Nicola Barker - Burley Cross Postbox Theft

Using a black pen, draw a large vagina on to the sheet of plain white paper — in as much detail as you like — and then print the name of your Hex-ee — in capital letters — around its perimeter (if you don’t know their name, then their title will do just as well, so long as you keep a clear vision in your mind of them all the time as you are drawing, e.g. LOLLIPOP LADY).

Underneath it, draw a large, erect penis, pointing directly towards the vagina (try and give it the characteristics of your own penis), then print your name in clear, strong, capital letters along its immense, distended shaft.

Next, fold up the tissue, the page of the Kama Sutra , the hair, the feather, the two slithers of dried orchid tuber and place them all into the envelope alongside the drawing you have made. On the front of the envelope write SEX HEX. Underline it. Twice.

Take this envelope outside to a quiet corner (or if you have an open fireplace inside which is sufficiently private, use that) and set fire to it while repeating the phrase: COME TO ME! COME TO ME! (- - is the name of your Hex-ee, obviously. If you don’t know their name then — once again — use the appropriate phrase, e.g. SEXY BRUNETTE IN THE POST OFFICE COME TO ME! etc.).

Leave the burned remains where they lie. Do not touch them or move them.

Soon — very soon — The Object Of Your Desire will be beating a path to your door. Just sit back and wait. It will happen. On average, I find, it takes around forty-eight hours. When they finally do turn up (pulling off their clothes, gasping, panting) , the sex will be astonishing. Explosive. Filthy. Unconstrained. Orgiastic.

The only negative effect is that there can often be an unpleasant smell in the room during the act of copulation. I have been told that this aroma is something to do with the power of the Early Purple Orchid which — while generally odourless — can exude a foul smell as dusk falls. For this reason I always tend to burn sweet orange oil in the room (if I’m in a room and can plan ahead) for the duration of the coition.

Occasionally the smell clings to your skin for a while. It’s not a terrible aroma — like burned butter. Quite acrid.

Another negative effect of the Sex Hex is that the Hex-ee will loathe you afterwards. They won’t understand what it was that compelled them to initiate a random act of sex with you. They’ll start off feeling dazed, then become slightly panicked and confused, then grow deeply resentful (but hey! Who cares? You’ve got what you wanted, so what the heck?!).

I have used the Hex twelve times now (and have yet another charming little Hex-ee lined up — unbeknownst to her — even as I type this!). It has worked like a dream each time — except once. I’d Hexed this sweet Danish nurse at work and she never showed up. It later transpired that she’d been knocked down by an ambulance while running across the road directly adjacent to my office (she broke both her legs, so was of no use to me then for several months. I don’t think the power of the Hex lasts indefinitely — and I couldn’t risk Hexing her again after that).

Do choose your ‘conquests’ carefully. I once made the mistake of using the Sex Hex on Sarah Jane’s geography teacher (gorgeous red-head, straight out of college. A real goer!) Once the Hex had been fulfilled (two rampant hours locked inside the school sick-bay) and she turned all sour and vengeful, she opted (unfairly) to take out her rage on SJ. The poor child came bottom of her class that year (which was a shame — geography was her favourite subject). It really knocked SJ’s confidence and finally put to rest all her ambitions of becoming Derby’s answer to Sir Ranulph Fiennes (a pretty silly dream for a girl to have, anyway, I suppose).

I also used it on Pleasance Rutler (the wife of Ilkley’s old Mayor — remember her? Blonde. Bossy. Great legs — ex-professional dancer. Thighs with the grip of a python).

She really, really bore a grudge. Nasty piece of work. Slashed the tyres on my car (well, it was Tamm’s car, as it happens — I’d taken her little black VW Golf convertible to work that day — my Range Rover was being MOT’d).

My first Hex was on a young Nigerian traffic warden who gave me a ticket while I was parked on a double-yellow outside the hospital (a ‘revenge fuck’, so to speak. Although — of course — I was able to claim the money back on the grounds of it being ‘a medical emergency’).

I banged her inside a bus shelter, then several more times back at her home. She was the mother of twins. Lived in a crummy flat (on a still crummier estate). Kids screamed in their cot as we screwed next door. Her caesarean scars were still pink, which was slightly off-putting, but hey-ho…

In case you’re interested, I was originally taught the Sex Hex by a heart surgeon I worked with in Derby. It was a teaching hospital. He’d been through half of the med. students there and I was desperate to know how … (can’t have been much under seventy, the frisky old dog!). I’m not entirely sure where it was that he learned it from, originally…

So… yes. I think that’s about the sum of it. Text me if you think I’ve left anything out. Good luck with it. Don’t be scared to give it a whirl. And remember: it might seem fiddly to start off with, but it’s foolproof, and a hell of a lot less trouble than the ‘other’ techniques we discussed.

Happy Christmas etc.

Bax

NOW BURN THIS, YOU HEAR?

Saint’s Kennels

Sharp Crag Farm

Nr Burley Cross

7 December, 2006

Hell’s Bells, Prue –

It’s been best part of a week — longer …

I scribbled the address on this damn thing ten days ago, and as God is my witness, I’ve not had so much as a minute to call my own since.

The fly strike’s taken out three of the Romneys! Poor Donal’s at his wits’ end. We never had it so late in the season before — it’s bitter out there (‘Cold as the north side of a gravestone in winter’ as me mam always liked to say). A very different story from Olonzac, eh?

Those filthy flies shouldn’t be alive , let alone breeding… Donal don’t know if he’s coming or going — me either (more to the point!).

Then — as if that wasn’t quite enough to be getting on with — the Coombes kid (our newest recruit, tho’ he’s about as much use on a farm as a chocolate teapot) has gone down with sodding measles — caught it off our Lawrie (Ta very much, Son!) who’s been fretting about a constant headache for nigh on a fortnight and won’t eat a thing (apart from fruit smoothies — home-made, fresh strawberry. Fussy little so-and-so… Oh, and he will force a soft-boiled duck egg down his gullet, but only if you ask him very nicely — granary soldiers, mind! Whenever I trudge down to the local shop they’ve run out, so then it’s a pesky drive to Ilkley Tesco’s to mollify the little sod).

Finally, to crown it all, Gayle’s gone and had herself a huge barney with Ryan (it would’ve been a year this Christmas; she must’ve told me all of — oh — three hundred times) so she’s mooching about the place like a wet weekend, all heartbroke and love-lorn. ‘The weddin’s cancelled!’ she announces at table on Friday (over a glamorous bowl of microwaved carrot soup). ‘Weddin’?’ Donal growls (he’s been up best part of the night). ‘Who said owt about a bloody weddin’?!’

Now she’s hanging crape. Shooting him dark looks. Won’t utter so much as a word in his general orbit (not that our man’s noticed — he’s that knackered!). ‘Insensitive brute,’ she mutters this morning after he turfs her out the bathroom (get her , eh? All hoity!) . She’d been walled up in there over an hour — trimming her fringe (she’s cut it way too short — silly mare — and has spent the best part of the day yanking and pulling at the damn thing in the hope of making it grow back again).