The Inner Views of ...

VICTOR S E MOUBARAK

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Welcome to hell

Murder by TV

What a waste of time. I have just wasted a whole hour of my life watching a Murder Mystery program on TV and at the end I am none the wiser.

I want to protest to someone but the chances are that if I write a stiff letter, (on cardboard), to the TV company, the producer, the main actors, or even the writer; none will take me seriously.

Instead, I am writing to you for some sympathy, at least.

No sooner the program started that a man was found murdered in suspicious circumstances. Has there ever been a murder in not suspicious circumstances? I ask myself.

The victim was shot in the chest and buried in the back garden of the local vicarage.

At first the police suspected suicide. Then they looked into the hole where the man was found and decided someone had put him there.

Who was it? Who tried to bury the victim and did such a bad job of it?

Was it the local vicar who has a penchant for licorice sweets?

The church housekeeper who keeps a hamster in her bedroom?

The local spinster librarian, (you always need a spinster in a murder mystery), who always looks from behind the curtains as to who is going where and with whom and at what time. 

Or was it the pub landlord who often waters down his beer to make it go further and thus cheat his customers who have no other place to go for a drink because it is the only pub for a million miles around; unless that is they prefer coffee and English tea with scones and cream and strawberry jam, in which case they would go to the Ye Merry Garden Tea Emporium run by Matilda Rowbottom and her lodger/boyfriend/lover/lothario/seducer/Romeo/Casanova/Don Juan waiter and chef named Ivor Risotto who hails from Scandinavia yet is from Welsh descent?

The police have so many potential suspects that they do not know where to start. They start making enquiries and questioning all and sundry when, (surprise), the vicar is found dead in an industrial washing machine and is thus eliminated from their enquiries; which is a pity since he was the main suspect. At least it was a clean death at 40 degree washing temperature and a spin dry cycle of 800 revolutions per minute.

So the police turn their attention to the church housekeeper whose job includes cleaning the church vestments. But this proves to be a wild goose chase because the lady in question was at the library at the time borrowing a book entitled "How to murder people using a hamster as bait."

By the time the police go to the library to confirm the housekeeper's alibi they found the librarian dead in the Zoology Section half-eaten by a crocodile which escaped, or was released, from the local zoo.

In any case, the church housekeeper is herself found dead in a barn full of hamsters pretending to be Guinea pigs.

The pub landlord is killed when a barrel of beer fell on his toe resulting in him bleeding to death.

Matilda Rowbottom sells the Ye Meery Garden Tea Emporium to a French woman called Madame Leggert.

And Ivor Risotto falls in love with Madame Leggert's daughter only to discover that she wants to live in Spain instead.

There is no one else to suspect for this series of murders or mysterious deaths except the many cockroaches who inhabit the Tea Emporium. But unfortunately, they all provide alibis for each other thus causing total confusion to the police and all TV viewers who have wasted their time watching the show.

If you have a better explanation as to what just happened in this last hour, please let me know in the comments box below.

Granite Heart

GRANITE HEART

What’s our heart made of?

Tender flesh soft and gentle,

Feels the pain that’s all around,

Cries at hurts, wrongs and injustice,

Bleeds with every tortured soul.

Or slowly hardened by life’s cruelty,

Fatigued by constant repeated ills,

To the point it beats no longer

And turns to granite cold and still.

 Copyright © 2009 Victor S E Moubarak