Well, it was not that she’d ever doubted her prowess with the tennis racquet at all… ever. It was more of a matter of taking her to one side and explaining to her – with the aid of a brace of hastily-drawn diagrams – that she was not using the aforementioned item of sporting equipment as originally intended by the manufacturer and certainly not abiding by the rules of the Lawn Tennis Association, even though her opponents, in the matches they took part in, never seemed to complain - even after she’d untied them and removed the gag. If anything, they all seemed rather refreshed and re-invigorated by the whole experience.
This does – to what remains of my mind – go someway towards proving what I’ve always held to be true – that there are more ways of buttering a marsupial than are dreamed of in your philosophy Horatio, and therefore I would humbly suggest that you do not – in future – attempt to instruct me in the correct uses for a banjo and a well-greased wallaby.
After all, no-one else in the Post Office queue had the temerity to complain, or to question why the wallaby was dressed in clerical vestments so early on a weekend morning.
As for asking why I hid her tennis racquet in the alley behind the hardware shop… well, I have my reasons.
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