You would think that at the age of 79, I should know not to have a tin of beans on toast for supper. Farting Thomas was glad of the leftovers, but Lester curled up on the settee and stayed there all night.

It has been 83 days since my last confession—or, rather, since my last letter to you. I am afraid I have been confessing my sins rather loudly around the house since watching a film about an exorcism on telly last week.

How is life under the African sun treating you? I am happy to hear you take the trouble of covering all those moles before going out. Here, we haven’t seen the sun in quite a while. I am beginning to think it has given up on us here in the north of the world.

The vicar came by a few evenings ago. I didn’t want to let him in, but the rain was coming down in buckets. So, I did my Christian duty and let him come into the foyer. By foyer, you know I mean that tiny hole before one enters my kitchen, where Jack’s old raincoat takes up all the room.

He (the vicar) wanted me to help with the next church fundraiser. I said no. I did not say why not, and he did not ask. If he had asked, I would have told him I was already helping the library plan an event of great magnificence. But more about that in a later letter.

He (still the vicar) then asked why he hadn’t seen me in the pews lately. I simply told him that my haemorrhoids were acting up. That should keep him from asking me silly questions. He knows full well it is freezing inside that building. If he had any wit, he could have said that the cold seat was just what my backside needed. He didn’t say anything, and I laughed quietly at my irreverence.

Life here in the village is as exciting as ever. Mable, the barmaid from The Two Oaks, got herself married. Again. In fact, for the third time. I popped in there for an ale after a walk the other day. She seems elated. Number Three wasn’t there, so I shan’t speak to his state of mind.

Do you remember my old neighbour, Mr Froth? Or is it Frost? Back when he moved in next door, I could never tell. Besides, it is far too late to ask him again now, even if he did finally get a new set of teeth.

Anyway, I have decided to gift him a coupon for Christmas. I know it goes against all I stand for and consider holy, but just hear me out. I have decided to get him this coupon for a year’s supply of sugar from the grocer. It’s not because I mind lending him sugar; he always returns it. But therein lies the problem: he is forever at my door!

Please write to me soon. I am dying to hear about all those safaris you must undertake just to get to the supermarket. Oh, I know. You use a donkey cart. Can’t be that challenging at all.

Enough of today’s ridiculousness. You are and will always be my dearest friend, and I miss you terribly.

Love and hot tea,

Ada