House Party

The message on my answering-machine was from Mrs L, and was typically brief, and to the point.
"Help!" she bellowed, "you'll never believe what has happened. You must come at once!"
I heard what I thought were screams in the background, and then the line went dead. I rang back straight away, fearing the worst.

"We’re at the beach," she shrieked, "and we’ve almost run out of booze."
"Dear God, Mrs L," I said, relieved, and more than a bit annoyed, "I thought something really terrible must have happened."
"Something terrible has. They only sell the most appalling shit up here, and charge an arm and a leg for it. Please come and rescue us."

She then detailed a lengthy shopping list of wine.

I immediately rushed off to Ergoline, my sun-tanning clinic, for a quick 'top-up,' yet despite having an 'open' sign outside, it was closed. I rattled the door plaintively, but to no avail. So I shall have to go to the beach today, in entirely less than ideal form.

The rescue mission is actually quite well-timed. My cleaner, despite my pleas for mercy, set her hairy jaw in a determined fashion, and managed to communicate that she was having a week off. At first, I decided to be very heroic about it and brave it out, but I can’t stand it any longer. The house is a mess.

Thus I am leaving for sandier shores, and shan’t return until Monday afternoon (the cleaner comes in the morning).

Not sure if Mrs L has internet access at the beach. Will check in with an update if possible.