Mad Cook
Master Chef
A friend sent found this email from me when she was sorting out her email account. It'ss a bit out of date as it happened a couple of years ago before I moved house. I was living in one of those Victorian terraced cottages which have a communal walkway at the back from which anyone can see into the back yards of the houses. Non-Brits may need to know that council tax is a tax paid by the residents of houses to cover services funded by the council. Bear in mind I was in my early 60s at the time.
"I was at home this am when there was a hammering on the door. Man from the council on doorstop with clipboard and ID. Informed me that they had evidence that I was getting the single person's discount on my council tax fraudulently! He didn't actually say that I was destined for hard labour on Dartmoor but that was the definite implication.
Ok says I, I don't have to let you in but come in anyway and look round. Sitting room full of boxes of Ma's stuff. Took him upstairs. Invited him into the front, spare bedroom. Also full of Ma's and my stuff - can't see bed or even get to it. Took him into my room - single bed, room minute. Suggested he look under the bed. He blustered a bit and said they had had the house under observation "for some time" and they had irrefutable evidence.
None of my neighbours would be bothered inventing stories as most of them don't know me anyway so what evidence exactly?
Wait for it.....
The wrong sort of underwear had been seen repeatedly on my washing line. I gawped at him and asked what sort of underwear should there be on my line?
Apparently it was the sort of underwear that younger women wear so there must be a younger woman living in my house. "Old women" (like me, presumably) don't wear underwear like that.
(Before you run away with the idea that I wear the sort of peculiar undergarments that used to be advertised in the News of the World and delivered in a plain brown package I should say that it's merely a bit lacy and fairly colourful but definitely more Marks & Spencer than Dita von Tease)
I gave up when he asked me whose underwear it was then and asked him if he'd like me to remove my tee shirt and let him see my underwear. He panicked, said there'd been a mistake and scuttled off.
Thinking of writing, tongue in cheek, to the Finance Dept to ask if they can send me a list of what is considered suitable underwear for a respectable elderly spinster living alone."
"I was at home this am when there was a hammering on the door. Man from the council on doorstop with clipboard and ID. Informed me that they had evidence that I was getting the single person's discount on my council tax fraudulently! He didn't actually say that I was destined for hard labour on Dartmoor but that was the definite implication.
Ok says I, I don't have to let you in but come in anyway and look round. Sitting room full of boxes of Ma's stuff. Took him upstairs. Invited him into the front, spare bedroom. Also full of Ma's and my stuff - can't see bed or even get to it. Took him into my room - single bed, room minute. Suggested he look under the bed. He blustered a bit and said they had had the house under observation "for some time" and they had irrefutable evidence.
None of my neighbours would be bothered inventing stories as most of them don't know me anyway so what evidence exactly?
Wait for it.....
The wrong sort of underwear had been seen repeatedly on my washing line. I gawped at him and asked what sort of underwear should there be on my line?
Apparently it was the sort of underwear that younger women wear so there must be a younger woman living in my house. "Old women" (like me, presumably) don't wear underwear like that.
(Before you run away with the idea that I wear the sort of peculiar undergarments that used to be advertised in the News of the World and delivered in a plain brown package I should say that it's merely a bit lacy and fairly colourful but definitely more Marks & Spencer than Dita von Tease)
I gave up when he asked me whose underwear it was then and asked him if he'd like me to remove my tee shirt and let him see my underwear. He panicked, said there'd been a mistake and scuttled off.
Thinking of writing, tongue in cheek, to the Finance Dept to ask if they can send me a list of what is considered suitable underwear for a respectable elderly spinster living alone."
Last edited:
. I wish I had a clothes line. It takes so long to dry my boxers when I run them up the flag pole one pair at a time.
