Wednesday 27 March 2013

Kathleen is a fat-calfed WHORE




My dears I take pen in hand to bring to you a story of horror and woe so deep so incalculable that I’m all of a tremble.


It can best be summed up thus, MY LIFE IS OVER.

Piers my one true love, my Lord of Loveland, my bastion of succour, my dream boat of the Cuddling Line, has been bedazzled and enchanted by the whore of Babylon. His assistant, Kathleen.

It was Sunday last as I was viewing the spectacle of dear Boris being horribly harangued by that Eddie Mair, though the serving hatch,  that my world as I knew it shattered.

He came in to the kitchen, sat at the banquette asked where his fungal foot-cream was then said the words that will remain burned into my heart FOREVER.

He said.  “Kathleen thinks she’s pregnant so I’m off”

Then pausing only to attach our two-berth caravan, The Happy Wanderer, to the Range Rover he was gone.

This is entirely that she witches fault. She has ensnared, she has charmed, she has purloined my HUSBAND.

I will not deny my own culpability.

The ways of the front bottom have always been and will remain a mystery to me. But my union with Piers has always been of the cerebral kind. I often feel that we are modelled on the traditional form of marital union. Like the Thatchers, Dennis and Maggie or their American friends The Reagans,  Sid and Nancy.  

I’m not like the young women of today who are tattooed this and pierced that and speak of the ways of love with a familiarity and confidence, which I find frankly terrifying in all its graphic complexity.

It’s pre-marital cunnilingus, right left and centre these days and it’s wrong.

No it is as a mother and devoted wife that I view the future as a single parent with much trepidation. I cannot believe that, that northern hell-whore thinks nothing of our little ones.  Our son Tarquin has been at my side throughout and I suppose Amelia has tried to help a bit. I could have done without Tarquin’s friend Eileen wafting incense and babbling mantra’s but fumigating our home after she left , has at least given me a distraction from my torment.

I do not blame Piers, dears and I hope you don’t either.
And I’ll tell you for why.
Men are but as slaves to their urges and baser desires and so I fully understand that he was unable to contain himself once SHE had a firm grasp of his primordial desires.

BUT A PREGNANCY? Fortunately this has proved to be nothing more than a ruse as a contact in the local chemist has tipped me the wink on that one. I name no names but let us leave it with the news that a prescription has very recently been filled of the contraception description.
I send my last word to Piers.

“Pumpkin patch I plead with you to return. I forgive you and know that we have a bond, which is stronger than mere bedroom fumblings. I blame myself and I blame the hell whore but I do not blame you. Also according to my contact in the chemist you will need to dip your peeny-weeny in disinfectant, as I gather Kathleen has pubic lice.

All my love from your, understanding, FORGIVING and devoted wife Abishag Mountable”

3 comments:

  1. Heartbreaking. " It’s pre-marital cunnilingus, right left and centre these days and it’s wrong." So Wise and True. Bear up old thing, the Sun will shine on you Again. Best wishes from your colonial Friend (it's dark here right now actually but there is a full Moon to shine on you instead).

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  2. Dearest Mrs M - I am torn as half of me wants to support you in your Time of Need (#fatcalvedwhores) and half of me wants to step back delicately like a very broad-minded Christian lady who doesn't have time to go to church myself and give you space, and half of me wants to align myself with you publicly in a shameless sort of a way because I've never corresponded with a Real English Lady before, being only a Colonial Mrs M and my "Family" as I like to say came across here so early too, it's so embarrassing, so I'm going to take a deep breath, think of England ("Home" still Mrs M, to us stalwart Colonials) and give generously to the half of me that wants to support you in your Time of Need:

    Mrs M, I have been trolling I mean trawling through your back catalogue because you are so very very amusing I mean upstanding and I ▼ Hide quoted text have wondered if you knew of the New Zealand, as we Colonials like to call HMH's quaintest prettiest colony, connection with Philip Schofield? - HE WAS BROUGHT UP HERE, DEAR. -And used to do a wonderful "music" show on NZ afternoon television called "Shazam!" -note the exclamation point Mrs M, it was important - before he was drawn back to dear old Blighty, which admittedly I haven't seen in seven generations, but we Colonial girls of the right mind still like to refer to as "Home". - They fired him, dear Mrs M, after Joan Armatrading (#feminist # IthinkshemayevenbealesbiantellAmelia #typicalCommunistPROBABLY), told him on air he was, and I quote directly or verbatim as the socialists here so often like to say #overeducated, "the worst interviewer she'd ever had".

    All of which simply to say dear Mrs M that perhaps you should trot out here for a holiday, to rest and recuperate and perhaps see the Odd Kiwibird or do a bit of a bungy-jump in your Time of Need, etc. - You will find plenty of us Right-Thinking Girls out here to play bridge and have the odd naughty gin and toto with, trust me. #sistersundertheskin

    Best wishes from

    your Colonial Friend



    B

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  3. Bless you dear B. We are sisters of the heart and mind indeed. Foreign though you maybe, you have reached out to me in my time of need and I thank you.

    I'm feeling stiffend in my resolve, dear stranger. This is indeed your very own doing.

    Fondest thoughts, Abishag Mountable

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