Uptight & Personal Diary Entry Week Commencing Aug 17th, 2009

25 08 2009

Thursday 21st

Decide new office needs new sign commensurate with my promotion and job title. Replace current anagram of Austin & Jeremy (Meaty Injures – not even decent English), on door with sign that reads: She Ra Princess of Power. Better.

Friday 22nd

Head to Cambridge at lunchtime where I am supposed to stay with Imelda overnight. She has said she and Don will be there to meet my train. I hang around outside Cambridge station for 35 minutes not unduly concerned as Imelda had said she had to take Don to Addenbrookes for a small procedure and merely conclude this is the NHS operating efficiently as usual. However, find myself in dire need to lunch so decide to leave her a message to the effect that I have gone searching for it. I call the house and am surprised when Don answers and when I offer to walk to the house, tells me he will come get me.

Imelda it seems has had a nasty turn while in Addenbrookes waiting for Don to come around from the anaesthetic and is now in the isolation unit. They have no idea what it is although Swine flu is suspected and they also have no idea when she will be released. I decide to take this news badly. Back at the house Don and I stare gloomily over mugs of tea at one another and being the rock I am in times of crisis, I have a crying jag. Deciding I will be worse than useless if I have to offer moral support to Don if Imelda is really REALLY sick, I leave a panic voicemail message on Matt’s phone the gist of it being if I have to support Don then I need someone to support ME. Fortunately the phone rings and Addenbrookes tells us we can come get Imelda. However, discover I am still upset and when we arrive can feel knees start to buckle under a combination of stress and relief and realise that if I collapse in Out Patients we will never get out of here. All this is puzzling as I thought I was Danger Girl sailing the Seven Seas in search of whales, or at least She Ra Princess of Power, and now it seems I am nothing but Wimp Girl, at least when it comes to the wellbeing of loved ones.

Imelda’s turn brought about by a chest infection and not eating for three days. On way home we stop off for Ben & Jerry’s which contains all the necessary food groups. Both of us fall asleep on the couch after supper leaving Don to enjoy the Movies 4 Men channel without either of us complaining we want chick flix and not bad films about submarines and blowing shit up. Movies 4 Men is entertainment for the pre-Playstation generation of boys.

Saturday 23rd

Beautiful day. Imelda and I head to Grantchester. Decide Jeffrey Archer’s house is far too beautiful to belong to a weasily lying hypocritical hack like Archer and it needs to be reassigned to another writer – me. And what’s with the statues in the garden? Talk about naff meets nouveau. Why can’t he confine himself to something less outré – like gnomes? Walk by river and have lunch in the orchard after which we head into Cambridge and Imelda tries to encourage me to spend my pay rise on an ethereal ivory and green dress but I resist.

Sunday 24th

It’s the monthly church service on the Landwade estate and we walk up there through the fields. Aurore says she can’t remember going to church and this leads to my cracking various Damian and Omen jokes. The service begins and Aurore blacks out. Nice member of congregation brings his car around and we sit in it with the air conditioning on. I am of course, concerned, but also most excited at the prospect of sharing a house with the Antichrist. It occurs to me there has to be considerable benefits of being the roommate of the Spawn of Satan. I tell her I’m making a list – Jeffrey Archer’s house being the #1 must-have item along with the Aston Martin DB9, a new pair of Manolo’s for every day of the week, a summer house in the San Juans and Josh Holloway as my personal body slave.

Aurore is still somewhat light-headed but is able to rally her thoughts sufficiently to decide she will use her newly-acquired powers for evil to nab herself Brad Pitt; but I point out to her that she will only use him for sex and then discard him when she has drained him of vital manly essences. But then, this is what being the Daughter of Beelzebub is all about.

The rest of the congregation however, are blissfully unaware that the progeny of Lucifer walks amongst them. The good Samaritan who offered his air-conditioned car even volunteering to drive us back to the village. I fear for Aurore’s long term health. Dr’s Ben and Jerry are once again called in and Chunky Monkey is prescribed.

Monday 25th

I forgot I am merely the roommate of the Antichrist and do not have her demonic powers to transmute Ben & Jerry’s into negative calories that burn fat instead of accumulating it. Unhappy with what I take to be a Chunky Monkey overspill in sexy stretch bandage dress but some hours later this is revealed to be nothing more than PMS bloat. However, PMS throws me into such a state of ambivalence I can’t decide on what I want to have for supper so eat ice cream instead.

Aurore has to go for blood tests to make sure she’s not anaemic. Maybe Ben & Jerry need to introduce a calves’ liver flavour.

Tuesday 26th

Barclaycard need to understand the time and dedication that goes into ensuring that one’s card is constantly maxx’d out and delinquent instead of calling me around-the- clock from some customer service centre on the Indian sub-continent to hound me for their £40 payment. Bring on the Apocalypse and then we’ll see who, as Satan’s Sproggs best friend, gets the no-limit card she never has to pay off; and who gets confined to an eternity of having to listen to pre-recorded phone messages that this is an important call from Barclaycard, that that’s all I’ve got to say.

One of our authors loses the plot and yells down the telephone that they don’t care about our internal politics or who has been promoted to what, they just want people doing what they’re supposed to. I just wish someone would tell us all what that was then we could oblige.

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