So, those of you who know me are probably wondering why I’ve been so quiet, and assuming (fair enough) that it’s because I was living la vida loca in swingin’ London. Especially those of you who haven’t been to London in the last 10 years and are blissfully ignorant of the current price of la vida loca, which seems to range from a ‘collapsed septum’ to a ‘cirrhotic liver’. There’s no easy life here – you either leap in, or you stand on the sidelines.
Those of you who know me (TOYWKM) may be surprised to know that the main reason I haven’t written, properly, in ages, is writers block. But not the normal writer’s block.
The man with whom I’m involved (and, TOYWKM, know to whom I refer) is still married. And, apparently, his wife occasionally pops by and has a bit of a read of my blog. (sound familiar, Anna!?!)
Now, if we were years down the track, and all grown up, with a jazzy little ditty playing in the soundtrack of our lives, possibly in a bigger studio set than any of our various home set-ups, then this would undoubtedly be fine. Hell, we may even be drinking glasses of Pinot Grigio and laughing little tinkling, dainty, ladylike laughs about it all.
TOYWKM know that the probability of me ever laughing a tinkling, dainty, ladylike laugh is almost like that of the buses in London running on time. HA!
Besides which, I can almost hear her mutter “over your dead body, bitch.”
With reason! I’ve been the recipient of, what I believe to be unnecessarily nasty e-mails (though, I’m not the scorned/wronged woman here, so fair dues) – even one threatening to come and show me what’s what. And really, who needs that sort of crap cluttering their inbox? I need room for my Viagra ads, damnit!
The thing is, I’m not writing this blog for her (despite her apparently thinking otherwise). Not to upset her, nor to placate her. I’m writing this blog, as always, for me. And because I know that she’s intruding on my personal thoughts – which I present here for most to see, not all, it’s affecting my writing.
So that now, I’m not writing for me; I’m “not writing” for her, and her son's relationship with his Dad.
Which is wrong. For me.
So saying, I’m moving the blog. I’ll be around, and those of you who know me are more than welcome to get in touch, and I’ll send you the new address immediately. However, this will be the last entry on this one. I know you’ll understand – and you’ll be DYING to read what I write in the next one, I can feel your hot, hungry breath on my shoulder as you pant ravenously to read what next I get up to (it’s London, I’m a civil servant – it REALLY isn’t that exciting!).
That’s all folks, ta-rah!