old bag's utterings

Well she made it.

2011-02-09T21:31:00.002+01:00

She made it, fantastic. She is in -as I type -intensive care.
Given 97%-3 against. But she made it through...

Good on yer Queenie. The next 24 hours are critical of course, but I just know she's going to do it.

Pig's valve making her tick, so bacon butties are off the menu.

Thank you. To whom or to what I don't give a shit, but thank you anyway.

Ok I'll use this like twitter.

2011-02-04T21:45:00.001+01:00

This is my notebook.

And it will be for jottings...

My newly found aunt Queenie is in hospital and will have an operation on wednesday.

Malcolm is just too helpful and very scary.

2010-04-27T20:28:00.003+01:00

Jeez!

Malcolm is obsessed with my hypertension.

He wants to know the details, "Anything I can do to help!"

Mmm, that's why when after I left the kitchen on my return he was sprinkling oil over my salad!

Great help. I've never taken dressing with green salad.
In fact: After blood tests, I don't have sugars, cholesterol or -potassium floating abouy my blood stream.... It's a roll of the dice. Genetics.

Malcolm did say. "Nothing to do with me..."

Mmmh! You don't think stress has anything to with high blood pressure?
He remained mute.

"You didn't find bailiffs stressful?"

I don't know why we going down this road... So after walking around the garden -5 seconds- I've come to this computer.

Just refuse his offers of cooking the meals...

Malcolm is just too helpful and very scary.

He did add he would give me avery good wake!

Lovely.

Apparently that is where he filed the gas bill?

2010-04-22T21:08:00.004+01:00

Malcolm found a packet of ace inhibitors in the bin. Apparently that is where he filed the gas bill?

I wonder for how many years/months he's rummaged amongst the bins and the rubbish?

If you're dishonest then you must be governed or know dishonesty. The mindset of a deviant... Never to be able trust 'cos you know how dishonesty people can be, you have witnessed their behaviour everyday -when you've look in the mirror.

He asks are you ok?
"Yep just checking me veggies." -Just planted runner beans and other stuff. Rasberry canes are fencing the vegatable plot.

He explains how he's found an empty box in the rubbish, and how he looked up the name on the web...

C+ to you then.

Have you told your brother? Malcolm asks?
"Told him what?"
Malcolm ignores that question, he seems excited -a new episode in the soap...

" What causes hypertension?" he asks.

"Just a roll of the genetic dice," say I.

Like I would say stress...! Amongst the causes: genes, smoking, too many cream cakes - fat, salt, lack of exercise.

So stress then: And Malcolm becomes the victim,

"She said it was my fault, stress, I caused it. Please feel sorry for me!"

So nothing to do with you Malcolm. Just genes. No dramas, No soap operas.
Shame the leading gallant is just not required on this stage...

"You just made a mistake!" But I'm still holding her by the collar.

2010-04-13T20:49:00.004+01:00

What a crap day!

Crossing the road by the garden centre the 4X4 clips me. I walk on. Malcolm macho man remonstrates with the female driver.

She leaves her driving seat and a row between Malcolm and said driver ensues. And ensues...

I return to scene of transgression. Woman is berating Malcolm.

What is she shouting about? I ask o no-one in particular - I just don't care, that much! Female then steps forward right in my face!

I step forward too.

"Fuck off out my face," she shreiks.

And then blow me, she shoves me!

I grab her to stop toppling over and then I say ,

"You just made a mistake!" But I'm still holding her by the collar.

She screams for me to let her me go whilst ripping the glasses from my head.

Malcolm says for me to let her go...

So today I've been hit by a car, had my glasses ripped from my face and hurled to the ground I've a scratch on my upper lip where the stupid bitch lunged at me and broken skin under my right eye.

And good old Malcolm what did he do. Grabbed me - he didn't want me to hurt her! So fucking great. It's more than bad to brawl in the street but it really is not good enough to be prevented from defending oneself...

"You frightened her," he said.

And what about me Malcolm? What about me?

I don't understand

2010-03-18T22:41:00.003+01:00

It's been six years since I started this blog.
This is my autobiography...

But in reality I just come here when my husband- titular- irritates me more than his normal pompous and sociopathic personality allow.

His step brother is to face charges of child assault or abuse.

Malcolm is very excited he believes this will clear his father's name! I don't understand at all how he has reached this conclusion...

He, Malcolm thinks because his step brother was an accuser at the trial of his father his statements in court can be discredited because of these allegations, and voila his father's name will be cleared!

It was seventeen years ago that Malcolm's father was found guilty. He served eight years.

My view is I think it will confirm in people's minds that abuse runs in families, And confirm rather than deny that Malcolm's father is and was guilty of the crime he was charged with.

But that's just what I think, what do I know? And then that's what I said to Malcolm - but added.

'But hey, why not ask F.A.T.S advice after all her husband is a lawyer.'

Oh dear he's not spoken to me since!

I've got history.

2009-08-31T21:49:00.004+01:00

After so much time.

Coming back on the train. An hour and a half journeys time. A half century real time.

In an envelope photos. Photos I'd never seen.

My father young. My father with a dog. My father funny. My father cracking a joke. My father playing twelve bar blues.

Coming back on the train distilling information. He said this. He was this. And he did that.

I'm his sister and I knew this and I saw that.

My dad cried, and seems... everyone lied.

Photos torn. Photos stained.

I don't like you. Therefore; if I tear this photo we will no longer be together. There will be no bond. We are in this photograph. And now we are not.

White man take a photo. Black man say "you steal my soul".

I've just met my aunt after 32 tears!

2009-08-31T21:39:00.003+01:00

32 years! That is.

Didn't want to change the mistake, typo, Freudian slip.

Two letters sitting together on a keyboard. Hit one means that. Press that means this...

What politicians should earn.

2009-05-17T09:19:00.007+01:00

Politicians should earn £30,000 per annum! Plus a serviced flat in London.

The job would again become a vocation rather than a gravy train.
No one would starve...?

This means it wouldn't be just a job for the rich... who don't need any salary...

The middle classes could be MPs but only if they were dedicated...!

PLUS it would rid Parliament of the suffocating mediocre middle class dross -that is the Common's closed shop.

Ergo a mixed bag of humanity in parliament...

So:

The middle classes would be MPs only if they were dedicated.
The upper classes would 'cos they don't need the money anyway.
The 'lower' class 'cos it would be a goodly whack.

Mind you the upper classes and the rabble having a say... my god! the grey middlers would be a bit squeezed...

GOOD.

Now I know it's a good idea.

Mp's pay, it is not enough!

2009-05-17T09:03:00.003+01:00

Apparently if MP's don't receive expenses then their pay will have to rise! They are already in the top 15% of salary bands.

Much is muted - mostly by MP's themselves that they should receive salaries commensurate with top earners in The City.

We were told (mostly by the bankers themselves)the earners in the city had such a wack because they earned our country loads of money and they -the financiers- would slide away to foreign lands taking their pile of stash with them and we, the rabble would be worse off as a consequence.

Well, MPs go get a job overseas, offer your skills to the world I'm sure there will be a queue for your services, and you and us will be better off for your departure.

A plague on all your houses.

2009-05-17T08:46:00.007+01:00

MP's make rules for us; the hoi polloi. But suffer if those same rules are applied to them.

The Freedom of information act -with it's disclosures on the expenses of our "leaders"- was a worthy action but only for us not for them!

This is literally one rule for them one rule for us.

30 pubs are closing in England every single day, but in The House of Commons bar they can puff away to their hearts discontent. One rule for the cigar smokers of Parliament another for the rabble. Why wasn't this bastion of English traditions granted a dispensation on smoking whereby the Landlord/lady determined whether they hosted a smoking or non house?

Well that's my question and I'll answer it.

One rule for them one rule for us.

If you don't smoke or you don't like smoke don't accept the licensees hospitality. In short don't cross the threshold. Public houses survived the depression of the 30's but can't survive now. But it's a taboo subject -smoking.
Like immigration...

Things are afoot at the Shining and the Stupid...

2009-05-07T21:45:00.003+01:00

Malcolm! What can you do?

Looks like Nicky is winning the contest.

Malcolm got stood down on a project today; he is mortified.

Things are afoot at the Shining and the Stupid...

Matt knows what he's doing surely? I mean is is associated with the politicians. And they are all so very smart aren't they?

But hey could be worse.

2009-04-26T10:15:00.003+01:00

I’m experimenting with a new media. Combining the different techniques of painting with sculpture and clay modeling. It’s a long time since I picked up my paintbrushes...

But there is something there; not sure what it bloomin’ well is yet. The medium needs a little perfecting that’s probably what I’m finding intriguing. The result at best could be called a relief, (a relief it stayed on the canvas!) or maybe impasto...

Anyway I shall persevere.

Everything seems rather a chore at the moment. My body feels heavy. I’m forcing myself to do things.

But hey could be worse.

With just a bit of Malcolm thrown in!

2009-04-26T10:12:00.002+01:00

This blog should be my autobiography! When I’ve read it it’s a big moan about Malcolm. Must be I just type here when he’s really pissed me off. I’ll try and continue with my original purpose in mind.

With just a bit of Malcolm thrown in!

I found this on the web; a photo of the Castel Felice this is the boat that we -as the ten pound poms- sailed to Australia.

My cat Lilly

2009-04-22T23:40:00.005+01:00

I was trying to write a suitable epitaph for my cat Lil; all I've come up with is:

My cat Lilly
She was so silly.

This is a picture of Lil.

My good chum.

I miss her.

I should have asked the vet if she had a cat!

2009-04-19T09:39:00.007+01:00

Sunday morning.

I feel like shit.

Lil didn't come home. Well maybe in body and maybe in spirit just not together in the same place.

The vet spoke on. Pointing out and prodding there at dear old Lil.

The vet pushed her rear paw backwards, Lil did nothing to return it to it's proper position. I righted her paw.

'The infection on her gum hasn't cleared up.'

I am such a ninny. She - the vet spoke. And with her every word and prod I shed a tear. She had a lump in her stomach... Drop. She is dehydrated... Drip. She this... She that... Drip drip. Drop drop. How many drops to make a river?

She said 'well we could put her on a drip...'

We were awash

But if it were my cat...'

I asked, 'So how do we do this?'

She said, ' we can either take her out the to the back room or if you want to be with her...'

'I want to be with her.' She left the room. And I held Lil tight.

When the end came it was gentle. Lil looking right into my eyes I rubbed her ears and said 'It's the end of our journey old girl.'

The vet administered the turquoise liquid. And Lil was gone.

I closed her eyes and Lil poked out her tongue. She always did have a sense of humour.

I should have asked the vet if she did indeed have a cat!

Today I'm sitting here watching the clock tick by...

2009-04-17T12:51:00.002+01:00

Today I'm sitting here watching the clock tick by...
It's 12.50.
At 1.30 I'll phone for a taxi. The taxi will call at my front door at 2.00pm. My old cat. My dear old chum. She has an appointment with the vet at 2.20, I don't think she'll be coming back with me.

I feel terribly sad right at this moment and there's another part of me that's really bloody angry.

This morning Lil had followed me through to the kitchen I was making coffee. Lil was dragging her heavy twisted body by her front paws...

I'd already made an appointment with the vet. I made it Wednesday.But I didn't believe then that this would be her last journey, that this would be the end of the road for us.

Don't know why I feel cross perhaps it just adrenalin -I've never taken a pet to the vet for this before- just fear I suppose...

The shining and the stupid!...

2009-03-13T21:48:00.003+01:00

F.A.T. who being, or rather strives to be middle class and thus has a need to be 'properly' creative, is making mood boards.

Oh please give me strength!

They, the boards are to be utilized on a event in Reading. The April fashion show...

A sheet of paper with cut outs from a celebrity slag mag. Just too creative. Five cut outs to a page!

Jesus. Meanwhile Matt -the now sole owner (apart from...) of the company of the events. Is tightening his belt. Things are not so good.

There are layoffs to be made.

Malcolm helpfully suggests Nicky.

I suggest Matt lays off everyone but leave just the core of four! Matt and Nicky, Malcolm and F.A.T! The company could be called, I helpfully suggest, The shining and the stupid!...

The project turns out well or it could fell a seagull.

2009-03-01T01:28:00.000+01:00

Fucking hell.

Oh god.

Malcolm has made a cheesecake.

Whoopee.
It's like ...
A cheesecake.

But I really don't give a shit about how it's made!

Just not interested in the details of the amount of friggin' , sugar or whether it should wear a foil overcoat.

Does everything have to be reduced to such fucking excruciating detail?

How can anybody be so engrossed in detail.
You bake bread. You cook. The project turns out well or it could fell a seagull.
Either way, so what?

Why does everything have to be so bloody precious!?

When it's done it's done!

2009-02-18T21:22:00.007+01:00

Malcolm is in the kitchen. He is heating a spotty dick. I apparently - because of the shape of my genitalia- have the cooking instructions of a spotted dick tattooed on my frontal lobes- the encyclopedic answer to domestic trivia.

Should I leave the lid on? He asks.

Should you? Say I.

No, do I? Asks he.

Could do. I suggest.

Which? He growls.

I shrug.

I'm upstairs now. Moved away from shoving his face into his domestic regime.

Fucking hell.
When did I ever : follow instructions on a packet, box or bag?

But as always with Malcolm -he has one little template in his head marked woman- I'm now supposed to know this shit. F.A.T knows this stuff. Therefore I should know this stuff. After all I'm a woman!

Apparently all ovens are calibrated. So! When the packet says ' You will cook this at 180 C for 35 mins. This is what you should do regardless of whether the bloody things cooked or not.

According to F.A.T That is. But my stupid pratt of a husband follows her every utterance.

God what did I see in him?

I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE INSTRUCTIONS ON THE BACK OF A PACKET OF JAM POLY, SPOTTED DICK OR STEAK AND KIDNEY PUDDING.

When it's done it's done!

My old cat had an operation

2009-02-17T22:36:00.003+01:00

My old cat had an operation -Thursday 5th.

She the trooper, the old bag that she is, toughed it out. Survived. A fifty fifty chance she had. She took it and she won.

The vet won too -emptied my bank account.

But it was a win win I've still got me moggy.

She's not pretty. She's not bright. BUT.

Ok a pause just to remind myself of her good points.

Ok she throws up fur balls. Scratches my 1930's oak lounge chairs. Doesn't bury her poo. And has a meow that would wake the very devil.

But.

Um...

She's Lil. Just that. Lil. Big Lil, or the not so big, but hopefully will gain weight now she's had her op, Lil.

Yep. Life can be good.

Ah shame!

2009-01-12T12:32:00.004+01:00

Ah shame!

The old geyser's magic is waning.
Nicky -his foe has been promoted -assisted producer.

Meanwhile Matt is questioning the invoices Malcolm has sent in!

Me thinks Matt is falling out of love with Malcolm...

Tish Poo!

Somethings get so bad...!

2009-01-09T22:28:00.004+01:00

There is something to say.. I've no idea what it is!

I had to laugh at the news today though - delivered by two beings chatting.

First up on the very new flat screen in the corner -after Malcolm had thrown the not so old other across the floor declaring 'Christmas is canceled' was the economy: (Dire -we are all going to hell in a hand cart.) Interest rates are cut to 1.05
Second: The Russians are starving the Europeans of gas.
Third: The Bloody Palestinians in the Gaza ghetto are subject to a turkey shoot. One Palestinian is worth one Israeli -apparently!
Fourth chicken flu: claimed another victim in China.
Fifth: earth quakes: circling the Pacific like a white shark targeting it's prey. When the big one goes off in Yellowstone we are all doomed...
But then a wind turbine. (Just as I'm about to cut my wrists with all the newsworthy worthiness.) We are under attack by aliens! Damaged beyond repair, with one blade sheared off another hanging listlessly.

Anything else god? Somehow it seemed too surreal to take seriously.

Labour party have lost Glasgow East, Labour’s 25th safest seat!

2008-07-25T12:40:00.006+01:00

Mmm! The Labour party have lost Glasgow East, Labour’s 25th safest seat!

Now call me superstitious. "Superstitious." But Malcolm's - particular brand of charm has been at work -again.

Malcolm won the contract "an idea to engage the ‘Yoof’ "in politics.
And the Labour Party is now sinking like a stone.

The Malcolm affect...

He should carry a government health warning.

He called me a selfish bastard.

2008-07-24T17:02:00.004+01:00

Malcolm has fallen out with his 88 year old father.

They are not speaking. Malcolm is due to spend the night with them before catching a flight to Switzerland. But Malcolm isn't taking his calls...

Malcolm can't understand why is father is angry with him!

"He called me a selfish bastard. And asked me what he had done to deserve such children?"

There's no answer to that, so I just shrugged...
'When the phone rings,' Malcolm says 'If that's my father? Tell him I'm still London."

Well he hasn't rung. I doubt if he will. He would see it as a weakness. So who's going to bring them together? I've no idea. Except I know who won't be and that's me!

I've done it before and became the whipping boy for all the family's ills.

Anyway one phone call was from a friend of a friend. Malcolm wanted a blow by blow account. Who is this man? Where'd I meet him? How long have I known him? He went on and on. Bizarre. He sounded jealous. Really weird.

'You have a wonderful voice,' the friend of a friend said and asked me out for drink.

And I have said yes!

The perfect birthday card

2008-07-14T09:06:00.004+01:00

Malcolm is buying a birthday card for his step mother, we have been in the shop for half an hour. He wants it to be funny.

We go to another shop.

He's downcast.

He can't find anything suitable.

I pick over some cards.

"Ah this is it." I say.

And Malcolm liked it too.

'To someone who is handsome, creative, intelligent, generous with a great sense of humour...'

...and the inside of the card read 'and I remembered your birthday!'

Malcolm bought the card.

Same bowel movements as a hippopotamus.

2008-07-14T08:14:00.004+01:00

Christ I wish that bloke would stop eating fibre. Same bowel movements as a hippopotamus. He's on the loo four times a day. So full of shit.

Anyway. My idea did get taken up. And on the strength of my concept they won the contract.

Was Malcolm grateful? No. Well not to me.

He began telling me a week or two later about this idea he'd had. How he'd help Matt win the contract. Started reading me the flowery version of the creative buzz, Sean's blurb. My idea dressed up and decorated!

"That's my idea you're going with."

Malcolm who has selective deafness did not hear me and continued to enthuse about his own brilliance!

"Your 'idea' is my concept."

"Well," he said "we've all come up with the same idea at the same time!"

"You were begging me for a concept and all the time you had that intriguing idea. Amazing!"

A week later he has the crassness to show me this building in town that needs a push. They have run out of ideas, what a company! Creativity of newts. He runs it by me. The sound has to be down 'cos of complaints, blah, blah. They have more money on the project than they can spend. Blah, blah. I watch the pictures from the web. I listen. Attentive.

"What'dya think?"
"Leave it with me, I'll think about it. "

24 hours later he asks"Any ideas?"
"Of course!" And I do too -the idea is so obvious using the obstacles they have to work around as positives.
"Well?"
"I need to flesh it out, needs more work. And we're all probably thinking the same thing anyway..."

...Well apparently not because they are going with acrobats, well there's novel!

Malcolm liked it so much...

2008-06-25T21:56:00.011+01:00

Christ that bloke is beyond belief. But I did collude...

He, Malcolm of the huge gut, was desperate. Desperate to nail that job, needing to meet a deadline and there were no ideas. The company might not gain the contract.
"Would you please just think about it!”

Malcolm wanted an idea, an idea to engage the ‘Yoof’ in politics.
“No I don’t have one!”

“You must.”he says.
“Ok. I have an Idea for your event, but... BUT. I want recognition plus paying. Ideas are gold dust and I’m being plundered.”

“If I'm doing well; we are doing well! Do it for me! think about it, please."

"I want it be known these are my ideas and I would like to be paid accordingly!"

“Give me two ideas we use on two separate events and you’ll get paid plus recognition.”

“Really? Right! Tell the little people not to vote. Make a loud noise by saying nothing. Do not endorse this crud. This indistinguishable middle management daily bile reading popularity seeking grey suited naffness."

“Have you finished,”
“Just need to flesh it out a bit...

...The labour party has sold out and I am not going to encourage any 14 year old to support this shit."

"This event is to be paid for by a parliamentary committee! It is not governmental!"
"Oh that makes a difference!"

Anyway Malcolm whined on and on for two days.
Sean; the buzz fairy and F.A.T ("I'll put a sail up.") were not forth coming. They were in an ideas black hole.

So I gave him an idea. My idea. Gave being the operative word.

My idea is to form the kids into parties. Make a parliament. Argue for an idea to reach a goal. Raise revenue and fight a cause, (build a cycle track, skate boarding lane etc) Something local, something that the kids grumble about but can't/don't/won't act upon, but well within their reach - with a little stretch. Write up a manifesto. Then set this before a group of electors (other yoof)... And the party with the most votes gets the cycle track -or WHATEVER!

"I like that says Malcolm."

Malcolm liked it so much...

That bloke totally ignored me!

2008-06-21T16:30:00.005+01:00

Ok, so it's been a month...

I popped over to see my brother and my two nieces. Exhausting. Played marbles. Fed hamster. Plonked on the piano. Painted. Was painted. Hands still blue - why has my brother not heard of washable kid's paints?

Anyway, I read littlest a story at bedtime. She looked up when I'd finished droning...
"You are beautiful," she said

Hey!
Nicest thing anyone has said in a very long time...

Malcolm is miffed. He had been hoping to become employed by Matt. Almost certain he had been given the job.... Chuntered on about: he could do a bit of freelance on the side. Bit of this, bit of that. Perfect!

But alas, Matt has turned down this terrific opportunity ( but will review the situation in October!) Malcolm has again advised Matt that Nicky is a liability and a drain. On and on and on he goes. I think he's now miffed that she has a wage and he doesn't. Plus of course she doesn't like him which of course is heresy. And double plus, Malcolm's advice is not being heeded.

Tish poo!

Out and about with Malcolm. I began chatting to a man who expressed an interest in some lot I was examining. Malcolm attempted to join in our conversation but this chap carried on from where he was interrupted.

Malcolm was a bit put out "That bloke!" he said, "totally ignored me, only interested in you! Bloody rude."

Ahh!

All this means that Malcolm -off balance and feeling a bit vulnerable- is doing the pleasant act. The feel sorry for me, woe is me, wives's don't understand me melodrama.

True Malcolm.
All too very true.

So stop bloody lurking around here and piss off to F.A.T.

My being nice is exhausting and you, my old gutbarger, have drained the glucose!

So very senile!

2008-05-21T20:12:00.004+01:00

Malcolm.

Sweet kind person that he is!
Did not win the contract in Bristol they/he were punting for!

Ahh Shame!

Meanwhile. Malcolm is still going guns blazing at Nicola. Not that they/she knows it. Latest is -according to my eavesdropping. Plus reading between the lines....

He, the sun god; otherwise known as Malcolm is working his very hardest at discrediting her. But she remains working for the company.... Malcolm is obviously losing his touch, I thought she would be gone by now.

But Malcolm is still working extremely hard on getting rid...

" We are all earning Matt money but she ..."

"If we had a technical department she could train there..."

But Nicola has struck back!

She is showing concern. So much concern that she has muted her worries to Matt.

"Maybe Malcolm is overdoing it."

Malcolm in a call with Matt tonight was reassuring Matt that he was up to the job.
"I'll let you know if I can't cope!" pleads Malcolm.

Ah! Such a shame isn't Malcolm when you have to explain yourself?

Good on yer Nicola!

Mind you it does help a bit.

Just a teensy weensy bit.
When you have the password to some beings business account.
All sorts of emails get slowed down and deleted.

Makes one look so very... Forgetful.

Senile, even!

My goodbye letter.

2008-05-13T00:02:00.003+01:00

I just happened to be rummaging in Malcolm's filing cabinet looking for the invoice and mini statement regarding his overpayment and the subject of one of my blogs.

Ah bless! And this just happened to be poking out -not waiting to be found or anything...

He's excusing himself...

He's so tired...

Aah, bless.

Paid twice?

2008-05-11T16:21:00.003+01:00

Malcolm.

I think I’m beginning to feel sorry for him! Na just contempt.

Malcolm has no sense of right or wrong, just a belief in his own persona. And at all costs this beast must not only be fed and watered, but revered.

I thought he was a sociopath but a narcissist is probably a more appropriate term.

Poor old Malcolm! The work is drying up; Matt is the one remaining person to employ Malcolm.

And is Malcolm grateful?

Oh very! I write ironically! What's that Groucho quote 'I wouldn't be a member of a club that would have me as a member.'

Something like that...

Basically it means anybody that likes, trusts and assists must be a complete twat and deserving of all they get. After all who but the stupid would trust Malcolm?

But at least I'm among company. Matt's company. But alas he does not know it yet! Maybe he never will.

Basically Malcolm has been paid twice on the same invoice Once by cheque and once by bacs. Malcolm is not returning the double payment. Matt apparently said there has been some over payments because of a new member of staff taking over the books. Malcolm did not take that opportunity to own up to his double payment!

Malcolm reckons Matt is losing it! I thought he meant mentally...

Don't know why Malcolm is telling me though?...

Her days are numbered!

2008-04-27T17:37:00.002+01:00

Nicky is a new employee of Matt’s. Been working for the company for three months. Nicky does not like dear old Malcolm and has been rude to him. Ah! But this- according to one of the few tenants of beliefs Malcolm upholds- is unforgivable.

Malcolm loathes anyone who dislikes him.

So Nicky is not aware she is a subject of a campaign of ridicule and destruction; a policy of bile dripped on her head. "Her work is second rate, she has no people skills." Etc etc. None of this is said to her but about her to anyone who will afford Malcolm the time to listen.

Nicky is blissfully unaware of this slow annihilation. She believes the spat with Malcolm is done and over with.

Her days are numbered!

A fudge of excited untruths.

2008-03-27T15:38:00.002+01:00

I was looking at the photo on my screen of Malcolm's ex wife. Looking over the top of my computer I asked Malcolm.
"When was the last time you saw your ex-wife?"
"Oh at David's wedding."
"Oh right, that why I'm looking at an image of her in David's kitchen with your bag dumped on the table is it? You pathological liar. Taken with your camera too -must be coincidence? You shallow shit."
But I didn't say that. "I said Oh right ."
"Why?" he asked.
"Oh just wondered."

Lies for the sake of lying. Lies for the joy of control. Lies for power it bestows? Lies as a habit? Lies as addiction! A fudge of excited untruths livening up the frontal lobes. The end rush of Endomorphins.

Malcolm slunk off with his ex-wife

2008-03-06T19:46:00.005+01:00

Here's the picture. Malcolm's ex wife. The figure on the right. The wife who enjoyed eighteen years of creating mayhem. (Which would have been perfectly understandable had I been the woman he'd left her for.) But no that 'honour' belongs to another.

He battled moaned and groaned about her and his family for eighteen years. And oh! I felt so very sorry for him.

But me I knew what she was like! After all she had tried to take my house from me, but most of all Malcolm had told me. I wonder whether he ever bothered to tell her that the money for the house we bought after we first married was financed by me?

I wonder why he never told me he'd been seeing her? Apparently more than once, boxing day too.

Pissed off by this? Yes. Why couldn't he have done it seventeen years ago? Saved so much pain. All that battling with him. Saving him from the harridan who wanted to rob him. Fighting loyally by his side! What a joke.

I wonder what the years with Malcolm have amounted to? Not much according to Malcolm's presentation. But me, I know. Just wish someone else did. And for that Malcolm I have to hand it to you. You've done a grand job. There was me being so stoic by not saying, not embarrassing you about the bailiffs and the social security benefits in front of your kids.

Well, well Malcolm and you never said. You just slunk over there.

The chinese change of fortune email saga continues

2008-02-26T09:37:00.001+01:00

Ah the saga of the change of fortune email continues....

Big John (who sent the chain of fortune email to Malcolm) received the email from one of the ten people Malcolm had sent the email to!

Anyway the following day Big John had his trailer nicked from his front garden. Plus his son was involved in an accident. (He was unhurt but the car was seriously injured.)

Spooky...

What a difference a week makes!

2008-02-24T17:29:00.004+01:00

What a difference a week makes!

Malcolm is a bit like his old self. Well, acting a bit like his old self. Which translates into him not being such a bombastic fart.

Now call me cynical "cynical!"

But could this change have anything to do with 'The Malcolm' just losing an important contract. And another job he's been relying on is still stuck only at the planning stage. So he’s feeling a bit vulnerable. And who does he cling to when the rain pours down?

Life’s shit he love’s me,
Life’s great he love’s me not,
Life’s shit he love’s me,
Life’s great he love’s me not...

The Malcolm daisy chain!

Ah the best laid plans! And talking of chains...

A work mate sent Old Malcolm (whose feeling a bit sorry for himself) an email to cheer him up. This email purportedly issues a substantial change in one’s fortune. The email must be forwarded to ten others. A chain mail.

Oh well anyway...

Good old Malcolm opened said email sent it off to ten good people and true. (And me!) And the results were amazing I kid you not! Within 10 minutes of him opening the email the boiler blew up! Plus within the next half hour the weather forecast was for the coldest snap of the year –7o c.

The good chum who sent the original email phoned from the dentist’s chair, he’d snapped a tooth (to the root) and was in agony.

Malcolm has borrowed the money from his father to replace the busted boiler. The plumber arrives on Thursday (the earliest he could fit us in). A week with out heating and hot water. The long-range forecast for the week ahead ‘Thursday will see a welcome return of the spring weather!’ (No sooner was the boiler in than the weather did indeed change for the better!)

Max the next day -and another recipient of the magnificent email has complained of a chill in his bladder. I have no idea what that is but it doesn’t sound too pleasant and he was fine before The Email!

Ooops nearly forgot, the following day after my opening of the Chinese change of fortune thingey I got a summons to appear before the magistrate’s court for non-payment of rates, with an accompanying letter saying I'd ignored the reminders. I hadn't had any reminders! Plus I was only in arrears 4 weeks! Double plus this summons only had my name on it –and we are joint ratepayers!

Now who don’t I like who wouldn't appreciate a change in fortune?

Two women on the go what a stud!

2008-02-10T17:08:00.004+01:00

Another day another row.

Anyway Malcolm has said that he can't take the strain anymore. He's not enjoying it. (aah he'd obviously been reading the male version of Mills and Boon; wifey at home and mistress away. Two women on the go what a stud! etc, etc.) And if the situation doesn't improve within two months he's leaving! I'm surprised he didn't add... 'If you don't pull your socks up.' or 'Buck your ideas up.'

Now that statement -the leaving speech has an advantage. Malcolm wanted to use up my tax credits! If I owed any money then he would pay the tax man!

Two reasons why I don't want this to happen. I don't trust Malcolm. The other is what I'm earning I want to remain between me and the inland revenue. The question was how to achieve this without cutting off my nose to spite my face?

So although Malcolm will throw the cutlery (he's very petulant these days.) I now have been granted by 'The Malcolm' a reasonable excuse and a bona fide reason for not complying with his wishes.

One ticket's worth.

2008-02-10T16:59:00.001+01:00

Malcolm in the bedroom on the mobile. Apparently money is missing from the Santa grotto. A day's worth? One ticket's worth. Didn't overhear enough to know...

I do ask a few questions, "Everything ok?"
"Erm yes." He mumbles.
"Somebody lost some money?"
"Sort of."
"On the grotto? So easy to do. I suggest. I can never make a column of figures or a till add up."

But he didn't expand, would not be drawn so I'm none the wiser.

She still doesn’t know the irony of that remark!

2008-02-10T16:45:00.000+01:00

F.A.T Said many moons ago –2002- and in my presence and within my earshot
To Malcolm “Oh you’re just like my father.”
And to those around her “Ooh he’s just like my father!”

It seems rather strange that someone would want to fuck their own father even in symbolic form. The father figure an incestuous fantasy!

She still doesn’t know the irony of that remark!

Malcolm’s father was convicted of rape and sexual assault on his daughter - Malcolm’s half sister. (The sister Malcolm never knew existed until 1988 she was 13 or 14 and he met her for the first time.)

1992 and after a trial at the Old Bailey Gary was found guilty and hauled off to a Norfolk jail under rule 45. Once a month for eight years Malcolm would visit his father. Later to his new friends he would say he had once been a prison visitor, which allows him to relay the interesting anecdotes of prison life without the guilt of association.

Malcolm always said of a paedophile he’d cut their dick off and stick it on their forehead! I don’t believe that Malcolm’s father is a rapist. I also understand that you would need people to socialize with when you’re banged up but...

(Gary made two close friends from his prison days that he continued to see on the outside: Ivy and Doll.
Malcolm said “Oh they’re pretty nice blokes you just wouldn’t want to know what they’ve done.” No you’re right I wouldn’t!)

...I just don’t understand why you met them on their release?

And to someone who crows “Oh you’re just like my father.” To someone with your history Malcolm...

Been quite calm in this house.

2008-02-06T21:35:00.000+01:00

Been quite calm in this house. Bitten my tongue. This night I've already given way. Football. It's agreed I'll bugger off at eight -it's Switzerland versus England. I'll find something better to do not difficult...

So I'm cooking in the kitchen. Minding my own business. Malcolm arrives. Dumps a load of butter in a pan I'm using.
I do complain.
"I don't want all that butter."

Anyway he swaggers he has had cooking lessons from the F.A.T so he knows best...

You're always moaning! He says.

He fucks off back to the footie. I'm seething. Pots are crashed. Utensils are battered! Malcolm returns to the kitchen...

Moaning am I ? I Ask

Yep he sneers and he swaggers back to the footie.

I no longer see food or pans or utensils. I see emotion. I see a betrayal and a sociopath. I'm blindingly furious.

And why?

Because that’s his reason. His given excuse. I'm a moaner. Therefore his actions are entirely justified.

A dam has broken. Because I never moaned (well Probably did but I never said to Malcolm get a job . . never moaned about his Kids and the playing off of kids to parent and parent against parent. The bailiffs . The insane wife who was sectioned five times . Or the bailiffs. Endless bailiffs. No. I was a romantic,. In fact a country fan (and I don’t like country music) But STAND BY YOUR MAN AND I DID -Without complaint.

But tonight. When he said to me you are always moaning. I just heard -and F.A.T doesn’t. No she has reason. A lawyer husband to pay the bills. A bit of rough on the side to build a company with, have a fuck with and send said husband the bill for the extra kid that arrived. A lot to be happy about...

I do mind the pantomime.

2008-01-20T20:28:00.001+01:00

59 per cent of wives would leave their husbands (if they could afford it). Well at least I'm in company. Not that I want to leave, I like this house. Feels like my space.

Funny! Now I don't even mind him fucking her - as long as he doesn't put that dick any where near me. I do mind the pantomime. I do mind that after six years he is remains convinced that I could not know! why? -because he is so brilliant? at what scheming? deviousness? Or because I'm stupid? (I always agree with Malcolm when he bellows, "You're stupid!"
"Must be." I respond.) Probably both.

Or perhaps he wants to emulate his father who managed to live two separate lives for over twenty years. (It did however; result in him being imprisoned for eight years under rule 45.) But then Malcolm does have the benefit of a short term memory -bordering on amnesia!

The three sleazes.

2008-01-13T04:37:00.000+01:00

Shawn is joining Malcolm and F.A.T on a job! He is the creative end! His is also the end that was trying to screw F.A.T when they last worked together.

So threatened did Malcolm feel that he needed someone to outpour his angst to. That someone was me; regaled of the shenanigans behind the scenes and the stage curtains!

“Blimey,” I thought. “You sound jealous!” That I decided was improbable. My bloke after what we’d been through would never have allowed himself to get involved with someone else!

Malcolm retaliated against the canoodling by reciting gossip...

Shawn apparently was caught sucking off one of the male models dicks. Malcolm apparently joked with Matt about kissing those lips that have kissed those dicks.
"I wonder what she'd do if she knew?" Malcolm crowed.

Well it's now known what you'd do Malcolm; kiss the lips that have kissed those lips that have kissed those dicks!

A new company should be formed: The three sleazes.

Marks and Spencer shares drop (as predicted 6 months ago!)

2008-01-09T16:54:00.000+01:00

Well it had to happen. I won't write you read it here first...
But I did write in the summer about Marks and Spencer's shares falling and quite far...

With Malcolm there'll always be the next company and the next...

I like knowing what F.A.T doesn't.

2008-01-07T01:44:00.000+01:00

I like knowing what F.A.T doesn't.

It isn't a comfort to know things she doesn't, but a crutch. It's a power of sorts -"you've altered my life and I can change yours but I haven't exercised that action -yet." And I may never. It feels like I'm control of events. Which I could be...

I have daydreamed or nightmared (if there ever was such a thing) about exploding my information bomb right in her face. Her smug 'little Britain' narrowed mindedness and the smug sanctimoniousness of some of her utterances quoted to me via Malcolm's' voice box.

Anyway...

Erupting like a pent up volcano was great fun!

2008-01-03T14:05:00.000+01:00

Malcolm arrived home in good health and fitness...

New Years Eve.

I leapt on the sofa! –Apparently- anyway that’s Malcolm’s story so whether it’s true is anyone’s guess? He decided to save me (really stretching the bounds of credulity now!) from bashing my head on the back of said sofa. Doing this gentlemanly deed caused him to put his back out and pull a muscle in his shoulder. Plus he now has a cold.

The devastating effects I have on the male of the species!

Oh groan.

I have been trying to salvage some of them mayhem I wrought New Years Eve.

Like phoning F.A.T’S office and leaving a message
‘anal sex is better than fucking your cunt- more fragrant.’
I expect to get hauled a way for making abusive and leaving stupid messages at any moment. How stupid can you get?

Well even more stupid ‘cos then I rang Matt. I ask why he gains so much vicarious pleasure from interfering in my life?

Turns out he was in the middle of dinner party with friends in Boston America!

Oh dear!

Must admit though getting vaingloriously drunk on pink champagne and erupting like pent up volcano was great fun! While it lasted...

The clues are here!

2008-01-01T15:55:00.000+01:00

A link of interest! When digging it's amazing what turns up!
The original story.

He’s noticed my black toenail. He hasn’t noticed I’m no longer smoking

2007-12-30T17:15:00.000+01:00

Malcolm’s returned. He arrived Friday.

Anyway there he was knocking on the door. He hadn’t rung to say he was returning. And I/we hadn’t bothered to contact each other for two months. I think I was supposed to be upset and in pining mode, (absence supposedly making the heart grow fonder.) Malcolm was all fired up and frowning. He’d steeled himself for his return.

His face set, all stiff legs and swagger. But I wasn’t surprised! Annoyed, or hurt by his return, not even mildly amused by him having to prepare himself; braced for an argument that didn’t bear fruit or even flower...

I don’t feel anything for him. Whether he’s here, there or anywhere. The only remaining interest I have left for him is self-interest -how his actions impact and affect me. That’s it. I don’t loathe him. I just don’t like him.

By Sunday morning the row flowered, bore fruit and seeded itself.

Saturday morning. He’s noticed my black toenail. He hasn’t noticed I’m no longer smoking –but one thing at a time his brain cells are singularly engaged.

Malcolm wants a fuck.

He’s so hurt when I refuse.

He's screwing someone the same age as his daughter; ignored our wedding anniversary, not called me for two months and had Christmas day somewhere else. He returns yesterday in a foul mood and shifts to bed at nine o’clock. I wonder which part of that behaviour I'm supposed to find sexually stimulating? None possibly, but resisting Malcolm’s charms! How very insulting of me!

Anyway I was delivered of two of Malcolm’s set speeches ‘I’m the only woman he’s ever been faithful to... Why would he want beef burger when he’s got steak at home?’ Etc, etc.... Yuk. (The loyalty speech.)

This then became “I’m so worried about you.” (The paranoid behaviour speech.)

“Your first wife has been sectioned 5 times under the mental health act, your live in girl friend stabbed you and attempted to launch herself out of a window. You don’t think possibly the fault may lie with you Malcolm?”

“Why wouldn’t I just admit it? Why wouldn’t I just say? Confess to having an affair? It would be easier than this!”
“I give up why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not.”
“I’ve seen you.”
“You haven’t.”
“Waterloo station you were seeing her off.”
“You didn’t.”
“I’ve read your emails.”
“You changed them.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because your psychotic.”

“You’re evil Malcolm.”

This was the row, but louder, much louder, and longer.

Shenanigans and concealments.

2007-12-20T14:36:00.000+01:00

Matt. (Whoever Matt is?)
Malcolm’s boss?
Partner?
Colleague?

Anyway who ever this person is: Wants to be a politician.

Specifically: A member of and for the ‘new’ labour party. He has a lot of contacts! They all recommend he stand. But he’s biding his time. He is deliberating and cogitating.

Malcolm is intent on persuading him that staying in events and marketing is a ‘brill’ idea –but that could all change. Malcolm needs Matt. Matt actually needs Malcolm like a hole in the head but he doesn’t know it -yet. But this is where Malcolm -the ex used car sales man- is so convincing- or appears to be so –at least for the moment!

Matt’s shenanigans and concealments concerning this business could look suspicious. Matt just thinks he’s helping out poor old Malcolm who’s got himself in a bit of a bind and needs a helping hand. Just hiding the information from a snooping wife. A noble cause? And possibly indicative of a nature that needs to help people hence the ambition to be in politics! But the other facet of a good politician is research.

Matt has not done his homework...

Eczema, a black toenail and puffy eyes symptoms

2007-12-11T13:26:00.000+01:00

Ok it’s now 11th Dec and am still not smoking. I had given up the herbals too but decided to buy another packet for the weekend. Not really enjoying them.

I have liquorice root. Cut into cigarette length slices, they fill some need. I’ve decided I have a crap life. I’ve pondered and concluded my life has been utter shit. I’ve decided I’ve had enough of being the living embodiment of shitness. A change. A change is called for...

Ok this giving up cigarettes is fine –qualification: thus far. I now have eczema a black toenail and puffy eyes. Anyway I am now taking anti histamine pills which has gone someway to reducing the dry scaly skin and the puffy eyes. But I think I’m going to lose my toenail. Oh Joy.

My body is a temple!

2007-11-05T01:48:00.001+01:00

I went out for a jog this evening. I went out yesterday evening as well. I run round the block. Well that’s not true; my intention is to run round the block. I run half way round the block pause at the BT junction box catch my breath, walk, and then run home.

This is all probably a fad. Something odd going on in my brain- possession by a demonic healthist. When I purchase pomegranate juice I’ll book myself for an exorcism.

I was looking at this website. Put your height in this box and your weight in that box and hey presto you are given your body mass index and told how perfect or imperfect you are. I’m perfect. Yes siree. Makes me feel so proud! My body is a temple! Well it’s an ancient bloody monument that’s for sure. I’ve slapped a preservation order on this relic.

I’m thinking I may have a face lift. I need funds. I need funds to buy me a little house. And I need funds for my face lift...

No jokes about Lord Linley and French polishing.

2007-11-04T11:11:00.000+01:00

It's two weeks since a cigarette has lounged on my lips. I'm still smoking herbals.

Well I don't know -unless my brain is totally stupid- and is easily fooled (hello sounds like me already!) I haven't missed cigarettes at all. My synapses are content with (let's see, what’s in this stuff?) 'a blend of herbs including marshmallow'. Great spending all that money on tobacco and my old grey matter would have been made content with a pink squidgy sweet on a stick roasted over a fire.

No there are no jokes about Lord Linley and French polishing; not here anyway...

I wouldn't do that to you....

2007-11-01T10:30:00.000+01:00

Malcolm is away.

"I'll be back at Christmas. I just don't want to be here. If you want anything, want anything at all call me, or just text. "

Malcolm is tending a shop in Mayfair. Not much point in coming here for a couple of days -weekends-just to go back again... The nurturing of this retail outlet lasts four weeks whereupon he will be guarding a grotto in Birmingham until Christmas.

This is an interesting email from Matt.

It's an email in response to another, it's about the shop, about opening times blah blah etc etc . It's the opening paragraph that's intriguing. 'Re Malcolm: Bought him out...' So sometime after August and the end of October Malcolm has sold a share in or sold a company!
Which is really amazing 'cos he doesn't have a company...
"I don't have a company. I wouldn't do that to you."

There is a sweet fragrance that hangs heavy in the air

2007-10-27T13:56:00.000+01:00

I've decided to give up smoking. This is the fifth day I haven't bought cigarettes. Ok so that's £22.50. But where is it?

Ok logically I must be twenty-two pounds richer 'cos I haven't spent £22.50 on the weed.
But where is it?

Not in my purse. Not in a tin under my bed. Not stuffed in a sock. Same amount of money not in my bank account. Just gone. Puff. But not in a puff.

I bought a packet of herbal cigarettes. I was going to get nicotine patches as well, but then I decided I might as well just smoke proper cigarettes as take that combination. Christ they’re horrible. By day two they weren’t that bad. Today -day five- I sort of look forward to having one.

Malcolm muttered something about me smoking dope. There is a sweet fragrance that hangs heavy in the air, which makes a change from the normal atmosphere..!

A meaningless nothingness.

2007-10-11T20:50:00.000+01:00

God I was down yesterday. Bumping along the bottom like a trawler net.

There is humour in Malcolm's and F.A.T's pursuit of passion. But yesterday. Yesterday was painful.
No different from any other day. Just different in the way I perceived it, I suppose...
As they try to impress each other. Each one lying. Histories wiped. And watching the performances. Two geese mirroring each other. ...Was funny.... So readible. So very... so very limp. So desperate.
I suppose I found succour in that lack of confidence. That need they have to prove how intelligent and clever and oh so creative they are.
But now... I don't know. Maybe I've taken too many hits. Maybe I've realised that.. that what? Maybe I've realised that I have been -and probably always was a meaningless nothingness.

And not a meaninglss nothingness to Malcolm. But a meaningless nothingness.

All bitter and twisted

2007-10-04T15:28:00.000+01:00

It’s our wedding anniversary. Married 22 years ago today. Whoopee! As has become Malcolm’s habit -created six years ago today after his first fuckings of F.A.T. and an unsubtle sign to me that he is now with someone else- I receive a card with ‘on your wedding anniversary.’

But not this year! No this year he’s all quiet and sulky. No card, no good morning. Plus a slagging off to his father about me, all carried out at high volume so I didn’t even have to eavesdrop. Ah bless!

This only means one thing. Malcolm is feeling confident. He’s feeling the adrenalin rush of the new project he’s working on. (Expect the share capital to drop the business to go into liquidation, or some other horrible incident to befall the company that’s hiring Malcolm.)

He always gets cocky before a project, dreaming of all the dosh and how he can at last escape from this terrible harridan –me!

“She’s useless, boring I can’t stand the stress..” etc etc... ad nauseum and any other superlatives he wants his father to entertain. In reality he’ll leave when he’s good and ready and that means when he’s got enough money.

Malcolm wants to be a victim. Malcolm always finds victim hood empowering. It’s a way of manipulating people into carrying out his wishes learnt at his mother’s knee and a hard tool to throw off.

I’ve become boring because Malcolm needs an excuse for his actions. Otherwise how would he justify his actions?

“Yes we did have the bailiffs in, and the business did go into liquidation. And we were made homeless. And I did lose all my friends and business acquaintances. And I didn’t see or speak to my son for those nine years. And that boring wife of mine was the only person who stood right next to me, and I was on sickness benefit for eight year. And it took forever to save up for this little house. And then after just a year of having this house and being in work I saw F.A.T and I couldn’t resist...

Not much sympathy to be gained there...

So the story is: ‘we weren’t getting along... her husband had moved out, and well one thing just led to another... ‘And now she’s had my baby and well I can’t just run away from it...’ Sob. Sob.

And Matt is helping Malcolm because Malcolm is so trustworthy and well Matt feels so sorry for him.

I think Malcolm is a sociopath. He ticks all the boxes. I googled sociopath. And yep there was Malcolm.
And then I googled old bag and yep there was me too.

Happy anniversary!

Don't blame Malcolm.

2007-09-22T15:35:00.001+01:00

Well Andy you have the key you just don't know which lock to put it in! That's how it is. This is how Malcolm is! "I usually get comments how helpful etc ........ you are"
Such a telling sentence. All the odd things, the little occurrences behaviors that don't add up or make sense. No one would believe Malcolm could possibly be the cause, he's so nice, so funny.

So you accept and shrug and blame someone, anyone, but it won't be Malcolm. Or maybe you'll just shrug and think, how strange! But the one thing you won't do is blame Malcolm.

I wonder if Malcolm has bought shares!

2007-09-10T12:54:00.000+01:00

With the stock market in such turmoil I wonder if Malcolm has bought shares!

Me, your stupid wife.

2007-08-29T09:47:00.000+01:00

Malcolm who hasn't a company
('I wouldn't do that to you.')
received an email and which I just happened to read...

'I would be grateful if this can be passed to all your staff.'

Um what staff Malcolm? You did say you hadn't an accountant -even though I was standing behind you when you were recommending him to Matt.
But someone who has had the bailiffs in five times and had there house repossessed and lived in rented accommodation for seven years, lived on sickness benefit for eight years. Couldn't forget the consequences? Could they?

You, Malcolm were dropping Prozac ,visiting a shrink, a danger to yourself. You couldn't possibly set up a business with your mistress. Not after all the other companies failed would you? And you wouldn't hide that from the only person who stood by you (me your stupid wife) would you?

So there must be another explanation but I won't ask you, I don't want to watch your face as you tell me another story.

Cooking the books as well as the cakes

2007-08-25T12:29:00.000+01:00

Hmm. Ok something funny is going on, and not just Malcolm’s sleazy screwings of F.A.T.

The Aussie with the big nose has been fired or asked to leave because of money missing from the company account. I wonder who pointed the finger at her? I’m curious. I may have to go rummaging again...

I did a little drawing for the company Malcolm is working for (his phraseology) in reality he has formed a company and it’s this company that is hiring itself out, (well that’ my supposition) Anyway I digress. This invoice was paid (hoorah) and I received the £300.00 due to me (three cheers) but on the remittance advice note is lurking something I hadn’t expected.
One entry refs: my invoice: £300.00 debit .map: 17.04.2007 absolutely fine. The other refs:: expired chq blah: 18.03.2003 debit £75.00 with another someone’s name!

Paid in 2003? I was going to say I hadn’t even heard of the company but that would be impossible because it’s a household name. I hadn’t had any dealings with the company in 2003 this £300.00: 2007 is the one and only time.

JJ (an old pal of mine and a bit of a whizzo on legal bookkeeperish things) after I’d explained this remittance slip said don’t worry too much but don’t deal with the company again!

Well good advice but a bit difficult when it’s husband related.

I always look for patterns emerging when something occurs. A bit like F.A.T always phoning at approx 6.15 in the evening and again at 12.15 in the afternoon anyway...

Four people: Matt, Aussie (with the big nose), Malcolm and F.A.T are the people who could have the opportunity in company 1.
Matt doesn’t have links to my remittance slip company, nor does the Aussie (with the big nose).

There are two common elements to this funny money story. Malcolm and F.A.T. (Or one if I were to believe Malcolm -because he hasn’t seen F.A.T oooh since forever) Therefore Malcolm is the common link and Malcolm is the chief suspect because it couldn’t be F.A.T cooking the books as well, as the cakes because she’s not there and is a figment of my hormonal imagination.

Question do I believe Malcolm?

I wonder where the £75.00 has gone?

Anything would look perfect after a fat pear shape lump of cellulite.

2007-08-17T17:05:00.001+01:00

Malcolm. Malcolm has been trying to crawl inside my body.
"You're so beautiful it's all going to waste."
"I know." say I "Irresistible."
Every bloody morning when he's home Malcolm lurks around the bathroom. He peers around the shower curtain. He hovers when I'm painting my face. He follows me up the stairs lifting my dressing gown and says you have the most perfect bum.
"Well anything would look perfect after a fat pear shape lump of cellulite."
"You need me."
"I do." I agree.
"And I need you." he murmurs. "Be my woman."
"And grinds his dick against my thigh."
"Pays your money takes your choice."
"I have." He says with a tear in his eye. "I Love you."
"Do you an accountant?"
"What?"
"An accountant?"
"I don't have an accountant that would mean I had a company."

Yes Malcolm it would mean you have a company. And a company with F.A.T -fat arsed Terry, fronted by Matt who is doing you a favour 'cos you've got yourself in all sorts of problems now you have F.A.T's baby to support (did you tell him Malcolm that you had nil sperm after your early 1970's vasectomy- sorry that's a lie you did have a reversal and you do have 100,000 sperm (with poor mobility) so it can't have been her much younger husband's offspring -who's already sired three kids and who hasn't had the snip could it? And did he feel sorry for you?

But Malcolm I was right behind you when you were giving Matt your accountant's name after £25,000 had gone missing and the Aussie with the big nose got the blame for nicking it. You wanted Matt to give his accounts to your accountant to examine.

But you haven't seen F.A.T for years or was it last Christmas, I can't keep up and I no longer bother looking for evidence.
"Just prove to me it's over!"
"I can't prove a negative." He says sadly.
No but you could explain why you left this on the chest of drawers and who the P represents in room 108, but I never told you I had seen it. What would be the point? Sorry if that's spoiled your fun.

I wonder if I could get sued for insider trading?

2007-07-10T10:43:00.000+01:00

I heard the news today, oh boy and I just had to laugh. Marks and Spencer's shares had dropped.

LONDON (MarketWatch) -- Marks & Spencer reported an as-expected fiscal-year profit increase Tuesday, but the department-store operator's shares fell as investors seemed more concerned with sales trends, margin performance and its comments on the direction of U.K. consumer spending.

Shares of Marks & Spencer (UK:MKS: news, chart, profile) , ending down 4.7%, qualified as the biggest decliner in the FTSE 100 index (UK:UKX: news, chart, profile) .

Don't worry the share price will rise again. I wonder if I could get sued for insider trading?

Expect Marks and Spencer share price to drop in July: It's the Malcolm affect.

2007-06-30T17:48:00.001+01:00

Expect Marks and Spencer share price to drop. I kid you not! It's the Malcolm affect. Last year when he worked for them (freelance job only a couple of days) the share price dipped in July.
This year he will be working for them for a week -least that's what he's said to me. So a longer time frame = a bigger dip.

Malcolm worked for Marks on various in store fashion shows from 2001 until 2004. Marks and Spencer had until that point been a viable concern. The sudden and surprising down turn in their fortunes occurred during that same frame. When he was no longer hired they recovered! Marks and Spencer shares are already dipping in anticipation of his arrival I've just checked!

Ok it sounds bonkers but it isn't coincidence!

Every time Malcolm works for a company or invests in a venture it goes bump... Takes a dive.

It's the Malcolm Affect...

The awakening. Pigs bears sheds and arrows.

2007-06-30T13:42:00.000+01:00

My very first memory is sitting on stone steps that led down to the front garden of our house in Cornwall. That is the awakening. This period of early pre-school life a series of snapshots, a jumble of images. I shall recall those memories here.

There was the time my brother shot my sister in the leg with an arrow. She still has the scar. Well she did the last time I saw her which was twenty years ago.

There was the time when mother locked my sister and me in the shed, I don't know what the time was but it was dark and it was raining. We sat on the concrete floor away from the walls for this is where the spiders lived. We sat side by side but not touching and not speaking. I don't know what our crime was. But when the thunder got louder mother opened the door and promised us the only reason she was letting us out was because of the lightening. I don't know if we were destined to spend the whole night there, perhaps we were maybe we weren't but the thunder saved all three of us from a larger regret.

I nearly got run over. I dashed over to greet a friend and her mother, there was a screeching of brakes and the girls mother screamed and the man who was driving shouted. All I recognized was that I was the subject and the cause of these fervent emotions and I, brave to the last bolted. I don't know how long it was when I summoned up the courage to return home.

Oh this is interesting! I was given my bear, Snowball. Snowball is sitting on the shelf overlooking me as I type this. He's old and bald and grey now. A bit like me save for the bald bit. He is wearing the same knitted green trousers and red jumper my nan made for him all those moons ago. He has shared all my secrets, is privy to all my actions.

I went to school, I wasn't enrolled and wasn't old enough to attend, but I'd left my roost on the steps and followed my sister. The playground emptied as the bell rang. I toddled into her class and plonked myself down at the first vacant desk. Sometime later my mother appeared and I was returned to the garden steps.

What else. The pig in the garden. I was just about to make friends with that saddle back when a baker brandishing a loaf of bread stepped between us.

I'm both peculiarly lucky and spectacularly unfortunate!

2007-06-30T12:48:00.000+01:00

I have decided to write my autobiography. It won't follow a chronological sequence. Just memories and recollections of things past that rummage around my head in the early hours of the morning. Some people have charmed lives, some people grim. It's the luck of the draw and the ability to play life's hand.

I'm not playing my hand very well. I'm both peculiarly lucky and spectacularly unfortunate! My life dashes from one storm to another with still water only a brief respite from the gathering clouds and another tempest.

I read in Cosmo, many moons ago : if the same things keep recurring then the problem lies with oneself. I believe this to be true, have always remembered it. The battered woman ,battered again by another and different partner.

My life with Malcolm did I seek him out? Did I at some deep subconscious level recognise what a devious shit he was? and in some bleak hole within gain security from the familiar?

Technorati Profile

2007-02-26T23:21:00.000+01:00

Well I'm not in the menopause, back to the boring monthly routine! Ye gods don't know whether to be pleased or pissed off.

I've decided to be more honest with this blog, I am no longer going to conceal names or places - what's the point?! I may just tweak the spelling a bit - haven't quite decided.

Apparently Malcoln has bred again -umm and him just reached his 60th. End of 2003 F.A.T gave birth. Amazing! The not so immaculate conception. Malcolm had a vasectomy. His sperm count when last checked was just 100.000 and sluggish after his reversal, but apparently when the relationship was nearing an end -hey she became pregnant! Wow you don't have to be Sherlock Malcolm... Or so I thought! Turns out he likes the idea. Gives him cred, his ego is massaged. Old git gets woman young enough to be his daughter pregnant.

Apart from the fact this is how she got her husband to marry her -hey what works once will surely work again! So after Hollie's birth -6 months or so later she marries. And then when Malcoln and F.A.T'S relationship begins faltering bobs your uncle ...
"I'm pregnant Malcoln, must be yours."

Oh please, give me strength. Sad or what. Who is this guy?

I think you could call it an affair, but maybe it was just sex...

2006-09-26T10:29:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I had a blood test. My oestrogen levels were still high but apparently I have another hormone kicking in which means at some point in the nearish future I will be officially a middle aged menopausal woman -a fully certified member of the old bag's club.
Humph!
So!
Malcolm is still with the squat fly -although he seems keener to hide the evidence- but the cache of goodies received stashed in a jacket lining, lay testament to his continued pursuit of the fat arsed one -fat arsed Terry- or just F.A.T for short.

Red rag to a bull

2006-09-07T16:20:00.000+01:00

Malcolm says if I go to court with my accusations he will really humiliate me, as oppose to just humiliate, which he's already done. I said, "Malcolm you want her, have her," -but she'll take all of you Malcolm which including your dodgy past. I mean Malcolm you wouldn’t lie to her would you.

I'm writing this after another row and it isn't 'cos things have improved that I haven't added to this old bag's, just I didn't see the point, I suppose that was mild depression or i'm really so pissed off writing anything other than expletives would not have adequately expressed how I feel or felt.

June was the month of my last period, so that is it then, i'm officially a middle aged menopausal old bag. Life's rich tapestry. And an unpleasant farewell it was, dribbled on for two weeks and smelt like a cat had died.

So Malcolm your gauntlet is laid down... !

Clinging to a cardboard box

2005-12-03T19:45:00.000+01:00

I've lived here the longest I've lived anywhere. I dread the day when I finally have to up-sticks. I would like to grow old here. I cling to this house, my home, a drowning woman clinging to a cardboard box. When I was growing up we moved every eighteen months and I continued that restless quest into my twenties. I still love traveling. I still love the idea at looking at houses. When I see a removal van I get a pang, I'm instantly transported I imagine the new house. I am opening boxes and arranging furniture. I desire to be in those shoes, on those van wheels, but I want to stay in this house!

Although I come from a very long line of Naval families, this wasn't the reason for the constant moving my father had left the service five years before my birth. Both my parents had lived in their homes all their growing up years. So if it wasn't the nature of the work and it wasn't an inherited trait what was it? We were taken to Australia. Upped sticks, lock stock and barrel, my father, mother, gran, sister, brother and me. We returned all of us -minus my father- nine months later (the summer of 1965, I was ten.)

We stayed in digs. We lived in a council high rise, we moved to a two up two down. We moved to a Victorian terrace. If this was to afford any stability with four bedrooms and two living rooms to play with there were a seeming endless combination and variation as we were shifted endlessly from one space to another as rooms were decorated commissioned and proscribed. I slept first in the downstairs living room. Mother took in a lodger. I was now to share the back bedroom with my sister. The lodger moved out I was moved to the back attic bedroom. My sister moved out I was moved to the front attic bedroom. A new lodger moved in and I on my sixteenth birthday moved out.

On average as a family we moved every eighteen months. After leaving I decreased the ratio to once every year. Funnily enough my mother was only to move once more; she'd managed to stay in one place for nearly a quarter of a century. But in the last year of her life she moved four times and even in death she was to travel over a hundred miles to her grave.

So now I'm here. I'm not wanted here. But I don't want to be there because I don't know where that is, but if I cling to this box then it will become very soggy and sink and around me is an ocean and I don't see any land....

Regina and The Abode of The Ordinary!

2005-11-15T22:09:00.000+01:00

Fat, (fat arsed Terry) the buzzing squat fly got herself in a bit of trouble over the summer: questions were apparently raised in the Abode of the Ordinary, she was selling tickets to exploit a woman who did not know or agree to the proposition that she was purchasable. She (Fat) had managed to prostitute the services of "Regina" and Fat was to reap the pecuniary profit. But, shame! She got discovered. A journalist posed as a punter and true enough there was the lady laid bare. Anyway, Fat did what Fat always does and that is wobble, she blamed someone else (sweet.)

Anyway, yesterday I had dinner with my old brother, as in dear old, elder, eldest and only brother who happens also to be getting on in years, but he has two young children (to prove he's young in parts, please don't mention the curate's egg I was going to then I thought this whole blog is turning into a seeming code and anybody who reads it will start looking for messages which just aren't here: she said hoping that someone can be bothered. When we do things do we do them because we want other people to notice them or I wonder would we do them any way? Well not with a blog otherwise we would just write in private in our diaries, in bed and alone but we publish, but then again all the names and places are changed so why? I shall ponder on that.) My nieces. I painted, well was painted, (Nose, red. Hand, green. Jacket various shades of indiscriminate hues. Got hit with a ball that lights up when struck (head, eye, ear, arm, hand, she is one hell of a shot, or not depending on your point of view, there was not one part of my anatomy that didn't glow when struck, I felt like a human pinball. I got to hold Cloud who is a black guinea pig with white round blotches hence the name. Shadow also lived up to her name and remained behind the straw bale until she was requested rather firmly to join the party, which she did whilst emitting a loud complaining squeak. But Cloud and I fell in love. She has a rather natty hairstyle with a circular centre parting. That's not the reason we fell in love by the way I mean any man wearing a toupee with a centre parting and white or silver patches wouldn't couldn't be the most biggest turn on in the world. Perhaps I'm a closet lesbian with a rodent fetish. She purred and cooed and snuggled and she was a delight.

My eldest niece and I shared fruitgums, which were stowed safely away back in my bag! But the one who is not yet two was caught as a bag dipper by dint of the fact that when she returned to the kitchen her cheeks were larger than Shadow's and she was dribbling rather a lot. My bag was placed under office arrest and locked securely in my big brothers computer room. The fruitgums were safely contained as she is under age to have such hazardous material and a cloud not in the shape of a patchy guinea pig descended until two seconds later when we realised that little one wasn't going to choke murdered by her aunt with fruity temptations: blame Nestles or Cadbury, blame anybody they should have a government health warning, why not? everything else is plastered in signs and warning slogans. You get warned of a roundabout then later they add a sign warning you of the warning of the roundabout and then another warning to look out for the warning of the warning of the roundabout. Why just not lock the whole of the population in a white padded cell and have done. Hey I'm an old bag and I'm entitled to utter. Besides this is my blog and if I utter I utter..!

The Sky Is Purple

2005-05-21T22:00:00.000+01:00

It's along time since I last made an inclusion into my old bag's utterings, but hey ho, time flies when your having fun! I'm sitting in my office, it's really the smallest room in the house just with a grandiose title. It's stopped raining, on the weather it says sunshine and showers; bloody monsoon here, too much water; the gutters couldn't take it.
I was watching the programme about Michelangelo but I had this all consuming need to kick my husbands head off his ugly shoulders that even the divine Buonarroti could not stop the raw anger and I have hit my keyboard in plastic replacement. It must be nice to be a writer. Why are we not ever grateful for the talents we do own, but crave another's? and why do ( maybe I should qualify,-do I -) allow the horrible things to dominate the good and positive things? I'm selling on Ebay, a sea of positive plus's one negative grey pimple and I'm tormented. Sad.
Malcolm has been out of work for eight months. He is feeling sorry for himself. I feel both pleased and hurt that that is what pleases me. Definition of evil: 'drop a pebble into a pond.' and the ripples grow, and grow.
Nothing of who I am actually exists, according to Malcolm. I latched on to a millionaire. this is the smallest house he's ever lived in. He's never been broke. All the things our twenty years together have been redesigned.
I saw myself as stoic, strong and sensitive. Throw understanding and supersensitive to my husbands wishes in there for good measure and we have the cauldron of who I thought I was. I thought I was noble. I felt proud that I, this women of slender means could stand strong and support her man, eight years on sickness benefit taking prozac. There is too much too tell. I could do a chart perhaps. '
Bailiffs in four times,
Receiver in once.
House reposed just once.
Malcolm's father imprisoned just once, for rape and paedophilia, well that's ok then.
The X wife sectioned four times under the mental health act.
Malcolm's problems.
Malcolm took to prozac. It took seven years for me to save the deposit for this house., Malcolm said he would repay me not just financally but emotionally. we were now going to reap the rewards the x wife the financial crisis were over a new leaf etc etc. Me. I believed .. When we moved in to this sweet little cottage we had a whole year of it being ... nice... yes nice.. that word.. a supposedly insignificant word that shouldn't be used in describing anything of worth. Well maybe it wasn't worthy of the word-nice cos it didn't last more than a year. And now Malcolm has new friends with his new found job as a freelance whatever. He has a new woman he has a new history and everything I did and everything I was is no more, because apparently Malcolm was a millionaire who went broke , he did prison visiting...... a great charitable act, and this house is the smallest house he has ever lived in......... It must be wonderful to so invent your life could of sworn when our house was repossessed we lived in an absolute rented hovel. one of Malcolm's new friends said to me.... "if I really loved him I would believe him." So ... This then is the smallest house, Malcolm's a millionaire and the sky is purple cos Malcolm says so.....But then i no longer have blinkers, on rose coloured or not and my history and who I am is not going to be irradicated because you Malcolm need to be someone else, I don't. Maybe that is your misfortune but that is something I'm not helping you with. Not any more.

Telephone exchange

2004-11-12T01:21:00.000+01:00

termagant

n : a scolding nagging bad-tempered woman [syn: shrew]

Another argument. This particular row started after Malcolm had answered the phone. It was 'Mick' we've known him for around five years and he is the guy that fitted our patio doors in barter for Malcolm helping paint his house. Anyway Malcolm believes that Mick is the instigator of all his woes. He wants to think Mick told me about his screwing the f.a.t because, Malcolm explains 'he fancies older women.' So that explains it then! Anyway neither of us had heard from Mick for a year. (He had become embroiled in supplying Malcolm with a telephone alibi, and when later Mick rang Malcolm back to ask,

"If it was ok and was I convinced?"

It was bad timing, because I was sitting right beside Malcolm, and he being partially deaf has his mobile on the loudest setting possible and I couldn't help but overhear. The next day I rang Mick for an explanation. The day after my call Malcolm phoned him.) So no shocks for him not wanting to show up at our place then! Malcolm had exclaimed to me after this incident that,

"Mick is banned from this house...because he can't be trusted"

So it was a surprise to learn of his call. Malcolm told me he was really cool with him.

"Not rude. I'm just not interested. I don't want to know."

Then I said, "why Mick?"

"You know why."

"Not really. You've told a lot of different things to a lot of people. I'm surprised you remember it all." -Which of course he doesn't- So I get different accounts of the same events. The argument: seeded, now grew into a thorny persistent weed. The upshot of which resulted in Malcolm saying, after he'd thrown his mobile at me,

"You phone Alex." (a work colleague of Malcolm's and who I had met just three times or so. A bit of a gamble on Malcolm's part but the gauntlet thrown down I did just that... so we've barely spoken through out the week. By yesterday we did manage to crack the odd joke -and not just at each others expense- and today there has been a general thawing. Not knowing Alex' responses he finally hit me with,

"So what did Alex say?"

Malcolm you really shouldn't have needed to ask you should have known the answer...

It is Halloween

2004-10-29T16:15:00.000+01:00

Ghosts are here
Shadows on the ceiling
Footsteps on the floor
Bony fingers scratching
scraping at the door

Ghosts are here
Cobwebs dance in corners
Creaking treads the stair
Icy voices moan, chill
whispers stir the air

Ghosts are here
Skeletons tap rhythms
to tunes long since played.
Welcome bright morning
here the ghosts are laid.

I saw a ghost once. Circa: '64. We were not long to leaving for Australia; 'the ten pound poms.' I was asleep in my bed, my sister asleep in the twin beside me. 30cms divided the beds and formed a protective moat from rival sibling insurgencies. The house lay quiet. It was high summer, but the light was gone. I could just make out silhouettes of furniture. I don't know what woke me. I just remember being awake. My big sister a bump under the covers. She slept to my right and nearest the door and I took the position nearest the window. From the corner of the room, the corner furthest away from me, started to appear lights. I watched as these lights began to form themselves into a shape. They weren't bright huge balls of brilliance but small points of light.The best way I can think to describe this vision is the join-up-the-dots books we would have as kids, whereby you follow a certain course determined by a numbered sequence and there 'lo and behold!' is revealed an image of something that had lain quite hidden, just an arrangement of seemingly random ink spots.

As they shaped themselves they also moved forwards, 'he' moved out from the dark corner to the bottom of my sister's bed. The further he came into the room the more defined his shape became. The strange thing about this man was he appeared to be half a man or a man without legs. He was the height of someone seated, the bottom of his jacket did not appear above the line of Laura's bed. Still progressing from the corner and nearer and nearer to me and taking more and more shape as he did so. He glided (there was no movement of his body at all just this propulsion forward, almost as if a mannequin ware being pushed along on a trolley.) through her bed and on towards me. He was wearing a hat. The image was almost complete. A naval officers flat cap. He was wearing the uniform of the R.N. He was past the moat. I looked at him, and he looked at me, and still he advanced.

In the morning I told big brother. I told big sister. No response. Then I told her how he'd come though her bed as if this violation and act of trespass would illicit sympathy, understanding? A response of "really." would do.
"God you are soooooooo stupid."
I told mother, but only after Laura had already regaled her of my night-time escapade.
"yes I know. Laura said."
I told my dad. I told my gran. They both seemed to find it amusing, smiling as I explained the join up the dots idea. Nobody was behaving as I expected or wanted them to act. What that was I have no idea but I knew this was not the reaction I desired. I told my friends at school who were much more obliging in their terrified responses, the downside was now none of them would venture into my bedroom any more which meant either I was always visiting them or we played downstairs under the ever watchful gaze of mother, big sister or big brother, or all three, or any combination of older more sensible people. A horrifying prospect. But it is Halloween.

Merry-go-round

2004-10-25T02:17:00.000+01:00

Nov 2001

...Malcolm asked me to sign a paper today stating we would become tenants in common rather than joint owners of our property.... I told him to get stuffed, but more politely phrased... I don't like this at all I. In fact he has made me furious. I could say after all I've done for you, but that just doesn't sound like me even when I just think it...God I really don't like this. I don't trust him or my own feelings right now. Just awful...

Malcolm said today,

"This is the smallest house I've ever lived in."

"What beside 'Eaglebury', 'Preferton' and 'Sheepble'?" I said.

And didn't you say your cottage in the midlands was minute?" I was on a role.

Malcolm forgets who he's talking to. Or: he forgets which story he's told to what person. Is he the idiot or am I for believing in him for so long? He blames other people for informing on him. But it isn't true. Malcolm is the informant. He has to talk, and no matter what evidence, contracts written, and papers proving the contrary, Malcolm has a story to tell and won't let facts get in the way of a good anecdote.

Malcolm and I had a heart to heart, a lay our cards on the table dialogue recently, the conversation was chugging along quite amicably.

"Are you going to tell me who it is?" Malcolm asked.

"Who what is?"

"This person who's stirring all this up. Making all this trouble. I don't care how big he is."

"What makes you think it's a he?" I said.

"Why are you protecting him?" he responded.

"Because it's obvious who it is."

"Stop playing games,"

"You call this a game?"

"What you're saying is this person is more important than me if you won't tell me"

"Is this what this chat is about? You finding out who the informant is?"

Things were becoming heated.

And so it went on...and on... and..... The parry, thrust. The duck and the dive.

Then Malcolm said after some while and after it had cooled a little.

"So are You going to tell me then?"

"Is that what all this is about?" and round and round it went that argument a brakeless merry-go-round until he called me something horrible and I retaliated with the set phrase

"Looked in the mirror lately." And so even though he doesn't recognize it his persistent question was answered.

Most of what Malcolm gets up to is relayed to me via Malcolm, whether out of stupidity, amnesia or some deep-seated contempt I don't know. Maybe all three. So when he says, this the smallest house I've ever lived in. The translation: I've lived mostly in big houses until I was reduced to living in this place. He's run it by fat arsed Terry (who shall from here on in be known as just plain F.A.T) who billed and cooed and felt terribly sorry for him but was and is most impressed with the fact that Malcolm was a self made millionaire, now fallen on hard times. Malcolm told me,

"They all think I was a millionaire."

This he said just prior to a work colleagues wedding in 2002.

"You won't say anything will you?"

We both laughed at 'the gullibility of some people'.

I didn't realize then I was laughing at myself.

The British bulldog spirit

2004-10-14T02:17:00.000+01:00

Kenneth Biggly died on Thursday. A heavy,sinking feeling. Later the news rolled up with the possibility that he had escaped however momentarily from his captors; he had been 'free' for up to half an hour. At this news I felt a little better. A reflection of one mans fight to the end? The dogged English spirit? His spirit unquashed? Later after I had time to digest this information I queried my own reaction. The lightening of mood after his reported escape. We can imagine this mans fear but we hopefully will never know it. In the twin towers people jumped to their deaths, or faced the prospect of an inferno. Some choices aren't choices at all.. The headline of The Daily Bile shouts Ken Biggley's Heroic freedom bid... Later, On The Richard & Judy Show it is reported that Billy Connelly has made a flip remark about Kenneth Biggley. Outrage all round. The Daily Bile at fever pitch with patriotic union jack waving.

This comedian is one of our best talents and like all great talents he walks close to the edge. I didn't see this show where this remark was made but now it is suggested that the majority of us brits should not attend his one man show. Well he has been the top of the heap for a long time now and so in true British style he is about to pushed off his pedestal. Billy in his own defence states that he was referring to the media's handling of the case. The Daily's say this is a cowardly excuse. I say the news is mawkish. and voyeuristic. In a thirty minute evening slot 20 minutes will be taken up with just one 'hot' topic. Every angle will be played. Opinions sort, sorted, rehashed, and replayed ad nauseum until you feel so bored to death you can't wait for the story of the footballer who got caught with his pants down yet again with some airhead that sees him as a pay cheque for the next five years and he thinks he's the one that pulled! And so the news is over. Feeling rotten because something horribly serious and terrible has happened to some poor innocent somewhere in the world and yours truly is bored. So now you not only feel rotten for the victim in empathy but also bloody terrible for being bored and then guilty that you are bored and all you did was turn on the television for a little escapism.

Malcolm is home at the moment. He has been for a couple of weeks. Last week he got thumped for tax demand he didn't expect. This week he finds the company he was hoping to do more work for has been taken over by an American company. They are saying there will no changes but....This week he had a letter stating that he was personally responsible for the hire cost of a van used by the company he worked for over the summer they have since gone into liquidation. Malcolm had signed a piece of standard small-print. This company are saying they hadn't authorised the use of their credit card for the extended period of the van hire.
So I said, "Are they claiming fraudulent use of a credit card?"
Which is a criminal suit rather than civil. So is rather serious. I joked that he would be carted off to prison "just like your dad, it must be in the genes." Which admittedly was in poor taste but I'm not feeling kind at the moment especially to Malcolm. I blame the media.

The thistle glass conspiracy

2004-10-06T02:11:00.000+01:00

Ruth had visited a couple of times before Jane came to meet us. It was not long after our return from Berlin. We had bought Gary a crystal tumbler for Christmas that year, shaped in the from of a thistle an appropriate container for a scotch drinker. He loved it and treated it with reverence and would not allow June to wash it but rinsed and dried it himself. It came as a surprise that in November he said he had broken the glass, but it made Christmas gift buying for him easy I would find a replacement.

Spring 1990 we were thinking of moving, combining our business with our living space; the poll tax had just been introduced along with the new business rate and over night we were paying three times what we had been previously charged... We were invited over to Jane's flat, her home she shared with Ruth, her son from a previous marriage Paris, and her part time partner Gary. It was a surreal experience. Not only did Jane look like June but their names were also so alike that sometimes if you muddled them up and called Jane June and vice versa no one would notice or so I thought but I'm not so sure now. The things I notice now are minute. Small observations, large meanings. Was June the same? It's as if once something gets drawn to your attention everything has hidden meaning and seemingly innocent statements are gone over with a highlighter pen.

But the similarities didn't stop at physinomy or name calling. Gary poured us all a drink, he drank his whiskey from a thistle tumbler! Very much like the one I had seen just the week before at June's home. In the living room the same armchair took up the same allotted space by the fire and in comfortably opposition to the TV. The same newspapers stacked on a duplicate side table. The television controller, video controller, telephone all took the same positions surrounding the armchair. The carpets were the same colour, the wallpaper the paintwork. The cooker the same make, the fridge, freezer, washing machine. White goods to furnishings. Everything was duplicated a mirror image of Gary's other home. June's home.

After dinner we, Jane, Malcolm, Ruth and me went to the spiritualist church for a meeting. Jane's first marriage was conducted in the church and Ruth christened within it. I had never been to a psychic anything before and I was curious. I don't know what I expected but it certainly wasn't that. The man threw names at the congregation and people grabbed at them like bridesmaids chasing bouquets. He spoke of rabbits and chocolate eggs, well it was approaching Easter after all. He spoke on. An hour limped by.
"Why would Gary want to duplicate a home that he apparently didn't want to be in?" I wondered.
"Is there a Walter in the room?"
My brain wandered down corridors to the back beat of..
"Can you understand that?" and
"I have a woman here with grey hair." etc etc
I arrived at the conclusion that everything was replicated as an insurance policy. If he spoke about an article in the paper it would be in the same paper just a different flat. Fluff on the trousers would match fluff that could be picked up at home. He had covered most of the bases to prevent exposure and that was his biggest mistake of all.....
"Does anyone know this man?" the medium asked. I didn't put my hand up then, I couldn't put it up now.

Lazy Sunday

2004-09-27T03:07:00.000+01:00

October 2001

...Malcolm asked me whether I could continue to live with someone -just as friends- after a marriage break-up. I said shouldn't think so but would depend....

Today: the remaining hostage Kenneth Biggley is still held captive in Iraq. Today: the master of hounds allegedly sent an email recommending the care and nurture of the vixen and her cubs to increase the dwindling supply of country foxes and Today I read the Sunday papers whilst eating a full English breakfast washed down with a pot of lazy sunday coffee. I did however; manage another step in sorting out my computer, which after returning from the shop for a tweak has developed several irritating quirks. The American keyboard I finally managed to correct even though the kbduk.dll file was missing. At present I still cannot find my cd rewriter and I still can't sort out the problem it has in outlook express in finding my server. No network connection established. Cannot find server. The host cannot be found etc etc. So I have to go to the dun file tick a few boxes then untick them and Bob's your uncle it works again. It also works on system restore but after restoring continually I reached the point when the operating system itself was created and it could restore no more.

Viruses: what is the point? I used to think a certain level of knowledge and intelligence was needed. But no you can buy the blooming things off the shelf. And it's not as if the perpetrator can see the results of their handiwork they are just tossed out and plonk into someone's inbox and then well the results are whatever the virus is programmed to do. I suppose if the sender of the infection has a good imagination they can sit in their room and fantasize about the mayhem or irritation they have caused, but as they don't know who what or where, why not go the whole hog and just imagine they sent the virus as well? I can though; sort of see the point of sending something of that nature to an enemy. As an act of revenge. As an act of retaliation. To someone perhaps with a huge arse, living in Surrey, three kids and cooks canapÃ©s. Yes I can just imagine the point of that.

Some agony aunt was droning on the other week about extra marital affairs. She opined that there must be something wrong in a relationship for a partner to look elsewhere. I agree. The something wrong is a cad, a liar and a cheat and is called Malcolm. We women are supposed to look at our flaws when a partner strays. Analyse our faults. It is because of the shape of our nose, size of breasts, too stupid, too clever whatever. Well I reckon you only have seconds when the first is good. I mean you don't take another slice if the cake was crap. And Malcolm can never refuse seconds.

I've Never Liked The Colour Purple

2004-09-07T22:51:00.000+01:00

Oct 2001

....Malcolm's out painting Marks' house in return for which we will have new patio doors fitted. Malcolm is still grumpy, snappy and just plain peculiar......
Malcolm is away again . He is not calling me. Last week when he was away he returned with the argument." I thought not speaking to you would make you come to your senses."Oh dear I just don' seem to have comprehended the lesson. Stacked up in the hall amongst other 'extras' was a gift-wrapped package inside a plastic carrier bag. While Malcolm was sitting watching people run after a ball I picked up the bag brought it to the sofa and opened the present. It contained a child's toy ladybird, complete with bells, lights and whistles, a purple dress, and a card saying; you are one year old today. I thought I recognised the hand that wrote the card ( those exclamation marks do tend to be a bit of a giveaway!!!) Anyway I undid the wrapping around the actual toy itself. Malcolm was becoming very agitated."You want to play with that?" He said."No just looking."

The thing didn't make much sense to me at the time (if my presumption was correct -it was from the large arsed one.) Why a gift was needed for Malcolm's grand daughter whose birthday was gone and it would be another six months to her second? Malcolm explained away the package and enclosed gift with the remark that it, "Was left on site."The next day a card arrived with an invitation to a christening. Molly at 18 months is to be recognised by the church. That evening I say to Malcolm." I think I'll give that dress to my niece at Christmas, she'll be a year old then, it would be a shame to waste it."To which Malcolm pipes up, "The dress is for an eighteenth month old, and I've already promised it to Rosemary- his daughter."Now call me old fashioned. But something that was just left on a site, by an unknown party who failed to collect it, in a gift wrapped package, and Malcolm just happens to know the dress age of the frock?....

Couldn't be someone's been shopping. Couldn't be someone knew about the christening via a mobile. And couldn't be that said someone wanted to show her generosity of spirit by spending her husbands money on a frockette? No! impossible. You would have to be really cynical to believe such a thing.

Rummaging Aloft

2004-08-28T20:49:00.000+01:00

'The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I.'
M Arnold

Malcolm wanted to know whether we had stored some heating units in the attic. We hoisted up the step-ladder and I because I'm smaller I went through the hatch. The units we'd kept ( they were to be used for a diy job that was planned for our conservatory.)
" While your up there have a look and see if you can find some of that old paperwork, it's time it was sorted."
I hoicked four cardboard boxes of various sizes stuffed with old photos, forms, contracts, tax receipts, cheque stubbs and just the general debris of modern existence that doesn't get thrown out "just in case."

So we have till receipts for a tele that has long since passed its transmission date. A sandwich toaster guarantee card -not filled in . A couple of hairdryer receipts with corresponding guarantee cards - again not filled in. Various other receipts, cards, invoices for multifarious white goods: telephones, answering machines , computers, hovers etc etc. A ticker tape parade of parse "essentials." Malcolm got sorting through the papers: first division, his and mine. Second, to keep or not to keep. I made the third division which was 'ours.' Malcolm filled a black bin bag of the throw-away-able items. The next day he was out. Which was the very day the dustmen cometh. So I took said bag from bedroom to dustbin (apart from the papers I retrieved and are now stowed under the category of -you're not just disposing of the evidence- or: you may reinvent your life but.... or: what the hell did I do that for?)

Our old diaries were amongst the litter. And as I haven't yet returned to the loft they remain in a box in our bedroom. I hadn't read his diaries before. Well not the ones prior to our union. I have now. (Neither of our diaries were/are considered private they are just office notes really: comings and goings, appointments, meetings etc etc. - well that's what I thought.) Year 1983 onwards -with just a couple missing, which are probably in another box, in another place, in the attic.

Malcolm began a business in 1983 in partnership with a friend of his. They installed heating in offices and factories and ran a small crew of contractors. Prior to this Malcolm sold heating apparatus for a company. He had, so I'm told, a falling out with the boss over some commission payments. Malcolm of course was the top salesman. Before that job he was a car salesman. And before that he worked for an in-law as a plasterers mate.
"keep stirring the plaster like this and you'll have muscles like a bulldogs bollocks!"Malcolm was instructed and often quotes.

What makes the diaries so interesting is although I thought I knew more or less how things were ordered in his life I really hadn't grasped the time frame, or Malcolm's capacity for reinvention.

The first entry is a meeting between the bank, Malcolm, Malcolm's wife - Nora, his partner and his partner's wife. Malcolm had been married for fifteen years at this point.

22nd April 1983
Meeting at bank M,N K&P

3rd August
To bank with orders

8th August
Sign contract with bank.

14th Sept
Met Diane first time

22nd Sept
Meet Diane carpark

27th Sept
London!

21st Oct
Collect children

4th Nov
Squash Diane

7th Nov
Collect keys no 32

8th Dec
Appointment MC lawyer re:separation

Diane was a P.A for a large accountancy firm in the city. She was of good middle class stock, and several years younger than Malcolm. Malcolm had told me he had left his wife for another woman. And leaving the kids was the hardest thing he had to do. Diane was just an excuse to escape the unhappy home life he had to endure. I believed him and felt terribly sorry for him. She never cooked "all our food came from packets." She was superficial. And a snob. "Never satisfied, always looking at what the neighbours had." I now believe that Malcolm was projecting his flaws onto her. I always thought I was a cynical old bag, but I believed him. I knew he was flawed who isn't? but in a way that just added to his charm....On the other hand the clues were there. In our relationship there has always been this undercurrent, female intuition? telepathy? insanity? - most probably.,.. but odd occurrences have always been explained away. Not always satisfactorily but ..........

The Meringue On My Head

2004-08-21T21:44:00.000+01:00

We had spent the whole morning cleaning. Floors washed, rubbish taken out, surfaces waxed, furniture polished. Our fourteenth century cottage sparkled. I did not. Malcolm had already scrubbed up and was now at the local shops. I jumped in the shower. An hour to go before our visitors arrived. The suds a meringue on my head, the doorbell had rung; I think. I listened as water gurgled in old lead pipes. Nothing. Meringue turned to half beaten egg white. I rubbed conditioner into my hair and continued to comb it through as the steam and water ran away the dirt and ague of our cleaning extravaganza. The phone was ringing.
"Oh bugger off." I said and applied a dollop of shower gel to my sponge. The answer phone clicked in.

"Talk to you later." I said aloud. And allowed the warm water to course it's route over my appreciative body.

Voices. Sounds under the window. I was dry, dressed and feeling good. Twenty five minutes to go.. Raised voices coming from the garden... I looked out. Gary had arrived early... It took a while for him to accept my apology. But he gave the impression that I had deliberately kept them waiting. And I suppose if I was standing in those particular moccasins maybe I would have thought the same. Eight years later, June on her death bed would quote my rudeness and the instance of my locking Gary out. Gary of course had not-could not-have described the whole story. I wished he hadn't needed to say anything at all. Selective victimhood. A family trait.

Ruth was thirteen the same age as Malcolm's son David. She was tall and looked very much like Gary. There was no mistaking who's daughter she could be. Gary had always wanted a daughter. He had two sons: Malcolm, the younger and Jamie. ('Beware of what you most want you may just get it.') Ruth was the apple of his eye, and after 'my rudeness' was overlooked the day was very pleasantly spent.
We were introduced to Jane a few months later. Malcolm said how honoured he felt to be the one to which his father had confided....

A bag of sherbet lemons

2004-08-16T01:11:00.000+01:00

October 2001

...Our wedding anniversary. 16 years on and I get a card from Malcolm that says: For your Anniversary! So what happened to our all of a sudden? Honestly the man is becoming hopeless....

This week started badly and continued the same thread. It's now Sunday. Monday started with a rejection notification from an art project I quite liked the idea of doing. Hey ho.Win some lose some. Tuesday is fine until early afternoon when Malcolm decides - after I flatter him about how well he's fixed the garden bench where both our bums are at that moment residing- to go and rummage for some more bolts in a newly acquisitioned nut and bolt Tupperware container he wants to show off. Alas he has discovered the case of the missing jacket. I am of course to blame! He is now not speaking to me. I am also accused of deliberately losing my mobile phone. How anyone can lose anything deliberately is beyond me. You either lose it- which means you haven't a clue what's happened to it -or you've sold it, thrown it, posted it or donated it to a charity shop... whatever. My mobile is not where I left it this much is true. I am also stand accused of the culpable case of the missing bottle of Cointreau. This I point out vanished the day he just had to 'pop over' and visit a colleague about some potential new work.

"You're bonkers," he said"

When was this supposed to have happened?"

"Jan Feb of this year," I reply.

"Not possible.""You told me you went to see his new flat."

"You are definitely losing it," he stated.

"I seem to be losing everything." I sniffed.

I go to the office and check his diary dates just to make sure I'm not totally stark raving, and there sure enough is the entry.

"Well I never took the Cointreau with me," he responded.

Anyway today we are just about mumbling to each other. He has returned from a days tour working on an outdoor event. His legs are badly bitten from some horrible insect. He is allergic to most biting bugs . His legs are badly swollen and are oozing pus and fluid.

Saturday I got my second rejection letter. The art world. Who in their right mind would be an artist? Last month in AN I read in the opportunities column: Wanted artist to create sculpture in stone with bronze application. Now it strikes me that this particular council or committee type personage had obviously seen something they like that would work in the designated space. So why not find out who the artist is and commission them. The artist would be very flattered and the 'whoever' person who decided that this form would be ideal for their project would be rewarded by seeing 'their' vision recreated.

Another thing that really bugs me (images of swollen legs are having an effect) you not only have to deliver the goods, and on budget and on time. But you are also expected to be able to produce something that is art whilst working with umpteen kids. Now I don't believe this is possible. Would this committee type person be able to do justice to their job surrounded by dozens of enquiring minds. We have art teachers for that. An artist is also supposed to give talks, mentor and do care in the community at the same time as create a supposedly enduring piece of work. Why? It looks great on paper. Community involvement and all that. Can you imagine the Sistine Chapel being created under such terms. Van Gogh, Michelangelo, Bacon, Freud their communication was their work. We would all be the poorer with out such people because of their creative output not for their tolerance, teaching skills, social skills or the ability to swing from a lampshade whilst sucking a lemon sherbet.

Oh well Monday tomorrow; the start of a whole new week. Must remember to buy a bag of sherbet lemons......

A sad farewell

2004-08-13T08:39:00.000+01:00

December 1968

End of a school day. Walking through back-streets. Turning the corner. Life would be different now. School uniform: wearing the colours of Nelson's flagship. Black anorak. Fur trimmed hood. Black skirt: short. Knee length socks: white, orange and black stripe knee decoration. Woven orange sash (tied into pretty knots hangs at my waist). Same coarse fabric noosed at my neck.

Two up two down. Push hand through letter box, feel for string, pull up key. I unusually am not the first home. To my left and just inside the house is the front room, and a makeshift mother's bedroom. In front of me is my mother. Standing by the stairs and blocking the way to one of the two bedrooms (and also by proximity to the living room) is a policeman. They are hushed.

Mother says." This policeman has something to tell you."I said nothing. I look to her and then to him. He I think was young. "Testing his metal" "Got to do it sometime lad." etc etc. The apprenticeship of the bobby."Your father is dead." Was all he could or would say."What of ?" I said.

I laid on my bed. Early evening. I thought.... I thought of nothing. No words, no images. I think I had dinner. I think I went to school the next day. I know I didn't cry. Not Then. Maybe it was five years later when something, a conversation , a look. I cried. For me? For him? I have no idea.

Ernest was cremated in Australia. His ashes were flown home and were scattered from the Isle of Wight ferry. I did not attend the event, my sister did, my brother didn't, my mother didn't. His sister did.

A sad farewell.

It's the thought that counts!!!

2004-08-10T17:44:00.000+01:00

Oct 2001

...Malcolm has -I reckon- been to a lap-dancing club; his story is all garbled and mumbled. In the morning I find white stuff on the front of his pants. Male menopause strikes the household, honestly if you need to see strippers just bloody say so...

Malcolm is sleeping. He didn't return until the early hours and the night before was spent in a cruddy hotel. Alone of course. He just happened to drop in the we got stuck in traffic, and when I said,

"We who?"

It was most unfortunate but his mobile disconnected us. He couldn't return any calls at all that night, the signal was so bad.
"Must have been working in a blackhole." Malcolm explained.
I wonder if he meant it in the literal sense?

This morning I was given a very nice bottle of chardonnay, thank you. The nature of his work is such that any rider remaining untouched gets shared amongst the crew. I think there is also a bottle of burgundy. I don't drink red often: it has this horrible purple staining effect on my tongue and lips. A white flowing robe, huge incisors and a desire to roam graveyards at night would compete for visual impact.

Malcolm has a new jacket. An outdoor protective jacket given to him by the company he's working for. Malcolm asked me once.

"How would someone manage to bring presents from their lover home?"

We were watching some soap or other at the time, and it was pertinent to the unfolding "bit on the side" drama.
"Carefully." I said.
So, if I had given him a method would he have followed it faithfully? And therefore underlined his own affair. I had by this time noticed the attended list of giftettes, they are recognisable by their website procurement attachments, or their bad taste -or maybe a taste that doesn't reflect my own if I was being kind, which I'm not so it's appallingly naff taste. One just has to have a label darling...!!!!! And while I'm on the subject of naff, she, Terry, has to use an explanation mark after every other utterance. Mostly in triplicate!!! and I've even seen her use it after her own name. Terry! What is the psychology of that I wonder? And yet another irritating habit of hers is to write words in a repeated form. Really really!!! or Please please please!!! So even though they ascribe their emails and texts to other persons. If something is written: I really really need to see you!!!!! Please please call!!! LoL Ethel!!!!! It does tend to highlight the true textee or emailee.

Anyway.Presents:

There was a horrible blue rubber pen bought from the net totally useless as you can't buy refills for it. I think this was the first gift and it is only with hindsight that I noticed it.
Attribution: company gift.
Outcome: lost

Postal Easter egg, only noticed with hindsight
Attribution: company gift.
Outcome:Malcolm ate it

Sunglasses -with designer label-large-
Attribution: found them.
Outcome: broken

Port & Fruit cake hamper from web only noticed with hindsight
Attribution: colleague gift.
Outcome: we ate it

Naval Jacket (web)
Attribution: company gift.
Outcome: badly stained

More sunglasses-hideous
Attribution: found them.
Outcome: broken

Mobile phone cover -naff
Attribution: swapped with someone he met in a cafe who just happened to have the same make and model number.
Outcome: I bought him another cover.

Golfing Jacket
Attribution: company gift.
Outcome: I managed to get paint on it whilst decorating the hall.

Underpants (web)
Attribution: none
Outcome: were poor quality and didn't survive the wash cycle.

More underpants (web)
Attribution: none
Outcome: were poor quality and didn't survive the wash cycle.

Fleece Jacket.
Attribution: colleague
Outcome: he ripped it on a nail.

Two short sleeved shirts:
Attribution: colleague
Outcome: poor quality, lost buttons, faded and now are dusters.

One new out door jacket arrived this weekend (web origins)
Attribution: company gift.
Outcome: I haven't seen it yet, I'm not sure he actually brought it home.
Malcolm is talking pants again, he needs some new ones. Apparently the ones he bought with me are too uncomfortable. I reckon though we ought to have a new washing machine before that happens because the quality he buys just don't survive our washer and it would be such a shame if more of his designer label knickers were turned into dusters. Perhaps we could get one from the net!!!

Machinations & skeletons

2004-08-06T16:10:00.000+01:00

Malcolm would like things to be normal."I just want a normal life."Malcolm has a normal life. Normal for Malcolm. Malcolm's father "Gary" carried on an affair for thirty years. No one knew. Family, friends, work colleagues, he led a double life. The people who did know were his "mistress" her friends and family. Gary kept her phone number in open view in his address book but listed under a pseudonym "Henry", but "June" Malcolm's mother was suspicious and although she never found this particular number she found other information that kept her curiosity aroused and her fingers rummaging through drawers and pockets.

Gary divorced June a year or so after Malcolm had divorced his wife, circa 1983. Gary though never moved out of the marital home. His "mistress" "Jane" did not know he had divorced, and she doesn't know either that we both witnessed his remarriage to Malcolm's mother a couple of years later, and is still unaware to this day. Nothing is said. There is no gain in the informing. Why he divorced, and why he remarried? he doesn't know, he just shrugs. What then is the difference between keeping a secret and being accomplice? Protecting someone from hurt, but also denying them the information they could use to make choices that effect their life. She would have, not unreasonably expected Gary to move in with her after his divorce, I can't understand why he did not, but I also understand that she would be terribly hurt by finding out, and so we tell ourselves we did the right thing, but with hindsight would she have taken the decisions and made the sacrifices she did if she had that information? We made those decisions for her, we knew best, but knowing what I know now I like to think I would have been brave enough to tell her. ....but then again .............

We'd been married a couple of years when Malcolm had a heart to heart with his father.
"Look if you are with another woman I'd like to know, you know it won't go any further!"
Nothing was said then, no confessions made, but after a couple of weeks Gary said he would like to pop over to see us, just him. In the pub over lunch he welcomed me to the family and said how much he liked me. He then got out a photograph laid it on the table and said this is Jane. He then reached further into his wallet and took out another portrait this time of his daughter "Ruth". I said nothing. Not because I was floundering, not because there were too many words waiting to be spoken and they didn't form an orderly queue, I just didn't have anything to say. I don't remember feeling anything at all. It was only when I picked up the photograph of Jane that it struck me she was the image of June.

Jane became Henry nicknamed after the address book entry where she had managed to remain hidden for so many years.

Glass of wine and half a lager please.

2004-08-06T00:33:00.000+01:00

... OLD BAG: Dictionary Entry and Meaning. Pronunciation: owld bag. ... Definition: [n]
an ugly or ill-tempered woman; "he was romancing the old bag for her money". ...

It was early April 1985 when I first met Malcolm. He had business premises in the newly refurbed wharf buildings in east London. It was dislike at first site. Although later he would claim he found me intriguing, I was not his type and he was not mine. I lived on the south coast trying to make my way as a painter. I answered an ad at the end of February for a part time designer, two hours after interview I was creating my first ad hoc -needs to be finished- installation. I got the job. Part time turned into full time as demands of work increased and my artistic career got placed on hold. "Kevin" my boss arranged the trip to town to choose restock. Malcolm came into my life.

His then girlfriend was there the first time I met him. She seemed pleasant enough. Malcolm asked Kevin whether he could hire me for a couple of days, Kevin agreed and Malcolm suggested I stay overnight at his flat.
"I don't think my partner would like that too much." I said.
"Well I don't think mine would either."
"We're agreed we need to book a hotel room then?" I stated. Malcolm snorted. I got hired more and more by the London branch and found I was dividing my time equally between the two businesses.

All was not well between Malcolm and "Diane", much gossip circulated. Teacups were thrown. Their arguments were legendary. Fortunately or not my meeting with Diane was the one and only time I had or would ever meet her. Everything I knew about her was third or fourth hand. His right hand man "Gerry" kept me a breast of developments in blow by blow graphic detail. I still hadn't really got to know Malcolm, he was just someone that came, gave instruction and then sped off. By now Diane had left for Australia, there was much speculation as to whether it was a permanent split, or a much needed break, gossip continued. Anyway I was in town, Gerry was out and about, when Malcolm arrived, he looked dreadful. Early afternoon Malcolm offered to buy me lunch, and so to the local we went.

It was in the pub that I started to see him in a different light. We had very similar backgrounds, and to my surprise held similar views on a variety of subjects. (It is years later that I realise Malcolm has views that agree with everyone he's in contact with at a given moment, but I digress.) He revealed a side to his nature that I hadn't previously noticed, and I, over the next weeks became increasingly concerned over his lack of interest in his own welfare. He was coming to work after not sleeping, not eating, and binge drinking, he was unravelling, we all wanted to help. Everyone pointed their finger at Diane, and if it wasn't Diane it was that harridan of a wife, newly divorced, new business, girlfriend away and in a town where he knew hardly anyone. The cracks were showing, and he wasn't coping. I wanted to help, we all wanted to help. Gerry had reported that he had seen him with tears in his eyes. We all felt very sorry for him.

Domestic trivia

2004-08-03T16:20:00.000+01:00

June 20th 2001

Malcolm called, he asked me not to visit him on site, which is a bit of a shame 'cos it's my hometown and I just love room service....... Still he'll be working late most nights and won't be around much so I suppose it'll be a bit dull, oh well maybe next time........

She sat on her only asset, and like all talents it had grown large through diligent practice.
"Would it be ok then if I had an affair with some one you liked?" Malcolm asked after I'd ridiculed her to him.

I don't know what to do or how to act. I'm fighting a ghost, it doesn't exist but it's there alright, a scary unseen presence. She who critiques my culinary failures, she who advises on how to not to fade clothes in the wash, and she who knows how to clean a shower curtain (this though I don't recommend; Malcolm performed this act, and clean though it definitely is, it has more wrinkles than an elephants backside.) This goddess of domestic trivia issues forth her observances through the gullet of my spouse. The disadvantage is all mine.

She "knows" about me, but he hasn't seen her for two years. (the emails can't exist nor the text messages, nor the hotel bills because she doesn't exist in his life.) She is a figment of my imaginings, which puts her beyond my lambasting. Her unsolicited advice echoes around this house. He may as well add, but Terry does it like this, and as I prefer her, everything she does has to be better than how you do it. If I'm hopeless and useless then his behaviour is if not excusable, then perhaps understandable.

As for the shower curtain (You put it through the washing machine -wool cycle- silly!) Now don't you feel better knowing that!

Mad Bad and Dangerous to Know

2004-07-29T18:17:00.000+01:00

Malcolm says I'm mad, hormonal or evil; he's yet to decide which. I await his verdict. Oh! and I think paranoid was also thrown in. Evil even to suggest he could have an affair.

"You're the first woman I've ever been faithful to." He cried.

Hormonal just a woman thing, time of life and all that.

"But you don't do anything about it! Doctors deal with this sort of thing all the time."

Mad to think he could even contemplate going with another woman.

" Why would I want some dumpy bike that everyone has ridden? You're just not rational."

"Terry" lives in Surrey. A middleclass house wife, with cooking skills and the ability to sew cushions. She has three kids and one husband. She wanted to be a ballet dancer but she would have to have had two toes shortened, so she changed career to house wife, this apparently was a bit tedious so she changed to wannabee chef and took a cookery class.

"I could assist any chef in the world!" Malcolm quoted her cooing over a stuffed mushroom. Having learnt all there was to know about haute cuisine, she changed course, and to make best use of her gregarious and loving personality she became a party planner. But! Having met and got to know someone who could take her career in a whole new direction, she changed to exhibition organiser. Terry decided to become a businesswoman and two months before she met Malcolm formed a new company to stage her skills.

" Throw your net over everyone, someone's going to get snared." I said superiorly, after I'd been regaled with the behaviour of this woman he'd just met through work. Anyway, according to Malcolm there was nothing left in her relationship with her husband, so I guess that's why she changed?

What A Drear Affair

2004-07-25T17:39:00.000+01:00

When I reached the conclusion that my partner was with another woman, had another woman. There was no blinding light, no quick switch from delusion to belief , just a slow trickle of odd occurrences, that for a long while were just that, odd. There are so many euphemisms to describe something that in reality is just plain sordid, and extremely painful, a bit on the side, having an affair, taken a mistress, etc etc.I still find it hard to believe that this person, this friend, lover, this sometime comrade, no longer remains. The shell of him still moves about the house, it takes a shower, brushes it's teeth, moves about a bit, it's a convincing impersonation.The aliens finally caught up with Sutherland in Day of The Triffids, science fiction? science fact!

Malcolm says, "I have done nothing to be ashamed of"

"I say, " I didn't say you were ashamed of it."

"Would you believe me if I told you I was having an affair?"

Answer, yes, and the response would be....

"So why don't you believe me when I tell you I'm not."

Answer, no and..........................!

Which is all so very clever, and all so very glib, except for the fact that "Malcolm" got a little confused about which response to use, I said no, and he said

"Why don't you believe me then."

Not quite right that Malcolm. Oh well just goes to show that a little bit of my bloke still remains.