nelson and he had wafted through into the kitchen in full costume, clutching his beloved crystal ball and a portable smoke machine.

There was a moment of intense silence as we all stared at Nelson, and then, the loons fell about laughing, until brown paper bags were needed to calm them down. The sudden shock of this unexpected reveal caused Nelson’s paws to loosen their grip and his ball dropped to the ground with a crash, as a sad little puff of smoke was emitted.

Poor Nelson, there he stood, my love, robbed of dignity and his favourite divining props. I knew he was upset when he called Hector a canker arsed chump and flounced out of the room. I hurried after him to soothe his feelings, the hoots of laughter still echoing in my earflaps as I went.

It took quite a long time to cheer Nelson up, but he eventually perked up when I waved a plate of custard creams and a bottle of Merlot in front of him.

Fear not though my dearest pals, Sister Josephine has promised that she will employ Nelson in the Velvet Marmoset, who for the uninitiated is a glorious nightclub of some reputation, as can be seen by its marketing:

Any earthly worries, you will forget

once safe inside the Marmoset

Give in to it my dears, to all it has

your unbridled desires, leather clad

The point of this unfortunate tale is that it would seem I will be having company at Spindle Towers for the foreseeable future. It may well be the same with you, my dear pals. If so, then we shall have to keep our spirits up, support one another, and most of all keep ourselves safe.

I will write soon, until then my dear, dear pals

Pip Pip

Hound note: This is my 70th diary entry and I therefore believe I deserve a congratulatory sausage for unwavering commitment and services to writing.