Frances overhears a strange conversation

Well, this is rather unusual

Dear Frances Afficionados,

Although a bank holiday, nothing was going to stop Frances’ recent parcel from being stuffed under the door of her cavernous tunnel this morning.

Even though it was what young people call an audio tape from an old-fashioned recording machine circa 1978, it was still slim enough to fit under the door. Luckily for the world, Frances happens to have an old-fashioned recording machine circa 1978, in her sitting room. She uses it to prop up an autographed photograph of her dear, dear misunderstood and much-maligned Japanese friend, Mister G. Zilla.Upon plugging it in, placing the audio tape on the machine and pressing Play, Frances sat back to listen to whatever wonders would emerge from that reel of celluloid.

There were two people talking, both female, one with what young people would call a “posh” voice, the other sounding Germanic in origin.

Herewith, Frances’ transcription:

(Laughter, snorting, clinking of wine glasses, in background)

Posh Female:  Old chum, we are simply so frightfully clever, aren’t we?  Let’s drink to us!

Germanic Female:  Vut?  Oh, yes, vee are chust zo schmart, aren’t vee?  Ha.  Ha.  Hahaha.  Yes, let us cheer each ozzer now.  Ve shall count down from sree, two, vun…

PM:  Yes, yes, no need for such formality, Sabby-poo.  It’s simply too, too much to bear, that the silly-billies in the hoax actually believed our [voice lowered here, accompanied by slight chuckle] little story.  Absolutely delicious!  Have another drinkie. Or maybe I should call it…milkshake!

[inaudible words, sounds of cork being pulled from bottle, laughter and shrieks]

GF:  You shpilled my vine, you fool!  Zis is a vell-run hoax, you dunderhead, we don’t shpill vine in a vell-run hoax!  [lowered voice, saying what sounds like “idiot dunderhead”]

PF:  Relax, Sab-Sab, it’s the best champagne our supporters could buy.  We didn’t pay for it, so calm down. Of course, the money did take a while to arrive, but that’s because, and I don’t quite know how this happened, but apparently it did, because I remember it, I gave them the wrong bank details.  Oh well…!

GF:  [Muttering, apologetically] Oh, vell, hokay, sorry about zat.  Zo!  Vair verr vee?  Ah, ja, ve were talking about ze zilly pipple who believed our little, how you say, story.

Both:  Much laughter, which goes on for quite some time.

PF:  [breathless]  And to think!  To think…we thought it up because we were on the M25, and arguing about which government agency we’d say we were members of!

GF:  I know!  It vas vunderbar!

PF:  Good thing we weren’t driving on Penis Road or Minge Lane, yeah?

GF:  [Sounding slightly mystified] Oh.  Yes.  Ha.  Ha.  Hahaha.

PF:  Silly you, though, for saying we were in M-15, and not MI5.  It took you forever to get that straight.  Classic!

GF:  [Quietly] I don’t sink you need to mock me, Belinda.  Zat is not ze mark of a friend.

PF:  Oh, don’t be ridiculous, mein fraulein mitt den sore back!  Hahahaha…One should really learn to take a joke.

GF:  Really?  You don’t zay.  Vell, how’s ziss for a choke? Your muzzer verrs army boots. You’re zo ugly, your doctor is a vet. You’re zo shtupid you sot Cheneral Motors vass in ze army!! [muttering] Actually, I don’t get zose chokes at all. Here. I haff more:  Ven you eat schnitzengruben, you [inaudible, fading out to sudden shouting, crying, slammed doors]…

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Frances has no idea what to think of this. It leaves her with a series of urgent questions, all of which she hopes to have answered soon:

• Who sent this to her, and why?
• Is the M25 the quickest way to Heathrow?  Frances is planning a trip to visit Japan soon and appreciates any advice.
• And what is schnitzengruben?

Until next time,
Frances