MY  BOOK  HAS  BEEN  RELEASED  AND  IS  NOW  FOR  SALE.  EBOOK COMING SOON!  I will announce its release on this website. 


Bella asks hundred-year-old Liza Weebs a question posed by a reader -

Yes, it’s me again. Bella Wildeve from Cornwall. I’m the one who went to Greece this summer. I’m also the one who told you about hundred-year-old Liza Weebs. Liza  who goes barefoot everywhere. She reminds me of those organic Indians living deep in the Amazonian rainforest. Only instead of being surrounded by banana leaves and naked babies, she comes with alcohol and dirty aprons. Unfortunately, there is no genteel way to introduce Liza. Fair warning . . .

But to get to the point, a blog reader called Snuffygump has a question for her:

So glad to hear from Bella. This will be a wonderful and much looked forward to addition to the blog. I do have questions that I want to ask various residents of Halfmoon. Liza Weebs in particular. Say, I think I found a perfect match for her a few weeks back while I was visiting the optician. This man stood out because it had snowed the previous day, yet he entered into the waiting room wearing flip flops. Flip flops on a 90 year old man….yep, he is younger than Liza which I know she will approve. Anyway, I couldn’t help but check out this oldtimers tootsies. I kid you not, he was a candidate for the Guiness Book of World Records. The toenails extended a good 3/4 inch past and over the end of the flip flop. They were ridged and had a dull tobacco stain golden brown color. Now, I don’t know how I would ever find this gentleman again, but, my question for Liza is: would she be interested and, if so, would she be up to running a personal ad in the Montana Standard in order to locate this guy? I can assure her that the guy no doubt is a surviving miner from the glory days of the Berkley Pit Copper Mine and already possesses a taste for Pasties.

After I read the comment to Liza, she started fingering her warty earlobe, a sure sign she is thinking. She twiddles it like it’s a tuning knob to her brain.

Liza: What’s a flip flop?

Me: That’s not the point.

Liza: It is if I’m going to marry this man. Is a flip flop worth a lot of money?

Me: No.

Liza: Well then, girlie, this is a hard one. He’s ninety. A bit too old for me, but not bad. If he doesn’t have a lot of money then he has to be fit. I won’t take on a man who’s about to snuff it . . .  Wait a tic. What was the name of this person who found this man?

Me: Snuffygump

Liza: I had a bite of snuffygump once on a water biscuit. It were good, but it gave me bum sauce so bad, me husband thought it were the last trumpet when he heard me in the loo. He were on his knees praying when I came in to ask if he wanted bangers with his tea.

Me (scarred for life): Liza, what on earth are you talking about?

Liza: Snuffygump. Isn’t it that smeary cheese covered in nuts?

Me: Apparently.

Liza: Girlie, speak up!

Me: Snuffygump said that the name is a mix of a characters from the southern part of the United States. It’s also the name she gave to her last cat. I think it’s rather fun.

Liza: Why are we wasting our time speaking about cats? Let’s get back to my mystery nob.

(At this point, let me confess that I was afraid she was going to start talking about cheese again, but I was wrong.)

Liza: Let me think . . . (She twiddled her earlobe so fiercely I thought her warts were going to detach and roll) . . . It sounds like this man is fit. A miner, you say? He’s hardy, girlie. Good, thick, strong nails. But what about his teeth?

Me: I don’t know, do I?

Liza: This Snuffygump says I can run a personal ad in the Montana Standard. What’s that?

Me: I think she means that you can take out a personal advertisement in their local rag.

Liza: Maybe I should send a picture. I look a right treat in me red bathing costume. Sets off me moles. Did I tell you if you connect them up with a marker they make  a hexagon? Wait a tic . . . perhaps I’d better send a picture of my sister instead. She were always the looker in our family. I had the personality, but she had the red hair.

Me: (Trying unsuccessfully to repress . . . everything) You have a sister?

Liza: Hazel. She be the youngest. Only 89 last month. Will a picture cost extra?

Me: I don’t know.

Liza: You don’t know much, do you. You can leave now. Wait, I’ll wrap up a scone for Jude.

I had to wait for the scone. I took it even though it was charred. Which explained the smell of flaming tires. I had at first thought my computer was starting to crash. Then I thought the Moonstone pub was burning its trash on the seawall again. . . Burnt scones. Brilliant! Now I’m going to have to go home and wash the smell out of my hair.

(Snuffygump, if you’re reading this, I told my nine-year-old brother Gabriel about your name, and he’s been calling the Pengarths’ cat Snuffygump. She responds to it quite well now.)

Talk to you later.

If you would like, leave a comment or observation in the comments section under this.

Have fun!

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