Mr Priestley 'pops in'

Franz and I had just settled down to enjoy an elderflower cordial today, when who should arrive at our gate but Mr Priestley. Our attempt to hide was sadly mistimed.

Mr Priestley had just returned from a family holiday in Wales, a remote and mountainous area attached to the western coast of Shropshire. He said that they were just passing and thought that they would 'pop in'. But when I asked why his family had not joined us in the garden, he replied that they were overtired and were keen to get home. Franz told me later that he distinctly saw Mrs Priestley lock the car doors when Mr Priestley got out. Mr Priestley's son appeared to have his eyes tightly shut.

I had the distinct impression that there must be an ulterior motive for this visit and so it transpired. After a tedious description of the delights of a place supposedly called Portmeirion, Mr Priestley let slip a piece of news concerning Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror. He was clearly very excited about it, and I would pass it on to you now were it not for the fact that he made me promise to remain silent for the next few days until it is formally announced. Then he returned to his car and left at high speed. Franz and I returned to our cordial.

I made that promise and I am a man of my word. I shall say nothing for the moment. I may even forget to mention it at all.