The Council of Ten

Dear Boot-Lovers,

For those of our readers, and it seems by the quantity and urgency of your requests that there are many of you, with- out the means to record what was to you the surprise televised appearance on your screens last Tuesday of the Council of Ten, here is the complete text of their message of conquest and conversion of your patriarchal world to the worship of the Goddess Isis.

`Good evening ... please forgive this interruption and substitution of your usual televised entertainment. I trust you find our appearance within the privacy of your homes at least as visually appealing as the programmes whose transmission and broadcast we have temporarily blocked and suspended. We ask you not to move from your seats, not to fear our pre ence, nor attempt perversely to change channels during this brief intermission; you will find that we reappear on each and every programme that you select. Accept our intrusion into your lives and expect this technical performance to be repeated without warning at any time in your future. Normally we will be specifying the timing of each of our successive visits to your domestic and very personal world when you will each be required to be our welcoming host. We hope that you will each look forward, even with trepidation, to our arrival in your home, whether through this medium or on occasion, perhaps when provoked or suspicious of your correct response to our words, through the front door. Expect the knock of the rubber-gloved fist or the kick of the stiletto boot and be assured that we will rectify without delay whatever omission or laxness or irreverence in your behaviour that has been detected by the members of Heel!.

We are the Council of Ten from the other world of Venetia. We are seated here opposite you at this long table so that you might join with us at this the last supper of your previous life prior to your gradual and certain transformation at our hands and booted feet from which you will each be resurrected in the knowledge that you have been initiated into the transdimensional realms of the Venetian empire as slaves of the Goddess Isis, a purpose for which your long evolution under our supervising gaze has equipped you perfectly.

You may begin to recognize who we are, when we remove our masks and your amazement begins to subside into silent, natural awe of the sculpted beauty of our facial features and highly-polished figures. You may begin to remember who we are as historical figures from your distant past or, if your memories have been trained to bridge that divide, from the dream that you may have experienced last night. We are Semiramis of Ancient Babylon, Nefertiti and Cleopatra of Ancient Egypt, Diane of French Poitiers, and Helen of Troy. Our bodies are transfigured from semi-divine to the divinity of the immortal Goddess Isis.

Kneel before us as slaves and celebrate this fulfilment of destiny for which you and your star-gazing ancestors have waited so long. Raise your glasses filled with red wine or whatever you have in your hand, and drink with us to your future in worlds where our clothing, inevitably strange to your normal sight, with our tall rubber head-dresses and these heels so high as to seem impossibly unreal to you mortal men, is the cause of instant worship and endless sacrifice. Please ignore our whips that we have brought carelessly to the supper-table unless you believe that fate accepted by gods and stars alike, is on this occasion to be challenged by your puny male might. Then fear our presence and the timing of our return to your mundane world.

Good evening, slaves, and thank you for inviting us to join you at your last supper.'

Madame X