Homage to Spike Milligan

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Homage to Spike Milligan

A portrait of Spike Milligan.

Dear Wills

I'm not sure if I'm going to write this letter or not, so if you don't get it, that's why (Write and let me know in either case).

I don't know what the weather is like there, but it is the same here. By the way we might come up there on holiday. If I don't see you when I arrive, it's because I've decided not to come. We were going to visit last year too but as you hadn't moved to where you are now because you were somewhere else, there didn't seem much point. How's the wife? No, not yours, mine . (If you can see her from there, you've got bloody good eyes!) We were abroad last year – The Paris Hilton! We even talked to her but she didn't recognise me, even though we'd never met.

As I lay here writing this letter, I see Mary is in bed beside me, which is strange, as my wife is called Alice. Oh yes, now I remember – it's my cousin Mick's wife, who's come to visit and I'm in the wrong bedroom again. My eyes are not what they used to be – I think they used to be my armpits, which could explain why my sight stinks. Children grow up so quick nowadays. Last week, Donald my eldest, was fifteen and this week he's sixteen (Birthdays – who'd have them, except people who are older).

My mother would like to say something but as she's tied and gagged in the garage, that would be difficult. We tried to give her a respray, so we could get her deported as one of those illegal immigrants (She always wanted to see the Taj Mahal, so we thought it would be a nice Christmas Present for her but she wouldn't hear of it. 'You're too generous son,' was all she said as I dragged her screaming and kicking outside. 'No Turkey for you this year!' I said (or India for that matter)). 'Now where's that spade?' (She always wanted to be buried beside my father but I think she was expecting to be dead first. Still nowadays, you can't always get what you want). Must go now. Someone is knocking at the door and I think it is the police collecting for Charity and as she isn't here, I'll have to answer the door myself.

Your friend

Pope Pius, The Tenth (only kidding – Pope Pius, The Eleventh!). No, I'm fibbing again, it's just me, as you'll recognise from the photo I didn't send.

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