Update from Georgina

I had a phone call from that psychiatrist floozie. She wants me to go in for something she calls ‘couple counselling’.
I said listen love, I don’t think of much counselling full stop. And if you think I’m going to sit in a room with you and him talking about feelings and all that bullshit, well you got it wrong, big time, baby. (I didn’t used to talk like that, it’s Anastasia’s influence).

Anyway, I said to this shrink: he’s had every chance. He has only himself to blame. He always was a bit of a loner. He told me so himself. Never had many friends. He said he always felt ‘on the outside of things’. Well, I have tried to include him in everything – the family and such, but he is so awkward. He didn’t like going to family functions (my family – he hasn’t got any) or he went grudgingly. And he was always made welcome.

He said I never listened to him. Well what did he expect me to do! He was always moaning about something. Spent too much time thinking. I often said to him: if you thought less and did more you’d be much happier.

When he was dumped by his publisher he took to wandering around the house, aimlessly. Always getting under my feet when I was doing the Hoovering. And there were lots of jobs needed doing, but he was always too ‘depressed’. Now I am not saying there’s no such thing as depression but sometimes it can be a good excuse for doing nothing. And anyway, he was not too depressed to write; always writing, writing, writing: diaries, journals or whatever he called them. He left them lying around but I couldn’t be arsed reading them.

And then this ‘bridge’ business. I really don’t know if he intended to kill himself. Or if it was a ‘cry for help’ as the counsellors say. Well – as usual for George – he fudged it. Neither one thing or the other. Can’t make up his mind and in the end goes and slips. That is so typical.

And then this shrink woman says to me: Well now’s your chance to tell him how you feel.
I said: Not just now, dearie, I’m going to the cinema with my friend – and I hung up.

Lonely are the days

I miss him, you know - I never thought I would. But I am not going to see him; not in that place. I mean I know madness is not contaginous but it is bound to affect you isn't it? Visiting in the loony bin.
Wifey has been. I ask her: how is old George then?
Mind your own Swedish business - she responses.

Hectare is arriving this morning. She has put him a bed in the attic room. I say to her: whyfore are you making work for yourself with the extra bedding? I have the queen-sized and would be happy to accomodate him - and yourself, I added, hoping to bury the chopper.
But she just snorted, causing something unpleasant to come down her conk. I did not tell her since she is being so rude to me.
They ask me at the ASDA supermarket if I will wear something a bit less revalatory on the checkout. Some customers are making the complaints: the women, not the men, who are enjoying the view somewhat.
I will have to comply otherwise I get the sacking.
What a narrow minded country. If I was here legal I would complain to the Race Relations Board.

I must go now sisters, Georgina is wanting to use telephone and we don't got the broadband.

Hi guys

A little update from your old friend Anna.

I had a txt message from George’s brother, Hectare (why would anyone name a child after an area of land?) – yes that’s the one I took into the potting-shed when he visited with George a few months ago. Evidentially Georgina has told him of his brother being in the loony bin and he is coming to see him.

Of course he wants to stay here, and the purpose of the txt to me was are we on for a bit of the potting-shed again. But I say Not on your Nellie – what a quaint old English phrase – I have moved on, Hectare old chap (do you see how I am learning well the language now – all the idiosyncrasies and stuff). You left me to go back to that old baggage of a wife, I tell him – so up yours, sunshine.

But I am digressing. Cecil the vicar came round to see Georgina, but she wasn’t in, so he had the pleasure of me instead. He ask me if I think it ok for him to go to see George – on account of he is vicar as well as friend. I said, fine by me, cookie boy, maybe you are the one to straighten out his head. Maybe he need a shot of the good old fashioned religion.

But then we got to talking about Mrs Cecil. She has been under a strain lately. Well, ever since the gossiping about the choirboys outing. And the poor man poured out his heart to me – so lonely he is. But he perked up after I had given him the large whiskies from George’s special stock and he asked me if I would like to help an old man make a fool of himself.

Luckily – or unlucky depending on which side you are standing – Georgina came in. ‘Cecil, you are drunk’ she hollered, ‘You are a disgrace to the cloth’.
True he had spilt a bit whisky on the tablecloth but I thought she was a bit hard.

I felt sorry for him, so I passed him my mobile number as we helped him into the car.

Long time no having been seen


It is I, Anastasia. Sorry there has been so long before I am posting to the blog. So much has happened.

For a start, myself and Georgina have had the disagreement which has been resulting in her not speaking to me. So now I am continuing this blog on my ownsome.

Also my former employer (and sometime lover) has been locked away in the loony bin, as you English say. Personally, I always thought he was not quite right in the head departments. Some of the things he tried to get me to do in the bedroom…
I mean, I am not minding dusting the lampshades but I draw the line at polishing the brass knobs on the bedposts with the ‘Brasso’ Polish. For why are the knobs intended anyway? – I do not know why he cannot be buying his furniture from the excellent company of IKEA.

Anyway, like I say he is locked up for the benefit of himself and others to whom he may be harming. His wife, having taking the huff of me, is allowing me to stay only on the paying of a monthly rental. I cannot claim the Social Security Benefit because I am illegal in this country, so I have to earn a living like many girls with my natural atttibrutions have done before – I am working the check-out at the ASDA supermarket.

I shall be updating this blog on a regularised basis.

Anastasia (call me Anna)

WELL HE'S GONE AND DONE IT NOW.

And I am not going to feel guilty. I have done everything I could. Given that man the best (well maybe second best) years of my life,

And what about Sydney, eh? What about his son? The selfish bugger.

Anastasia is taking it in a typical Swedish philosophical way. She said to me, "Well, life is full of ups and downs."

I just don't know what to make of that girl, I really don't.

There's a knock at the door.

Who can this be in my hour of need?


Georgina

A Scandinavian perspective

Hullo

Although I am liking England, I am finding the people a little strange. Is it the foul weather that is making them so depressing? I ask myself. And so repressed.

Coming from Sweden I am very liberated, being of the bi-sexual orienteering as my friend Georgina has said. Why she is objecting to the sexual experimentation with her husband I am not understanding at all. As you English say – three is company, whereas two can find it so boring.

Okay. So the husband George, he is a dull, sexually inhibited Englishman. But he is all we got at the moment, isn’t it. She says she hates him. I say to her – okay, but the tolerating is needed if we are to be making the world go around – and the bed springs to be going ‘boing, boing’ (that is Swedish joke).

But now Georgina is also upset because of the son Sydney is on the elopement. I say to her – Georgina, do not be fretting. Divorce is very easy in England nowadays, is it not.

But there is no consoling her. I am also remembering that the boy has not returned to me the magazines I have borrowed him. All in all, as they are saying – it is the bugger, and no mistaking.

Also the brother, Hector is returning to his wife. Now he was a bit more lively. And what I am liking about him is that he is prepared to learn. But now he is gone. And what is pissing me off is that he has taken my PVC mini skirt (the purple one), plus my favourite riding crop. I am only hoping he is intent to wear the skirt himself and not to give to that bovine wife of his.

George thinks I don’t know where he has gone, but I do. And I plan to pay them the visitation. I surprise them by knocking on the door and saying – Hullo there, can anyone be joining in?

I am sorry Georgina, but a girl has needs.

He's back! That awful man. I'm glad I was out of the house when he arrived. Anna and I had gone to a protest meeting. Some friends of ours had applied for planning permission to open a 'Feminist Boutique' in Evesham, and the dinosaurs on the council had turned down the application.

We staged a protest outside the town hall. It was fun. Anna knocked a policeman's helmet off. She was arrested and began screaming for the Swedish consul. They released her with a caution.

My dear little boy has got his girlfriend (Monica, I think her name is) pregnant. What a shock. I always thought Sydney was gay.

Now, this puts me in a difficult position - ideologically speaking. I mean, to get a young, innocent girl pregnant is a typical male, chauvinistic act; symbolising the paternalistic power structure of our decadent society, and its brutalising of the femine sex.

On the other hand, he is my little boy, so naive and vulnerable, and probably taken advantage of by this scheming little slapper.

Perhaps I should speak to Anna. She is bi-sexual, and so has a finger in both pies - so to speak. She - rather bizarrely - describes herself as 'a lesbian in a woman's body'.

That stingy sod hasn't brought me back a present. Anyway, it would probably have been unsuitable. Honestly, he has no taste. I said that to him once and he replied 'Obviously not - I married you!'

I am going to hand over to Anna now. Please excuse her 'fractured tongue' - her English, I mean. There is nothing wrong with her tongue... I can tell you.

Stick together girls.

Georgina