Seven Letters across the Atlantic.

In which Doris becomes a Facebook Friend and learns the ropes of Lexulous

Dear Blabs,

These days ‘a night on the tiles’ for Flo and I means an evening hunched over a Scrabble board. You are a veritable Leonard Sachs compared to Flo and myself; when we play, coming up with a four letter word merits a victory jog around my sitting room (or, if we can’t be bothered with that, the shortest Mexican wave you can imagine). I have got myself a Facebook page in order to play you but it is taking some fathoming out I can tell you. I took your lead and set up a ‘fan’ page but now I don’t know what to do. I am so wary, probably because of my age and I’m fearful of selecting the wrong options in case I end up embroiled in an internet grooming scandal, most of the Facebook community being so much younger than myself (in point of fact, it was quite depressing, when I had to select my age in setting up the account, quite how far down I had to scroll. I feel as if I am at the outer reaches of the Facebook solar system; Pluto, a cold, distant rock).

I would love to play you and your sister at Scrabble. We’ll meet the time difference bridge when we come to it but please remember I am CEO of a fashion empire with no obvious Number Two that I can trust to lock up on a night; there will have to be allowances. Wednesdays are good (half-day closing) and of course Sundays, otherwise any evening.

How I laughed at your description of your body and the heat you produce. And how I envy you. By contrast, I am cadaver-cold to the touch; I fancy there are warmer mortuary slabs in the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital. This in spite of consuming enormous quantities of that highly calorific snack Bombay Mix and eating my own body weight in ginger nuts every week.

I fear you know me too well when you say jeans and tee shirts are not for me. Am I that transparent? I have never worn jeans or, for that matter, stocked jeans, in my life. It’s a passing fad and whilst, as fads go, it’s taking longer for it to pass than even I’d anticipated, DBLW won’t catch a cold when go out of fashion. As they will. Tee shirts, on the other hand, can be flattering and I favour classic pastels. I definitely don’t approve of slogans on tee shirts and, as you may know, DBLW will not stock French Connection (

I can’t imagine not having an Easter break but I suppose it’s what you get used to. The weather forecast isn’t especially good (heavy rain most days apart from Sunday which, true to its name, should enjoy sunny intervals) but I long abandoned outdoor pursuits. No, I shall be curled up on my Parker Knoll, in front of the heater, reading Starlight Over Tunis by Barbara Cartland which Flo has kindly lent me.

Almost the holiday. One Day More, as Jean Valjean said in that mix-up of a musical Les Miserables. Good Friday beckons.

Toodlepip for now.


It didn’t take Doris any time at all to learn to navigate Facebook, and soon a game of Lexulous was underway…

  • Dear Blabs,

    What a thorough going-over you have just given me playing Lexulous. I can tell this is going to be a war of attrition. I suspect many similar such maulings lie ahead but, one day, the planets will align and I shall catch you in a rush to be somewhere else, perhaps nursing a hangover or suffering from a head cold, maybe even all three… and I shall pounce. Thank you for a most enjoyable first game.

    Deep joy…


  • Doris Dear,

  • It’s great to have another virtual connection but, now I have lured you into  Lexulous, I feel I have a responsibility to warn you that not everyone in the wordgame world is exactly what they seem. Be careful Doris, in your quest for seven letter scores and x on a triple–there are people out there using aliases (as good a word as any when you are overloaded with vowels) and being less than candid about their wherabouts, sometimes even their gender, in an attempt to fool the unwary. Just remember Doris, not everyone is an open book and the virtual world can hold terrors unheard of in Appleton Marsh. Will write at more length later in the week, but for now I have a tile rack to empty so I will say my adieus (another excellent word for those with a surfeit of vowels) Play on! Blabs

    About Liz Barron

    US Peace Corps Volunteer in Armenia. Permanent address in Washington DC. Deep roots in Northern Ireland and persistent Belfast accent. Blogger,cook, mother, grandma, Scrabble-player and enthusiastic world traveler.
    This entry was posted in Crone as Pen Pal and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

    One Response to Seven Letters across the Atlantic.

    1. Doris says:

      Blabs Dear,

      Thank you for your concern; I shall proceed with appropriate caution. You’re absolutely right, not everything is always as it seems and, as a seventy seven year old spinster with her own house, I must be more suspicious of people I don’t know. Whether that extends to the Lexulous community is another matter but I shall write to the deposed Nigerian prince I have been in communication with of late and tell him I’ve had a re-think about letting him use my Bristol & West current account to deposit temporarily his family wealth.

      Keep in touch.


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