This week’s writephoto prompt is

Dear Great Aunt Maybelene

I was sorry to hear you had been arrested for climbing the west tower of Westminster Abbey again.  Mother suggested that, if you remain intent on conquering iconic religious edifices, you might consider getting up the nose of the Bishop of Penge and Piddlehampton since there might be some societal benefit in annoying this aggravating Anglican. I don’t think she understands your motivation, hence the unsympathetic tone to her sarcasm.

I know you are of the unshakeable belief that since Great Uncle Euclid was unfortunately eviscerated while harvesting the swedes you are duty bound to seek out his restless spirit, but I would ask you to consider if Mrs Rinconcubone Alloy is to be your sole source of guidance as to his current whereabouts. While I have no reason to disparage Mrs Alloy’s motivations the fact she appears to be charging you fourteen guineas per séance does suggest, per Mother, that she isn’t exactly neutral when it comes to how she directs your searches.

I would be the first to acknowledge that there are some compensations in how you have approached your quest. You must be one of the fittest 87 year olds in the Piddlehampton WI, though Madelaine Cupnipple’s recent attempt to swim across the Piddle, mangling the Rev’s cassock while singing Jerusalem was a worthy effort and suggests an enviable aerobic capacity while emphasising the dangers of misinterpreting the Bible.

However, if you remain intent on your next assault which I understand will be the East Tower next Sunday, I will of course continue to provide support assuming you are bailed in time. In that connection your new monogrammed crampons have arrived and I will ensure your portable commode will accompany the climb, just in case. In addition, there will be a stall selling some of your memorabilia though we have received complaints that Great Uncle Euclid seemed to possess an inconceivable number of pairs of dentures given we recently sold his 100^th set.

Mother, sadly will not be present. As she remains convinced your behaviour has led to Great Uncle haunting her garden she has arranged for the local priest, a handsome young cove called Randy Thumpthighs to spend some time exploring her lobelia in the hope of exorcizing his spirit while bringing some much need ecclesiastical ecstasy into her life.

I will sign off now. I hope this letter finds you well in solitary; please try and refrain from biting the guards again and can you save the stamp as your Great-Great niece Annunziata has begun collecting them to create her next collage, having been dissuaded from using her pet gerbil’s turds after complaints from her school teachers.

Your loving if rather desperate Great Nephew.

Byzantine