By now I am sure that all the good citizens of our fair town are aware that while cleaning out Tilly’s attic, Milly, (Tilly’s second cousin on her father’s side) found the now famous erotic manuscript, “101 Nights of Passion”. Being of an entrepreneurial bent herself, Milly let no grass grow under HER feet in getting it submitted to a publisher. But not even in her wildest imagination, (and believe me she has one) did Milly expect the book to make as much money as it did.
It is an unfortunate fact of record that Milly Heppleworth has suffered as a manic-depressive for many years, thus gaining the nickname, “Willy-nilly Milly". But since the success of Tilly’s novel, Milly has gone completely around the bend.
With the added freedom of her new found fortune, Milly, during her manic episodes, has been known to hop a plane on a whim and have sleep over at a castle in Scotland and then the next day strike out for Afghanistan to join the Opium Poppy Harvest Festival. There is a shocking picture of Milly on the Internet obviously tipsy on fermented camel’s milk. Our Tilly would have been mortified. . . Although come to think of it, “Our Tilly” wasn’t exactly who she seemed to be either, eh? (Wink wink)
Recently, after a particularly long manic phase, Milly convalesced in the south of France attended by some of the finest psychotherapists money could buy.
In any case, there is sure to be an excessively lavish party after the ribbon cutting, because we have it directly from Edna Pennyroyal that Milly seems to be firmly in a manic phase at the moment.
“She was dressed in a hot pink psychedelic tent dress with a turquoise feather boa around her neck, and was wearing red fishnet stockings. She was spouting something like, ‘Oh look, my dear Tilly’s hometown, how quaint it all is, not a thing has changed, it is just as I left it. Why hello Edna, show me to the nearest pub, I need a pint and quick!’” (Edna recounted this to us later at the Bogwillow Journal.)
So by all means join in the festivities tomorrow evening at the Fenwick’s Ford Inn. It should be the talk of the social season. Unless Milly takes a sudden downturn and slides into a depression between now and then, in which case we imagine one could only expect warm sodas and some soggy tuna sandwiches. And perhaps some ice cream cups that you eat with one of those little wooden tongue depressors.
Until then the suspense will be excruciating!
See you there!