Its that time of year and I am always reminded of the rather wonderful phrase coined by Kingsley Amis. Goes a little like this, I think…
Christmas dinner was something of a success; it passed off, at any rate, without bloodshed. ― Kingsley Amis
And that is all we can hope for, isn’t it? No bloodshed. I know you asked for me to send help and rescue you from the travelling Circus Troupe at Badgers Creek but your pleas were delayed for several reasons. One was that you did indeed send the missive to the South of France as I asked you to, but during our period of non-communication I took it upon myself to get married. I have to admit it was something of a spur of the moment occasion but we managed to get some Official ( a very odd chap with a cheap polyester suit and slip on shoes) to do it for a knock down rate. He said that nuptials were rather slow due to LockDown and he was happy to offer terms or a 20% discount. I took the discount.
Anyway, we thought we would get married and managed to find a time when Fitzrovia Chapel was open. It was not a grand affair because firstly, we all turned up lashed ( probably needed a lot of Dutch Courage) and secondly no one was really available to attend. in the end, apart from Persephone and Rodger I found another two and so all six of us wobbled our way up the aisle. I know. Pretty shabby really. Although as the Chapel has never actually been consecrated I guess we could be let off for being slightly pissed in God’s House. It was ruddy freezing in there as well. Never mind leaving a few lights off, I reckon they forgot to switch the ” on” switch on the Boiler. So we were all shivering in our finery and not really paying attention. Well, apart from the official in the polyester suit of course. He must have known it was cold as he turned up with a brushed cotton shirt under said polyester suit and a scarf dramatically wrapped around his neck. All a bit infra dig if you ask me. Having inspected him quite closely through my alcoholic haze, I could see his scarf was not cashmere at all. Not even a blend. He kept looking over his glasses at us, especially because Dirk was hiccupping all the time. Apparently he said that champagne bubbles get trapped in his stomach and causes the wind to shoot right up his windpipe and down his nose.. I tried to ignore it but Persephone kept giggling and then snorting. I glared back at her a few times but it didn’t seem to work. That’s the last time I will invite her to be Matron of Honour. She even wore white. The cheek of it!
Anyway, as usual you are in somewhat of a pickle, but Hadji, so am I! I really, really am. I thought at my age I really should be tucking into life and not worrying about elasticated waistbands and slippers with a hard sole ( hmmm that was the death of my last lover you know.
When he gave me a pair of slippers with a rubber sole on it for Christmas, I knew it was the end. Ding Dong the death knell)
Anyway we went and got married but Hadji by the time the sun had set, which actually was rather early on account of it being December, I had already regretted it and wondered if I could get an annulment on the grounds of non-consummation. Well you know me, I’m a very good liar when its important or in Court.
Fkcu men & bloody sex!
Sadly, Dirk is another one of these guys who thinks his age will be determined by his sexual prowess and whilst its all well and good going for hours, he should realise that after a bit it can get, well, boring. A little samey, don’t you think? As you say, sex is cool but not all the time, Dudes. I mean, leave a line & start a new paragraph sometimes – just for variety.
It seems worse as men get older. They can’t perform properly unless they’re on the magic blue pill & then it frigging goes on for years & becomes boring. I don’t know how many shopping lists or recovering the sofa in my head I did on the first night. Far too many to be normal, I think. It’s as if their egos can only remain intact if they can reassure themselves they’re still providing satisfaction – a satisfaction that’s not always satisfying for us Girlies,
Hadji. Not at all! Maybe with the year we have had, I’m not in the right headspace to be putting out. We all need someone to top up our tank but not necessarily pop up your vag!
As Persephone said, “You’re not too old to enjoy sex Sweetie; just too depleted by the current big-dipper ride that’s yanking us all over the place”. She can be quite astute after a few double brandies you know.
So here I am up in the wilds of Yorkshire, contemplating my lot. We never even made it any further south than The Tate Modern and that was only to see some Preview Exhibition of an Artist whose name was quite unpronounceable and seemed to favour putting animal heads on children in his pictures. The next day after the reception Dirk had to go off to Ulan Baatar on business. I know, I know. We all laugh about taking off to Outer Mongolia but Dirk actually did and whilst he was there I thought about what I had done. I know I can be a little impetuous and throw caution to the wind but I have to say I don’t know what got into me – this time! I think it was the idea of getting married in such a magical place and indeed on the same clod of earth where both Kipling and Churchill turned up their toes. Romance had certainly got the better of me that day and now I am rueing my impetuousness. To be fair, the start of it was when Persephone said that she had never been a Bridesmaid and hoped that someone would get married very soon. She turned to look at me and because I was three Pink Gins in already even the daftest of things take on a certain charm.
So without further ado we marched along to Fitzrovia Chapel to see what was about. Had we not been necking those cocktails back in The Mandrake, we may have had second thoughts but it was really only across the road and we got there and back before the Bar Tender had even found the angostura bitters.
We then went over to Harvey Nicks to see what they had in lace and fur ( sadly, no ermine in any of the big stores now) and both of us having found exactly what Persephone wanted ( don’t miss the irony here, please!) we cracked a bottle of something fizzy at The American Bar and took dinner upstairs that night.
Of course I knew Dirk would be up for it ( the wedding, H, not the sex) as he likes to have a woman on his arm and feels slightly more normal if a ring is attached.
I wasn’t the slightest bit put off by the fact he was heading off to Northern Asia for a term of six months because I said I would go and visit – often! Having that Diplomatic Pass is rather useful but when I said that I would like to stop off in Hong Kong or Paris for some shopping he got a bit shirty. He said the free travel was only for “ us” to come and go to see each other and ensure that we don’t get too homesick ( him) or me, lovelorn ( unlikely)
Hadji, darling Hadji, I have decided. No more marriages for me . I am now so high on freedom and, as per normal, have bolted ! Once the fuss has died down, I’ll send word of where I can be found. In the meantime, please tell Persephone I am safe. I implore you not to tell her any more. And definitely do not tell Dirk where I am, (no, not even the county) because Dirk will bribe a local flat footed Plod to come and get me or Persephone will see it as an excuse to leave Rodger for the weekend and come up here and bang on about commitment and responsibility. I don’t wish to be lectured to.
Hadji. Why, oh why, did you ever leave me to roam the plains of love and romance like a wildebeest away from his herd in the Serengeti? Have you considered ever returning to Namibia? With me?.
I remain, as always, your first wife and probably your first ( and only) love.