Mary ( her of no kids and BatShit crazy) has been on the phone. She called me from her bath. I checked the time. Yes, it was a little after nine in the morning. Mary said she didn’t do anything in the mornings until she had had a bath; a decaf coffee and spoken to at least three interesting people. I breathed a sigh of relief. She obviously thought I was one of those ” interesting people” The reason for her call, she whispered, was that she has read a Blog which said that Jonathan has been in touch and so she was calling to ask me if I was ” fuckin’ bonkers?” I didn’t need to reply because she was already in paragraph two of her diatribe. She said that she had committed him to the depths of her ” I don’t care a jot ” Memory Cabinet but was brought back to reality by reading my Blog and remembering the disastrous evening we had with him.
I am guessing it was disastrous for her because she was unable to engage her feminine wiles on the host. He stayed faithful to his original mistress, and so Mary moved on. Anyway although she said she was hoping I wouldn’t reply, went on to report she was reminded of the funny incident when Jonathan, obviously well imbibed of grape or grain one night, actually wrote to the Pilot and in a rather odd way suggested he lose weight. (Jonathan not liking anyone with more flesh on their body than they need to cover their bones and vital organs) Yes, in fact he forwarded a picture I had taken of The Pilot’s underpants when I was thoroughly hacked off with him, for some major transgression. Jonathan, rather meanly had saved the image and forwarded it on to the Master himself with the caption…. “ Eat Less; Exercise More; Pass it On!
He was indeed a Chubby Funster
Of course The Pilot had recognised his underpants and knew that I had a hand in it somewhere. Those were the days when we found it funny to mess around like that. Patently, though, I did not want Jonathan to write to him and certainly not to pour scorn on his very ample body mass. I smiled to myself. I had indeed forgotten that incident. I remembered being both delighted and horrified at the same time and awaited the inevitable fall out over it. Guess what? It never came in the explosion I anticipated but in a very short and succinct email!
He simply wrote
“ Jacks! Delighted you have garnered the support of the Northern Chattering Classes to aid “weight” to your cause for sensible eating. I felt rather proud my Boxers had formed part of that Campaign and delighted you chose to use my best Tommy Hilfiger’s. Just a shame you didn’t iron them before their photo opportunity!”
Anyway, I hadn’t replied immediately to Jonathan as I was being industrious flipping between the depths of despair as to my current plight and rolling my sleeves up and trying to save my business which with Tourism currently cancelled due to ” the virus” was something of an uphill struggle.
Jonathan obviously having a slow day chased me up to ask if I had anything ” substantial” to say, telling me that good clean oxygen was currently at a premium and I shouldn’t waste it with vacuous thoughts of which I was well accustomed to spouting. He didn’t want to hear about Boris; Fluffy Kittens or anything on NETFLIX.
. He further went on to say that I shouldn’t forget the time we had planned to take the Trans Siberian Express right across Russia so he could show me in situ what it is like to be living in a land where everyone was equal and looked after by the State. He had hoped that maybe after this educational visit I would not be paying homage to designer labels and German Whips! (ie a BMW car ) He said I was not to wear my Artic Fox Fur Hat unless we went in mid winter and no way was he paying to travel First Class and I should learn to do it ” like the locals” and travel in a couchette – 4 to a carriage and not all single sexed either! I was to pack Tolstoy and my wonderful book on Petrograd and we could read to each other as we watched the landscape change. Jonathan, I thought, was a dreamer . Meals, he decreed, would be spent either on the Platforms, purchased from the various Vendors who assemble as the trains pull in, or from the Guard who comes around selling hot broth and porridge most mornings. Orient Express it certainly aint..….
and so, back to Mary
Mary and I laughed a bit about those times. We had certainly had fun but then we were a lot younger. Mary is still on the lookout for Husband Number Three but she says he has to have money and a villa somewhere hot, but chic. She doesn’t want Spain or Portugal and will consider Croatia or Italy. Italy is her preference as the air links to Nice are so much better. I didnt like to remind her that currently we are all in lock down and no one, however important, will be flying anywhere, anytime soon. She just finds it hard on her own, I guess. We both decided to stay strong and not succumb to Jonathan, however interesting he might appear to be when supplies are thin. Anyway as she reminded me, ” He lives in a flat. With a balcony. FFS Don’t drop your standards, even if he has a big dick!” ( we don’t know that for sure, she just read that working class people, especially from the North, are rather well endowed)
I promised her that I wouldn’t reply to Jonathan immediately. After all, not having heard from him for about six or seven years, he was hardly gagging for a response. And Jonathan has now been replaced by Jonno in my affections. Well, for now at least!
I did however muse on The Pilot. I wonder if I (still) have Stockholm Syndrome….