I’m told these are tissues…
….but carried away with Twitter!
As an aside….THIS is just awful! What were they thinking?? And who doesn’t love Stephen Fry?
To my six readers….
Thank you for your concerned emails and for worrying about me 
I’ve been away in America for the last several weeks visiting family and old friends. Oh yes, and drinking. A LOT. Hence, no blogging for all the hangovers and mornings after and wishing I were dead.
I’m back in my own little cottage now with Lucy the cat and all is well.
Well, almost well.
I came home to find something shoved under the door on a red envelope which looked as if it had been trampled by not only the postman but a passing lorry as well. I only noticed the red envelope, which was suspiciously card shaped, because I had to pick up the load of newspapers (never retrieved by my supposed house sitter) so I could get over the threshold.
Also very odd were the flowers on my table which could not have been there for longer than a day or two considering the water level in the vase. A vase, by the way, which was given to me by the Tattooed Man on an occasion in France when I spied it in a lovely shoppe and complained how overpriced it was. Secretly he purchased the vase for me the next day and quietly stowed in my luggage. When we returned home, I was so pleased to find it. It was the sweetest thing any man had ever done for me and I was surprised by him. So few people surprise me anymore.
Back to the flowers.
The vase was put away someplace where I would not have to see it so how it was retrieved from it’s secret hiding place of which only I knew, is a mystery.
I opened the card. It was from the Tattooed Man. He wanted to wish me a Happy Crimbo and hoped I would enjoy the posies but especially the tiger lillies left by the bed.
After ringing a locksmith to immediately have the locks changed and the windows further secured, I couldn’t imagine how he found out where I moved to. I’ve been very careful not to leave tracks of any sort for him to sniff out. Even more so, I can’t figure out how he got into my house. After thinking about this for some time I am partial to think that he must have been parked outside waiting for me when instead, the house sitter turned up. Since I’ve not been able to get the house sitter on the phone since my return, I am left to think that either T.M. was let into the house or he gave house sitter the flowers to place on my table and bedside. The card must have been an afterthought. He was always forgetful.
So the task set before me now is to sit myself down and write him a letter asking to stop contacting me or shall I have to pursue legal recourse. It would be one thing to just shove a note under my door but the possibility that he has been in my house, my safe haven of which I was driven to move into due to him, is too much to ignore.
The locksmith arrived the next day and all locks have been changed and additional security measures procured.
Meanwhile, I spotted his car passing on the lane just this morning.
We were a motley group from many countries somehow all ending up here in the land of green hills and rain. Conversations were held in Swedish, Italian, German, French, Spanish & English. It was the most oddly enjoyable evening I have passed in someones home in a very long time and I am so glad I was invited.
We were each asked to bring a dish to compliment the meal and me, having been assigned the cranberry relish, was thrilled to cook anything at all. I adore cooking and in the last two years have had almost no time at all to cook one proper meal and sit down to enjoy it. One of the perks of my crazy job is an expense account whereby I treat clients to lunch and dinner, a lot. It’s been murder on my waist line but fuck it. I’m still healthy and I think, I may even be learning how to be happy. I digress…
Upon arrival, I was greeted by two charming gentleman I have never met before who welcomed me into their home with genuine kindness and an enthusiasm to learn more about their stranger-guest. Their home was filled with warm golden light and a crackling fire with beautiful piano music in the background which I later learned was arranged by our host.
Drinks and nibbles well in hand, I began to greet all these people whom I have never met before. At first, the fact that four of the guests spoke no English at all was a bit of a conundrum however, between my poor French and not half bad Spanish, we were all able to translate for each other some how or another and the conversation flowed quite nicely.
We were; a buyer for a very popular upscale gentleman’s haberdashery, an professor of music at University, a Financial adviser for a very large well known firm, a VP of a very well known estate agency, a bank president, a director of stage plays, a professor of theology, a musician (such a small word for so big a talent), a chef and me. It was, probably, the most brilliant group of guests I have veer had the pleasure of sharing a meal with. These were people who were not just about their professions, they were all artists as well. Hung in this home were paintings by two of the guests that were absolutely beautiful.
Dinner was a fest for he eyes as well as the taste buds and a more beautiful table has never been laid. I really felt out of my league. All these lovely people with their highly responsible adult jobs and prestigious degrees of varying types and here I was, just an office worker. Well, not really just an office worker but it felt that way, at first. One of our Swedish guests, through the help of two translators, told me I should never feel low about the type of work I do. He said, it makes no difference if you are cleaning toilets or restoring paintings at the Louvre, as long as you love it and are passionate about it that is what really counts. He said it with such passion and commitment that I felt lifted immediately.
After dinner, we all stood around the piano and listened to our host play, for the first time, some new arrangements of holiday music about to hit the market. Our Uni Professor of music then joined him for a few newly arranged duets that were so beautiful they actually made me cry. Soon enough, Christmas Carols ensued and the wine flowed. For the first time in many years, I felt at home and I felt I was exactly where I was meant to be. It was one of the most beautiful evenings I have ever spent in the company of strangers…friends.
I arrived home smiling and contented for the first time in many, many months thinking we humans do indeed need people to survive. No woman is an island.
Bullshit. Thats’ what it is. Bullshit. When you ask a direct question and receive either an erroneous answer or no answer at all, it’s complete bullshit.
I have a friend in the states who suddenly has become too busy to answer emails and reply texts consist of things like “just about 2 shower. have a gud day” or “on my way 2 mtg w/ boss. have a good nite”. Sure, they would be simple and expected responses if you were popping in just to say hello but when your text message says “Worried about u, u ok?” you expect a direct response not “Oh, haha I’m just going into the shower”. What the hell kind of answer is that? When you email someone who you have not heard from in weeks and say “Hey, I’ve not heard from you in weeks are you okay? I’m actually quite worried about you” you expect a response not total radio silence.
This week, I ‘ve had to fire a woman I befriended months ago, a man who has a family and a kid just out of Uni. Not exactly my best week ever so when I ask if you’re okay don’t fucking ignore me. It would appear you’re hiding something.
I’ve listened to my friends bitch and moan about tiniest of things in their sad little lives for years; oh, my husband snores and now we’re in counseling because of it; oh, my child was yelled at by the teacher so we’ve hired a solicitor..blah blah blah. I do the same thing but you know what? I’m always there for them. I’m always the one who shows up with tea and vodka and a shoulder to cry on. I’m the one who calls the x-boyfriend and tell him I have all the crap he left behind and would be happy to drop it off ot him 50 bloody miles away. When I need them, they are all too busy or don’t bother responding at all.
I’m so sick of people treating me like a carpet. It stops now.
