Readers, sorry for the long absence I nipped up to the Royal Borough to see a marvellous nutritionist who feeds her cat tiger prawns and wheat grass - good enough for the cat, good enough for me. The intention being that summer is fast approaching and seeing as I live on the beach I have two choices - diet or purdah. You may laugh, but I have done beach purdah before. When Dickie and I first got together, he was insistent on going on holiday somewhere really hot (he tans - I burn) and faced with bikini scrutiny in the early stages of dating, I decided the best way out was to opt for Islamic holiday destinations. Worked a treat, I appeared cultural/global minded/interesting person to date rather than sweaty/hot/fat and irrational. I thoroughly recommend it.
Anyway, I digress. Easter was great, saw the London wing of the family who talked medja, Queens Park, and children's sleep patterns. My mother gave me the annual 'little chat' about chewing each mouthful of chocolate 40 times and eating mindfully whatever that means... I don't need to tell you the result. We then drove through the green and pleasant to Dickie's parents house in a small Wiltshire hamlet. Beautiful. Devilish Dick senior and his pretty wife Tessa had laid out a fabulous spread of turkey, roast potatoes and of course more chocolate. Devilish Dick senior, a furniture restorer, is writing a book. He made me sit down and read it whilst topping up my glass with some of South Africa's finest. It's about a devilish young cad who just happens to be a furniture restorer, who just happens to live in Wiltshire, and whilst restoring valuable local artifacts is lured into bed by a host of willing beauties. Of course this was all fiction he assured me, but if he's anything like his son...
Then Carrie, Dickie's Supermodel niece arrived on the arm of a Polo champion, then Dickie's daughter Toni (marriage one) arrived with Bradley and told me how much she loved me whilst handing over an Easter egg the size of a small dog and announcing 'gosh you really don't need any more chocolate, shall I give it to the boys?' Then Polly, Dickie's youngest daughter (marriage two) and pregnant arrived with her boyfriend Duncan. Followed by Dylan - middle son, marriage two, who wanted a lift back to Cornwall. Can you keep up? I certainly can't.
We arrived back in Cadcove just before midnight on Easter Monday. Shattered and exhausted with two screaming over sugared children, I walked in purring, knowing that Joy, my housekeeper (well do you really think I would move to Cornwall without one) had cleaned the sheets and made the house sparkle. But Easter, of course, was not quite over. Curled up in our bed wrapped around some naked Cornish teenager, was Dickie's young apprentice Jago. All hell broke out with Dickie firing him on the spot, Jago screaming that he thought we weren't back till the end of the week and Cornish teenager scrabbling under the bed to find her nose ring. It's not the first time - last time we went away I came back to find a mass of red-head porn on my computer, which I blamed Dickie for until Jago sheepishly confessed.
I'm starting a new meditation course tomorrow...
