Mystery Farce

A little over a week ago, I received an e-mail from a certain Clotho Moirae, stating the following:

Le Pew,

The Fates decree that you explore Auckland's nooks and crannies by embarking upon a most difficult and arduous quest to seek out Auckland's Poste Restante and, upon successfully finding said, enter and demand a message from the gods as your due. Beware though! Hermes has been somewhat tardy lately and the journey from Mount Olympus increasingly difficult; your missive may not be ready until on (or indeed after) the XIVth.

May the stars shine upon your endeavour,
Clotho

Needless to say, this email got me a little spooked. Who on earth was this? How did they know where I was heading and what on earth was the point she was trying to get arcoss? I discussed this e-mail at length with a scottish SSF over a few beers down the local backpackers. He assured me it was probably some pot-head trying to spam whoever they could with their weirdness. I figured he was probably right, but me being me, I replied to the mail (Hey! I'm a scorpio! We don't do curious.We figure stuff out whatever the cost!). While I didn't save my reply, it was rather eloquent and it went something like this:

"What the ?! Who are you?! What are you on about?!?"

The reply that bounced back to me seriously pissed me off, for it made me none the wiser:

That would be telling! Just glad I wasn't mistaken for spam again (although perhaps a close call? Must work on my alter-egos...) Have some coffee and put on your sleuthing head.You need to go to the Post Shop on Wellesley Street, Auckland and ask for some mail, c/o Post Restante. I usually find post offices (or Sub-Worlds as I like to call them) are in interesting places where you wouldn't usually go, although I've no idea what Auckland's is like... It's not hugely interesting mail anyway, so if Wellesley St turns out to be the opposite of where you need to be then don't worry!

Again, an accurate record of my reply is missing from my mailbox, but I am fairly confident that true to my general expert penmanship, it went something like this:

Are you one of those people trying to spread leaflets to random strangers or something?! I mean, it's all very intriguing and stuff, but really... even if I was curious, don't you think it'd be a little stupid, if not to say, dangerous, for me to just follow some random stranger's directions to a place in a city I'm not familiar with... to pick up a "parcel"?!?

Pretty soon a very amusing, appologetic reply bounced back to me, signed by someone most regular readers of this blog will be familiar with as my friend Disco:

Okay, okay, okay... I'll fess up; 'tis I (I was going to put Disco on the other email address, but I can feel suspicion waves emanating from NZ all the way over here and you might suspect a Disco claimer to be some weirdo (okay, some weirdo you don't know :-)) reading your blog and claiming a persona). Pleased to see you are taking personal safety seriously! Seriously. I guess you didn't need the skid pants after all.Looks like I'm going to have to drop my mythical Greek alter-ego now after it's dismal first outing, or maybe take a trip to Greece sometime and work on it properly in the sun...As for the letter, I figured you'd have longer in Auckland than your change of plans have allowed for and that a traipse to the Post Office might offer a momentary diversion (although knowing my luck it's probably in the most difficult place in the world to get to, inolving a huge drudge-trek with heavy backpack, you'll get mugged on the way and the Royal Mail won't even have delivered my puny letter. Then I will feel guilty...)

I have to say I was literally wetting myself. This was by far the most entertaining bit of mail from the homefront so far and I was thoroughly excited at the prospect of a physical letter/parcel from a friend. Frankly, if someone had decided to send me a shoelace in the mail, I would still be over the moon... that's how much I enjoy random surprises like this. So, first thing Monday morning, I was knocking on the post-office door to be let in. But... the package hadn't arrived yet.

My theory is that the big fat royal mail pigeon got eaten by a vietnamese cat on the way over because it didn't have enough lift what with all its squidge. The cat then spat out the letter because it realised the letter was already dead and as such took away much of the fun of killing for sheer pleasure. The letter, now covered in poisonous saliva, got swallowed up in the vietnamese sewer system which, as we all know, connects directly to the big australasian ocean. What most people don't know is that there is an almost-but-not-quite-extinct species of whale out in that ocean which is highly allergic to the saliva of vietnamese cats. And that the last remaining specimen of this almost-but-not-quite-extinct species of whale has just swallowed Disco's letter. Which is why I will never see said letter and why tomorrow morning, Disco can expect to be bombed by toiletpaper on her way to work, as part of the first line of revenge orchestrated by a bunch of angry OAPs who read about the now-quite-extinct species of whale in this months' reader's digest.

Anyway. Disco was kind enough to set up a mock website with a reproduction of the missing letter, and as a Douglas Adams enthousiast and Disco-fan, I cannot withhold this little gem from you: LETTER.

I suddenly feel a lot cheerier! Massive thanks for all the effort Disco! I shall put the physical touch panel in my pocket from now on ;)