fountain wearing clinging wet clothes – only I ended up wearing six wet nuns.
Do you know what nuns wear under their habits?
Neither do I, but I know what these street-scrapings were wearing under theirs, and it’s what the Scotsman’s supposed to wear under his kilt. Nothing.
Ma was a bit upset about it all, and half my Italian relatives weren’t speaking to me, so I told Hywel if he didn’t cool it down I’d be looking for a new manager.
Ma knows Carlo and I aren’t as bad as we’re painted, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t get hurt by seeing all this sex ’n’ drugs ’n’ rock ’n’ roll publicity about her sons.
The rumour that quickly spread that I’d engaged in sexual misconduct with one (or even several) of the ‘nuns’ in the fountain particularly upset her, but Hy swore he’d had nothing to do with that.
And just think a minute – was it likely? That water was ball-shrivellingly cold, even if I’d had the urge, which I certainly didn’t.
What I’ve never understood is why sexual misconduct is so irresistible to a lot of women?
You wouldn’t believe the mail I got.
Chapter 5: The Bourgeois Bitch
After our brief debauch at Mother’s we resumed our back-breaking toil until James returned to work.
‘It’s all right for some people who can stay at home all day doing nothing,’ he grumbled at breakfast, before setting off for his office.
This was, as usual, a full cooked breakfast prepared by Yours Truly. It’s amazing really that, if carried out by mere wives, cooking isn’t real work, nor is laundering, nor cleaning, nor painting and decorating, gardening, childcare, shopping or … well,
ad infinitum
.
Why isn’t there a minimum wage for housewives? Or a maximum working week?
So it was with something of a snap that I said, ‘I’ve already told you, James, that after this week spent finishing off jobs around the house I’ll be writing every morning and most afternoons, so I will in fact be working harder than ever.’
His expression remained disgruntled, since, in his opinion, a nice safe job should be seamlessly followed at the right time by a nice safe pregnancy.
I decided that this was not the moment to inform him that I forgot to take my pill for a couple of days in the bustle of moving and haven’t bothered since. You really never know how these things are going to affect men.
It
could
spur him on (but I don’t want to get pregnant too soon) or put him off, so I need to invest in some other form of contraception, though all the alternatives are revolting. But if I conceive I’d like it to be a conscious decision, not a sort of Russian roulette.
I must register with a female doctor locally too. I’m not having some man examining my credentials. What good would that do if I get pregnant? His only experience would be from books and we all know that they inform medical students that women feel no pain between the knees and the navel.
Mal de merde.
‘… charity work,’ James was saying. ‘Are you listening?’
‘What?’ I said hastily, sitting up.
‘Noelle doesn’t go out to work, but she runs a charity and is a Hospital Visitor.’
‘Like being visited by the Angel of Death,’ I shuddered, conjuring up the awful vision of the severely tailored wife of one of James’s drinking acquaintances (otherwise known as ‘friends’).
‘That isn’t funny,’ he said stiffly.
‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ I assured him. ‘Besides, if you think I should be out there doing charity work, I can tell you now that the only charity I’m interested in right now is the Make Tish Drew a Rich and Famous Author Society.’
‘I know you aren’t serious. When you find how much time you have on your hands you might like to ring Noelle up for a chat.’
Time on my hands? The man is mad! But then, I’ve never managed to convince him that writing is serious work and not some dubious hobby that got out of hand, like the patchwork and leaves, and once he gets an
Do you know what nuns wear under their habits?
Neither do I, but I know what these street-scrapings were wearing under theirs, and it’s what the Scotsman’s supposed to wear under his kilt. Nothing.
Ma was a bit upset about it all, and half my Italian relatives weren’t speaking to me, so I told Hywel if he didn’t cool it down I’d be looking for a new manager.
Ma knows Carlo and I aren’t as bad as we’re painted, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t get hurt by seeing all this sex ’n’ drugs ’n’ rock ’n’ roll publicity about her sons.
The rumour that quickly spread that I’d engaged in sexual misconduct with one (or even several) of the ‘nuns’ in the fountain particularly upset her, but Hy swore he’d had nothing to do with that.
And just think a minute – was it likely? That water was ball-shrivellingly cold, even if I’d had the urge, which I certainly didn’t.
What I’ve never understood is why sexual misconduct is so irresistible to a lot of women?
You wouldn’t believe the mail I got.
Chapter 5: The Bourgeois Bitch
After our brief debauch at Mother’s we resumed our back-breaking toil until James returned to work.
‘It’s all right for some people who can stay at home all day doing nothing,’ he grumbled at breakfast, before setting off for his office.
This was, as usual, a full cooked breakfast prepared by Yours Truly. It’s amazing really that, if carried out by mere wives, cooking isn’t real work, nor is laundering, nor cleaning, nor painting and decorating, gardening, childcare, shopping or … well,
ad infinitum
.
Why isn’t there a minimum wage for housewives? Or a maximum working week?
So it was with something of a snap that I said, ‘I’ve already told you, James, that after this week spent finishing off jobs around the house I’ll be writing every morning and most afternoons, so I will in fact be working harder than ever.’
His expression remained disgruntled, since, in his opinion, a nice safe job should be seamlessly followed at the right time by a nice safe pregnancy.
I decided that this was not the moment to inform him that I forgot to take my pill for a couple of days in the bustle of moving and haven’t bothered since. You really never know how these things are going to affect men.
It
could
spur him on (but I don’t want to get pregnant too soon) or put him off, so I need to invest in some other form of contraception, though all the alternatives are revolting. But if I conceive I’d like it to be a conscious decision, not a sort of Russian roulette.
I must register with a female doctor locally too. I’m not having some man examining my credentials. What good would that do if I get pregnant? His only experience would be from books and we all know that they inform medical students that women feel no pain between the knees and the navel.
Mal de merde.
‘… charity work,’ James was saying. ‘Are you listening?’
‘What?’ I said hastily, sitting up.
‘Noelle doesn’t go out to work, but she runs a charity and is a Hospital Visitor.’
‘Like being visited by the Angel of Death,’ I shuddered, conjuring up the awful vision of the severely tailored wife of one of James’s drinking acquaintances (otherwise known as ‘friends’).
‘That isn’t funny,’ he said stiffly.
‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ I assured him. ‘Besides, if you think I should be out there doing charity work, I can tell you now that the only charity I’m interested in right now is the Make Tish Drew a Rich and Famous Author Society.’
‘I know you aren’t serious. When you find how much time you have on your hands you might like to ring Noelle up for a chat.’
Time on my hands? The man is mad! But then, I’ve never managed to convince him that writing is serious work and not some dubious hobby that got out of hand, like the patchwork and leaves, and once he gets an
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