I have heart shaped balloons and decapitated heads hanging from my trees. All local villains of course: a wife beater, a nasty nanny and an author of badly written young adult romance novels. Dingle dangle in the breeze. I put party hats on them; even the dead need some fun.
I’ve been so lonely since my adventures with Detective White and Walnut. I sent them Christmas presents; some chocolates (laced with a heavy laxative) for Detective White, and a gift wrapped hand grenade for Walnut. I had such fun selecting that.
They sent me a thank you card, of course, which I keep, along with all my correspondence, in the bird cage of the stuffed parrot in the study:
Dear Mr Loveheart,
Words cannot really express my feelings towards your gifts. Thankfully (for me) Walnut ate my chocolates and spent the rest of the day in the Scotland Yard privy. He thanks you for the hand grenade which he keeps in the office, in the biscuit tin.
We hope you received our present, which was a bottle of wild fig brandy.
Kind Regards
Percival & Walnut
Now where did I put that figgy brandy? Oh, yes, it’s in the trifle, under the layer of custard. Soaking up sponge.
Ha ha. Now where was I? Oh yes, Christmas time was very interesting. I had a little adventure involving a zombie Christmas party in Highgate, which I will tell you about on another occasion.
But today is my birthday and I am one year older. One year madder.
The buffet is a dream boat, stuffed with goodies. Ahoy, Captain Sponge Cake! See jellies, green, red and yellow, wobble about merrily. A mountain of whipped cream. Finger food! Sausage rolls and love heart shaped fairy cakes. Heart-shaped balloons float in the air. A giant red heart cake sits in the middle with a devilish cream cheese topping. A splodge of love; dip your finger in and taste the love. Mmmmmm. Custard tarts and a humorous cheeseboard with some dates and a bunch of fat grapes.
Let me introduce my party guests. Poking the brie, we have the retired actress and very good friend of mine, Mrs Lavender Charm. She also writes medieval horrors and makes excellent chutney. Her apricot and walnut is my favourite. Her latest book, Skulls of the Plague Lord, is marvellous fun. It has people screaming with black pustules, a lot of whipping and sinister limping monks. I’ve given her a pink party hat; it sits on her head like a fairy crown. Maybe she has a wand in her carpet bag? Make a wish, give her a kiss.
I am wearing, as it’s my birthday, my favourite red waistcoat and a red party hat.
“Mr Loveheart,” Mrs Charm says, smiling like a good fairy, “don’t you look handsome!” and she pinches my cheek. “You lovely naughty boy.”
“Sausage roll, my dear lady?” I offer her the plate.
“I can never resist a sausage,” she replies, waggling it about.
“Nor should you, Madam,” I concur.
The balloons float into the air; see the hearts, see the hearts in my kingdom take flight, float away. Maybe they will find the stars, reach into space. Drift into the cosmos. Become part of a starscape.
I can see you, balloons. I can see you. Off you float, become part of a star map.
Mr Loveheart and his kingdom of hearts.
Let me dazzle you. Fold you into my timelines. Unravel you. Let’s go mad together, my love. Juggle teacups. Bend reality like a headmaster’s cane. Thwack you on the bottom with it until you understand. I am the magic man and I want to dangle your head from my trees.
See the beautiful balloon go pop.
Oh, my mind is wandering again.
Out from the shrubbery steps Rufus Hazard, wearing a wonky orange party hat and smoking an enormous cigar. He’s brought his machete with him with which he trims the azaleas.
“Wonderful piece of weaponry this; slices a head off as smooth as butter. I tell you, they just BOING off into the wilderness! Happy Birthday, you mad old fruit,” he grins, his red moustache quivering.
“It is marvellous to see you again.”
“I never miss a party, old boy. I’ve just got back from a little excursion in the Highlands. Nearly got sacrificed to a coven of witches. Had to shoot my way out!” He laughs and his moustache wobbles on his upper lip.
“Witches are feisty,” I say, biting into a custard tart.
“Indeed they are. One of them had hold of my leg, the saucy mare. I couldn’t shake her off. I had to boot her in the head, the minx! Now tell me, who are the other guests, Loveheart? Any beauties for me?”
“Mrs Charm. The retired actress.” I point over to the dear lady.
“I saw her as Titania many moons ago. Superb legs.” He sucks on his cigar.
“Lady Beetle and her young son, Horatio.” They are loitering by the champagne.
“Fine looking woman. Is she attached?”
“Husband dead. Buried near the compost heap at the back of her estate, so I understand.”
“Egads! A black widow spider, eh?” and his eye glitters.
“Mr Grubweed, retired undertaker.” He stands alone, spooning an enormous heap of green jelly into a bowl and splatting cream on top.
“Odd-looking fellow. And how do you know these people exactly?”
“It’s the first time I’ve met them, excluding Mrs Charm. They’re my neighbours. Aren’t they funny.”