Dear Mrs. Tripp Lady

Dear Mrs Tripp Lady
I have the Honour to undress you from my little home in Mbasa Sind Leoto. Your humble serpent and his seventin bothers all march eight miles every day to a small wood mud internest cafe ten miles afar were we spend a days half wages to watch your writhings through a small magicl widow to your distinct land. Your magnifisent verbage astounds us all and we expect more astonishment when we learn to stand under it. We all search the hevens daily for the gentileman in the balloon. One thing we cannot believe. Do some parsons peel the eggs before consume them? They must have money to set fire to. Our chickhens are trained from birth to seek out and consume all chalkie stuff which our wise men say keeps our bonus at attention. The World is repeatedly increasing to a smaller place so you may soon learn also the wisedom of our wise and medicl men. My bothers and your humble serpent have observed that the porpoise of your widow is sister to an oracle and demands that an enquirie must be maid before your spirit ansers. We have disgust for two days and have agreed on our enquirie :- How are you doing?

Please to unveil your goodself of an exellent day

Nedal Nib Amaso. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dear Mr. Nib Amaso,
I am delighted that someone can finally see me in the way in which they were meant to! Very well done! Did you know I could also see you, once the smoke cleared? So there you are, you naughty boy, hiding in South Africa!

If you are referring in your letter to my advice regarding the noise made when masticating egg shells (When It Comes To The Crunch), then yes, eggs within my culture are peeled anywhere that people in confined quarters who are not yet deaf are forced to live together in groups of more than one. A lack of organic calcium is ultimately seen as more desirable than a lack of self-control which could conceivably result in manslaughter, or worse.

The oracle to which you refer is set in place to facilitate communications between myself and the Otherworld (with which your Sangoma’s must be quite familiar) in order to correctly accomplish my task here on Earth. As you probably are aware, I am advisor to both the living and the dead, and I feel I must state here, the living are very much more trouble.

After carefully considering your question and going into meditation I achieved the following result:

Before me lay a clear and limpid pool with a bit of mist, surrounded by ferns. Behind me lay burning veldt. Before me again, but after the limpid pool part, dark forests sweep ever upwards towards frozen Northern wastelands where howling winds scream for evermore over icy tundra. Bugger that for a lark!

Now the moment of truth has come, and I lean down towards the pool, searching its sparkling depths for coins people have chucked in during petitions to the local goddess of the spring (who is no better than she should be), as I have to get something out of this, you will agree. The mist that’s clinging still to the waters surface finally disperses so I can get a good look. There am I, surrounded by the usual golden sparkles! This always makes me a little emotional, as I’m not visible in an ordinary mirror. I look, I must say, remarkably vibrant and robust, so thank you, gentlemen, I am doing very well!

As I have not yet answered the letter regarding the gentleman in the balloon I acknowledge fully the prowess of your wise men. If you spot him, please let me know soonest. Losing people was never good for business, as you know. Greetings to the entire 18 of you!

Most sincerely,
Dame Wotta Tripp X

Dear Readers: Above you is a photograph of the charming 'Internest Cafe'