IN WHICH I WANT TO SPICE THINGS UP (PART 2)
So, having arranged the lilies in David’s Brixton hovel just like Christian did them in ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ I had to race back to Yorkshire because of an emergency - Nic texted to say that Tiddles, one of the seventeen cats, had coughed up a tiny hairball and when she’d phoned the vet at 2.25 in the morning he’d told her not to be ridiculous. So then she tried to get hold of the holistic homeopathic feline Jungian psychotherapist, but she was away on a remote retreat in Welwyn Garden City. So naturally I had to return.
I have to say that on the drive back, Michael the Hearing Dog was being very frisky – actually rather naughty – that’s definitely the last time I ever take him to see an erotic film. In fact, just past Watford I’d really had enough of his ‘advances’ - he seems to have learned how to unzip McQueen buttery soft caramel suede jeans - so I had to shut him in the boot of my new Mercedes convertible with wire wheels.
Back at home in Yorkshire, the cat was, thankfully, fully recovered and Nic said she (Tiddles, not Nic) had earlier been helping the dogs kill a pregnant ewe they’d cornered. Tiddles was now happily tucking into a dish of Waitrose lobster tails, though I was a bit annoyed that they weren’t organic, line-caught lobster tails but Nic was already a bit moody so I let it go this time. I phoned up the vet, though, and shouted at him for not coming out at 2.25 in the morning for what was obviously an emergency. He wasn’t very nice to me and mentioned that there was a bill outstanding for previous veterinary services. I hope he’s not referring to the Love Of My Life – Lizzie. I am still mourning, I will never NEVER get over it and he should understand and realise I am not ready to even think about things like vulgar money yet, not for ages and ages yet, not when my Lizzie, my darling, the light of my life, is no more.
Anyway, I got a text from David. ‘Hi, Sweetchops, sorry we mist each other. Love the pretty ?dandelions ?roses – they look grate, really cheer the place up. Am looking 4ward to U being here on Valentine’s Day and I am aiming 2 surprise U – in bed, ha ha, so am going 2C 50 Shades 2 get sum ideas ... ha ha hurry back U wanton huzzy U, I want 2 C Ur midnight sturm black trusses spred all over the bed ha ha’.
I showed the text to Nic. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think he’s planning to cut off your hair while you’re asleep,’ she said, sounding a bit bitter.
Anyway, I arrived back on the afternoon of Valentine’s Day. As usual, there was nothing to eat in David’s flat, although I was hungry after my eleven hour drive in my new Mercedes convertible with wire wheels. I texted him at work ‘I am starving, there is nothing to eat except a 3 kilo bag of muddy King Edwards’.
Straight away came back a text: ‘Make chips’.
He returned that evening with some carrier bags. ‘It’s a Valentine’s Day surprise,’ he said mysteriously, ‘You’ll love it.’
Hmmm. None of the bags had a designer logo. I wonder ... had he discovered some wonderful new little boutique, that the common herd of Next wearers don’t know about?
I nibbled on my dinner of half an organic cucumber slice while in the bedroom he prepared my surprise... then I went into the bathroom to prepare myself for a Valentine’s night of passion, because I knew I needed a good plucking session. I did lose that loving feeling a bit when I noticed that he obviously hadn’t damp-dusted the new very expensive light that Pimlico Plumbers installed as my Christmas present for him - and my Valentine present to him, the buttery soft caramel suede lavatory seat, was still in its box... But – BUT - what fresh hell was THIS? THREE bottles of Garnier Fructis shampoo on the bathroom shelf!
I screamed in rage and David flew into the bathroom. ‘What? WHAT?’ he cried as I waved my plucking tweezers at him in a hysterical manner. ‘THOSE!’ I yelled, hurling one of the bottle of Garnier Fructis into the bath. ‘Why? WHY?’
He beamed. ‘Part of my surprise – if you look at the labels, they all say ‘Special Formula For Split Ends’ –and what’s more, they were on special offer in Superdrug, three for the price of two! Hey look, you could wash your hair now, just scoop up some of the shampoo that's spilled into the bath when you threw it, seems a waste otherwise ...’
‘Get out!’ I yelled.
‘But honeybunch,’ he whined, ‘Your surprise is all ready – oh my, you will be completely knocked out when you see it. That Fifty Shades film sure gave me ideas ... come with me, my princess, my queen, the love boudoir awaits ... but first, I must blindfold you ...’
Hmm – maybe things are looking up, I thought, expecting him to whip out a little satin blindfold but he just grabbed the old J-Cloth that was draped over the lavatory cistern and tied it round my head.
He led me into the bedroom. ‘Ready?’ he said breathlessly. I was trying not to gag at the smell of Harpic on the blindfold, so I just nodded submissively. He whipped off the J-Cloth and there it was – his small double bed with shiny bright crimson sheets and on top a tin of Quality Street and a single artificial red rose.
Dumbfounded, I approached the bed and fingered a bit of the shiny crimson sheet. Then I started screaming again, even louder than I had in the bathroom. ‘What? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? These are POLYESTER SHEETS! How many times do I have to tell you, I CAN’T GET INTO ANY BED unless it has 8000 thread linen sheets, preferably from Porthault! How COULD you think you’d have your filthy way with me in THESE!’
I flounced out of the bedroom, out of the Brixton hovel and out of David’s life. Forever. As I drove back to Yorkshire, in my Mercedes convertible with wire tyres, I texted Nic. ‘Tell Michael I am coming ...’
So, having arranged the lilies in David’s Brixton hovel just like Christian did them in ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ I had to race back to Yorkshire because of an emergency - Nic texted to say that Tiddles, one of the seventeen cats, had coughed up a tiny hairball and when she’d phoned the vet at 2.25 in the morning he’d told her not to be ridiculous. So then she tried to get hold of the holistic homeopathic feline Jungian psychotherapist, but she was away on a remote retreat in Welwyn Garden City. So naturally I had to return.
I have to say that on the drive back, Michael the Hearing Dog was being very frisky – actually rather naughty – that’s definitely the last time I ever take him to see an erotic film. In fact, just past Watford I’d really had enough of his ‘advances’ - he seems to have learned how to unzip McQueen buttery soft caramel suede jeans - so I had to shut him in the boot of my new Mercedes convertible with wire wheels.
Back at home in Yorkshire, the cat was, thankfully, fully recovered and Nic said she (Tiddles, not Nic) had earlier been helping the dogs kill a pregnant ewe they’d cornered. Tiddles was now happily tucking into a dish of Waitrose lobster tails, though I was a bit annoyed that they weren’t organic, line-caught lobster tails but Nic was already a bit moody so I let it go this time. I phoned up the vet, though, and shouted at him for not coming out at 2.25 in the morning for what was obviously an emergency. He wasn’t very nice to me and mentioned that there was a bill outstanding for previous veterinary services. I hope he’s not referring to the Love Of My Life – Lizzie. I am still mourning, I will never NEVER get over it and he should understand and realise I am not ready to even think about things like vulgar money yet, not for ages and ages yet, not when my Lizzie, my darling, the light of my life, is no more.
Anyway, I got a text from David. ‘Hi, Sweetchops, sorry we mist each other. Love the pretty ?dandelions ?roses – they look grate, really cheer the place up. Am looking 4ward to U being here on Valentine’s Day and I am aiming 2 surprise U – in bed, ha ha, so am going 2C 50 Shades 2 get sum ideas ... ha ha hurry back U wanton huzzy U, I want 2 C Ur midnight sturm black trusses spred all over the bed ha ha’.
I showed the text to Nic. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think he’s planning to cut off your hair while you’re asleep,’ she said, sounding a bit bitter.
Anyway, I arrived back on the afternoon of Valentine’s Day. As usual, there was nothing to eat in David’s flat, although I was hungry after my eleven hour drive in my new Mercedes convertible with wire wheels. I texted him at work ‘I am starving, there is nothing to eat except a 3 kilo bag of muddy King Edwards’.
Straight away came back a text: ‘Make chips’.
He returned that evening with some carrier bags. ‘It’s a Valentine’s Day surprise,’ he said mysteriously, ‘You’ll love it.’
Hmmm. None of the bags had a designer logo. I wonder ... had he discovered some wonderful new little boutique, that the common herd of Next wearers don’t know about?
I nibbled on my dinner of half an organic cucumber slice while in the bedroom he prepared my surprise... then I went into the bathroom to prepare myself for a Valentine’s night of passion, because I knew I needed a good plucking session. I did lose that loving feeling a bit when I noticed that he obviously hadn’t damp-dusted the new very expensive light that Pimlico Plumbers installed as my Christmas present for him - and my Valentine present to him, the buttery soft caramel suede lavatory seat, was still in its box... But – BUT - what fresh hell was THIS? THREE bottles of Garnier Fructis shampoo on the bathroom shelf!
I screamed in rage and David flew into the bathroom. ‘What? WHAT?’ he cried as I waved my plucking tweezers at him in a hysterical manner. ‘THOSE!’ I yelled, hurling one of the bottle of Garnier Fructis into the bath. ‘Why? WHY?’
He beamed. ‘Part of my surprise – if you look at the labels, they all say ‘Special Formula For Split Ends’ –and what’s more, they were on special offer in Superdrug, three for the price of two! Hey look, you could wash your hair now, just scoop up some of the shampoo that's spilled into the bath when you threw it, seems a waste otherwise ...’
‘Get out!’ I yelled.
‘But honeybunch,’ he whined, ‘Your surprise is all ready – oh my, you will be completely knocked out when you see it. That Fifty Shades film sure gave me ideas ... come with me, my princess, my queen, the love boudoir awaits ... but first, I must blindfold you ...’
Hmm – maybe things are looking up, I thought, expecting him to whip out a little satin blindfold but he just grabbed the old J-Cloth that was draped over the lavatory cistern and tied it round my head.
He led me into the bedroom. ‘Ready?’ he said breathlessly. I was trying not to gag at the smell of Harpic on the blindfold, so I just nodded submissively. He whipped off the J-Cloth and there it was – his small double bed with shiny bright crimson sheets and on top a tin of Quality Street and a single artificial red rose.
Dumbfounded, I approached the bed and fingered a bit of the shiny crimson sheet. Then I started screaming again, even louder than I had in the bathroom. ‘What? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? These are POLYESTER SHEETS! How many times do I have to tell you, I CAN’T GET INTO ANY BED unless it has 8000 thread linen sheets, preferably from Porthault! How COULD you think you’d have your filthy way with me in THESE!’
I flounced out of the bedroom, out of the Brixton hovel and out of David’s life. Forever. As I drove back to Yorkshire, in my Mercedes convertible with wire tyres, I texted Nic. ‘Tell Michael I am coming ...’
)
