IJMC - And You Thought You Had a Bad Day?

You know, if only I had this guy's troubles. Nahh, I think I'd rather 
have my own. I don't like tomatoes anyway.                      -dave

Well, not raw tomatoes at least.







The following letter from the family's solicitor is addressed to a member
of the British aristocracy who has been spending much of the summer in his
residence in the south of France leaving his wife in the United Kingdom to
look after the ancestral home. 
     
     
Dear Sir Royston,
     
I hope you are having a good time on your holiday.  

I say this with sincerity because I am afraid that I have some bad news
for you, although there is good news too. First the bad news. I am sorry
to tell you that your favorite dog, Honey, is dead. The vet says that she
died instantly and could have felt no pain. She was kicked in the head by
your horse, Sherbert, though I'm sure that no blame can be attached to
Sherbert, frightened as he was by the fire in the barn. 

I'm afraid that Sherbert was in the barn along with your other horses when
it burnt to the ground. The fire brigade had been called within a short
time of the barn catching fire and would normally have been able to put
the fire out. Had it had not been for the fact that the tender crashed
into your Bentley in the lane. Your wife had taken it out for a spin with
your brother. As it was, both the tender and your Bently were written off.
No blame can be attached to your wife for the accident I'm sure. 

The Bentley was stationary at the time and your wife was in the back seat
of the car. She managed to escape death only due to the fact that your
brother was lying on top of her at the time of the collision. The doctors
say that given time she will regain her sight but that she will never walk
again. She has also lost her memory and cannot even remember you. Your
brother, unfortunately, was killed. 

I should explain how the barn came to be on fire in the first place. You
see a spark from the house blew over and set the roof alight.  The fire
started in the main hall of the house where, as you know, your Mattisse
and your Picasso once hung. I say `once' because they are not there now.
Fortunately neither of these paintings were damaged in the conflagration
as they were stolen beforehand by the burglar who started the fire. 

Although all of this may seem to you very serious it is not in fact the
bad news that I wrote of. Your wife and brother had been visiting your
Insurance agent in prison where he is serving a three year sentence for
fraud. I'm afraid that none of your insurance policies are valid. 

As I said, there is some good news. The heat from the fire warmed your
greenhouse and brought your tomatoes on. 


Yours sincerely, 
Ernest.