dulwichmum

Dear Mr Batdog! You are alive!!!

I know Mr Mikewbate. He has cast me aside, like an old ... handbag!

I think I would run for the hills if a teenage boy jumped out from an alleyway and asked for a light quite honestly! I wouldn't really mind if he had teenage skin or a furrowed brow!

Dear Mr Dale, A branch of Foxtons really does nothing for me at all. A branch of Starbucks would be a completely different matter!

Please Mr Batdog, come back... why are you not talking to us anymore?

What pray tell is a Jazz mag?

Starbucks, mmmmmmmm. Please don't tantalise me with a headline like this! I miss them so much in Sainsburys. It is a complete tragedy that they have closed for a while.........

Yes Ms Polly Dorner, If it was not for certain people and their unfortunate habbits, it would indeed be paradise!

Looks up from laptop computer, waves accross at Mr Keef. Thinks to self: 'Keef really is the most darling man,' sends text to Ana to bring large bottle of Dom, lunch on tray and dancing girls for good friend Mr Keef. Ana enters room with lunch, alcohol and dancing girls. Ana serves Mr Keef lunch, while girls try to dance quietly - not easy as Irish dancing can be rather loud...

Wafts in wearing amazing perfect white jeans and sheer lime green polka dot top with matching camisole - looking like an advertisement for the Boden catalogue. Removes high heels and enormous white rimmed sunglasses, lifts small dog carefully from enormous handbag and places on cusion next to favourite chair. Accepts Vente latte from au pair who then looks around the room to see who else would like a drink... Glances in small mirror from pocket of handbag, and sighs. Wonders if could be mistaken for Kristin Scott Thomas or Cilla Battersby?

Dear Mr Mockney Piers, My parents are Irish. In the words of Roddy Doyle 'I'm black and I'm proud'.

Mr Snorky, The Times has printed a quote from you now, and it looks as though you may actually approve a tiny bit of the new East Dulwich, am I wrong?

Darling Mr Chartwell, My handbags are a different issue. Always the real McCoy! It is a blind passion of mine...

Dear Chartwell, It's machine washable, what do you think?

She is German and her husband is Greek! Hurrah for the European Union.

Dear Huguenot, I was wondering when someone would spot that! Ha, ha, ha....... I am a lady, and this is a public forum - how else could I have put it so .... politely?

Dear Hillcourtcouple, Was that you behind me just then in Somerfield? You should just count yourselves lucky I didn't have my catapult and ballbearings with me! Grrrrrrrrrrr To think I was standing just inches from you - I was the tall slim figure in the mink coat and white rimmed sun glasses.

Thanks for pointing this out Mr Mightyroar, my two miss it dreadfully. It is the hi-light of Sunday morning in the park for us.

Those are dreadful stories, now I am beside myself with concern for my special chum.

Mr Keef!

Notices low growling coming from handbag, opens bag to find aggitated Mr Batdog, sharpening his teeth on best glass nail file. Stands up in horror as realises that Mr Mikewbate has once again been up to his filthy and unforgivable antics with an old copy of Razzle, a Pritt stick and my photo!!! Mr Batdog leaps from Mulberry Roxanne handbag, flies through the air above 342 PVC inflatable Batdogs, lands on Mr Mikewbates knee, and savages off his front bottom using an enormous electric cutting appliance which he had concealed in his cape! Thinks to self, "I think I love Mr Batdog, he really is quite the hero". Texts Ana to call an ambulance, and arrange for the donkey to be removed to a place of safety. Thinks to self "I fancy a curry", but first gestures to window to Mr Ant to join us for lunch, and texts him... "Ana will sort out the dirty nappies and bottles for you darling when she is finished her other chores". Rings for butler to come to wipe blood splatters from walls, and wipe clean the vinyl Batdogs scattered around the room.

Small dog springs to life and jumps into Dulwichmums waiting arms... Observes in horror as Mr Mikewbate makes a grab for gun, and is grappled to the floor by tall policeman. Kisses tall policeman on the nose, waves to Mr Mikewbate as he is escorted from the premises by by community psyciatric team. Comments quietly as though to self - 'it is a sad man that tries to shoot himself in a club amongst friends!' Provides small dog in handbag with selection of doggy treats from pocket of jacket. Texts Ana to bring some good coffee. Sits down and begins to relax in favourite chair.

Dear Mr Mikewbate, you are a fine one to talk about hygiene after what you have been doing to the Martha Stewart magazine. To the confessional box with you young man - and bring a cushion, you will be there a long time...

Climbs out of the Q7 and returns to the quiet room with an enormous gun. Returns shortly after with small dog and the leg of Mr Mikewbates trousers....

Dear Mr Mikewbate, clearly I typing error - I have rectified it now! Thanks for pointing it out - you naughty boy!