Friday 27 May 2016
132 lbs, Nicorettes consumed 32, Alcohol units 15 (not taking into account size of glass. Or bottle), Minutes spent regretting relapse into youthful compulsions 230, Minutes spent debating serious national and global issues whilst consuming alcohol 240, Minutes spent writing Pierce My Soul 122.
9 a.m. Today shall be a good, productive day. Mr. Wallaker recently pointed out lack of structure in life, especially with regards to work. Have decided to prove not-husband Mr. Wallaker wrong, and write 30 pages of screenplay over the weekend. No Wi-Fi, no phones, no going out, no rummaging through contents of fridge…only me, and Microsoft Word. Good Plan.
9:40 a.m. Two pages written already! Feel like celebrating with Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, though, perhaps, should snack on bowl of dry fruits and seeds instead.
9: 42 a.m. These raisins are so yummy. Shouldn’t finish them all, as Mabel loves them.
11:10 a.m. Cervical spondylosis’s (of the spine, not other cervixes) acting up, and have not even got to the Elliots buggering off to Bath yet in the screenplay. Will have some of the roasted peanuts to ease the pain.
11:12 a.m. There’s a secret no one ever tells you. Peanuts, sexual innuendo and beloved cartoon aside, are actually DELICIOUS. Probably because most people are allergic to them, though prawns don’t get as much of a bad rap.
11:30 a.m. HAVE EATEN ALL THE BLOODY PEANUTS. It’s not like anybody will miss them. Perhaps, Mr. Wallaker might grow suspicious. Feel v.v. bloated. Will never have peanuts again.
2 p.m. Spent last hour getting sick with head down the toilet due to freakin’ peanuts. Not even alcohol on empty stomach, as normal people do. A day will come when will have to wear adult diapers on account of involuntary bowel movements caused by eating too many ex-lax tablets. Even if purpose of eating ex-lax tablets is to be able to crap better and more often.
3:12 p.m. No more writing today. Is impossible, seeing I’ve spent last hour cleaning sick. Children will be home soon, as well as Mr. Wallaker. In the old days, will be blissfully smoking ciggies, looking forward to getting plastered with urban family on Friday night. Now, am alternately chewing hidden stash of nicorette (haven’t needed them since surprisingly falling in true love with Mr. Wallaker) and tiny, tiny sips of red wine before family come home. Any potential drunken behaviour will be explained by stating was trying to make Nigella’s latest cake recipe that requires copious amounts of wine. If asked for evidence, will point to tightly sealed bag of sick. Good Plan.
7 p.m. Am going out! Mr. Wallaker acquiesced to Jude, Talitha and Tom’s (sans Jeanne, who’s in France visiting her parents) plan to go out to trendy new club like the old days and taking me with them, while he takes care of children. Don’t need to care what I wear, or how I look, because am going out with perfect, lifelong friends, with a perfect not-husband taking care of perfect children at home.
9:17 p.m. Am sitting on posh new toilet (on lid, of course) in posh new club called Aloe, that belongs to Talitha’s media mogul friend, primarily to entertain posh people and get scoops on them. Have spent last 90 minutes debating whether UK should stay with Europe, and who should be the next James Bond. Had ten glasses of wine while arguing UK should stay with Europe, and Michael Fassbender should be James Bond. Argued that UK would otherwise be green-with-jealousy blip on map of predominantly icy-blue Europe, an argument originally put forward by my ten-year-old son Billy. And even if Michael Fassbender is German-Irish and so, technically not British, who wouldn’t give an arm and a leg to see him come out of the water in his underpants?
11: 48 p.m. Home. Has been awful day as a whole. Told Mr. Wallaker about important discussions of national and international importance. He actually wants UK to be green blip. I’m sure Mark would have voted for UK staying with Europe. As for James Bond, he says he couldn’t care less (even if, or perhaps, especially because he’s Daniel Craig’s doppelgänger) and would rather watch films by Italian director Ingrid Bergman and the French François Truffle. Sometimes, Mr. Wallaker, can be such a prig. There, I finally said it.
Saturday 28 May 2016
9:31 a.m. Mr. Wallaker has been behaving very oddly all morning. He’s been too happy. He didn’t scold Mabel for saying the f-word when she bust her knee against the car door while getting in, to be driven to her early morning violin lesson. And he came back with truffles, and a DVD of Casablanca. On top of that, he’s been all touchy-feely and kissy, something he never was, even in the early days when we were in our early fifties. He’s even pinned Billy’s map of Europe painted blue with green blip on the fridge door. Sometimes, I don’t understand this man at all…
To be continued…
(Inspired by Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones series)
Read Part 1 by clicking here.