Eleanor's Ex's Crocodile Catastrophe

I received a call at work from Eleanor's mother, my aunt Marsha stating that the former's estranged husband had been eaten by a crocodile whilst visiting a wealthy client's house over the bank holiday. The story is thus:

Roger Cuffley, in his official capacity as an Independent Financial Advisor often has to visit clients at their homes and the customer in question was Sir Reginald Donaldson, an eccentric millionaire with a huge house in Dorset who has his own private zoo consisting of big cats, crocodiles and ring tailed lemurs. Anyway, Sir Reginald invited Roger and his current girlfriend, lap dancer Sandii-Mae to stay with them over the bank holiday so that they could discuss ISAs, unit trusts, hedge funds and burlesque in the comfort of his country retreat.

All was well until after a boozy lunch Roger and Sandii decided to take a romantic row across the lake when they encountered a lump under the oar. Unfortunately this turned out to be Sir Reginald's prize crocodile, Andrew Aguecheek and he wasn't best pleased at being awoken from his slumbers and proceeded to consume the boat. Sadly hitting the beast with an oar and swearing it wasn't enough to save Roger and his beau and they were both consumed by the powerful creature. Apparently Roger was eaten first as Sir Andrew found Sandii's fake tan to be a little off putting.

Despite the screaming Sir Reginald didn't stir from his study as he was listening to a Richard Clayderman LP at full blast; the butler was too busy finishing the vintage port in the cellar and heard nothing either until too late. When Roger and Sandii didn't respond to the dinner gong a search party was sent out for them which discovered their horrible fate. The perpetrator, Andrew Aguecheek was lying dead near the lake with a strange expression on his reptilian flat face. The Police were called in, as were the RSPCA, the deaths of Roger and Sandii were confirmed as multiple injuries consistent with being eaten by a huge lizard and Andrew Aguecheek was poisoned by the silicone implants Sandii had inserted back in 2002 to boost her assets from a B to an E cup.

I will keep readers informed of any further developments regarding this terrible occurrence.

Ex and the Suburb

Today I woke up to the sight of Wilf offering me breakfast in bed, it was a nice gesture, although he slightly overcooked the scrambled eggs in my opinion. We breakfasted in companionable chatter until 10am when Roger knocked on the door, ostensibly to 'see whether everything was tickety boo'. I invited him in and introduced him to Wilf, despite sporting a kaftan Demis Roussous would be proud of Roger's very conservative when it comes to others' dress sense and almost immediately invited Wilf down to the shop to choose another outfit.

They were gone about half an hour or so so I used the time to tidy the flat. When they returned Wilf was sporting a pair of vintage faded Levi's 501s, a paisley print shirt and suede desert boots, I must confess that he looked rather dishy, especially as Roger had mussed up his hair with a little wax. I really think Roger's the Gok Wan of suburbia, I really do!

Roger made his excuses stating that he had a particularly difficult wasp nest to remove from the loft and departed. Wilf and I then walked into town and bought a few provisions, Caesar Salad and sparkling wine being amongst them. We did witness a family being apprehended for shoplifting whilst we were in Sainsbury's, but that's to be expected these days. After a fantastic and somewhat boozy lunch Wilf led me in the bedroom and slowly but surely popped open the buttons on his 501s in a saucy but amusing manner. I think readers can guess what happens left, I'll not elaborate, this is not a Mills and Boon racy novel.

I am writing this on the laptop whilst staring at my ex having a post orgasm snore fest. A quick look through his bag found a rather strange tome - namely The Dorking Kingdersley Book of 'Getting off with One's Ex'. Right.

Wilf's Woes

Wilf rang me yesterday whilst I was at work, from the tenure of the conversation he'd clearly been drinking and was a little slurred. The upshot was that he invited himself to my flat today and decided to unburden himself to me (metaphorically, not sexually, I'm not really into that kind of thing these days and there's the chance of staining to think about.)

He arrived at 10:30 in his new car, well I say new, but he's sold the Audi and replaced it with a 1998 VW Golf - which he says handles well with all the features of German reliability, but I'm pretty sure looks like a huge tin can on wheels. He's taken the Queen's shilling, well the redundancy package anyway and will be leaving the Department in late June. When asked about his future plans he was extremely vague and said that he'd thought of becoming a freelance beekeeper in the home counties. I sniffed at this idea and suggested that he begin updating and sending out his CV asap but he just ignored me and started complaining that people who worked were 'selling themselves cheap' and 'he was above such things.' He consumed the best part of two bottles of wine far too quickly which caused him to fall asleep on the sofa, therefore I've taken the laptop to my bedroom and am writing this as he snores away.

I suppose he'll be over the limit and unable to return to suburban Essex tonight. Great, I was thinking about watching the latest edition of Midsomer Murders tonight whilst consuming an entire Vienetta, my plans are now scuppered by a drunken ex-boyfriend. Great!

Queen's Birthday

God save the Queen! Well that's what I think anyway as I'm on leave on Tuesday because of our gracious majesty and can therefore do another splendid shift in Roger's Relics or RR as I'm going to call it from now on. Work was a little boring today as it was the precursor to the bank holiday weekend and most staff seem to use this as an excuse to skive off, but not me, I was still classifying files until 5pm thank you very much. Eleanor said that single people were a bit sad and should try and understand how difficult it is to be a working parent, but I disagree - it's the individual's choice to have children as it's my decision to remain a spinster. I like that term, I think I'll launch a web campaign to reclaim it as a positive statement of splendid singledom.

Instead of alcohol tonight I popped into the Sainsbury's Local and bought myself a large bottle of sparkling grape juice; I don't see the point of drinking just because it's a Friday. I also purchased two individual apple pies and a set of scissors which were discounted to the princely sum of £1.25. I think I enjoy living alone, it gives me fantastic scope to be odd in the privacy of my own flat. I only wish I didn't have to witness the strange noises eminating from Roger's apartment last night but the rent's cheap so I can't really complain.

Margaret's Musings

Yesterday I took the day off work and went shopping in the morning; people in this suburb were certainly angry and I heard a terrible row over a parking space erupt whilst I was en route to Sainsbury's for my Caesar salad and lemonade Friday treat. I checked out good old M&S, since Roger commented on my fashion sense I've been less than impressed by the Classic collection, finding it a little too old for my forty one years. I therefore passed by the viscose/polyester mix skirts and sensible blouses and headed straight for Per Una but decided not to purchase anything as that's a step too far in the other direction if you get my meaning.

As I had some free time in the afternoon I asked Roger if I could sort out the stockroom, he agreed and we set about classifying some of the books he'd bought at a summer fete a couple of weeks ago. Roger was wearing a pale yellow velour tracksuit, I'd like to say that it suited him but that would be a lie as he resembled a huge mis-shapen banana split. He was still riveting company though and hearing his story of how he could have made it big in the fashion world but couldn't travel on public transport which meant that he couldn't take a front row seat at London Fashion Week. Such a shame! Mind you, with his bizarre fashion sense I don't imagine John Galliano is shaking in his shoes (well not about that anyway!)

Polly wafted around the shop dressed in floaty polyester and leggings. I think she's trying to evoke the spirit of Kate Bush, not that Kate's dead of course but she did grow up in this suburb and left as soon as humanly possible, as did every other famous or semi-famous person. Polly said that she's trying the channel the spirit of the late Jim Morrison on Sunday night at the local bapist church; I wish her luck.

Shop Girl

I'm typing my blog whilst sitting up at the counter of Roger's Relics it's not particularly busy and I can look busy but distant, a talent all shop assistants seem to employ in my opinion. I've worked here for a couple of weeks now and every day is different, which is great. This morning I sorted through a load of clothes Roger had bought at an auction, there was an interesting array of garments including some vintage jeans, patterned shirts and jersey dresses. Roger kindly asked if I'd like to choose a work outfit from stock as he wasn't sure how my polyester mix trousers and blouse combo would entice customers to buy his stock. Therefore I took a pair of jeans and a floral print shirt into the back office and tried them on; despite Roger saying that he was minding the shop I got the distinct impression that he was watching because his arm appeared around the door with a jazzy skirt and jumper combo at some point.

Anyway, that aside, I cope with such eventualities because I'm used to perverts. A weekend in Italy and work experience in the police taught me to be tolerant of such strange behaviour. Polly's coming in to relieve me at 1pm so I'll have the whole afternoon to myself, which is great as I've got to re-classify my bookshelf and de-bobble all of my cardigans. I must admit that I'm enjoying expanding my wardrobe, I don't usually wear jeans but I think, on reflection, they suit me.

New flat, new fun!

In case you were wondering, the move went really well and I'm now happily ensconced in my pied a terre. Roger's been amazing and has even allowed me to connect to his wireless broadband which is very decent of him, I must say. He's even granted me a week's grace in regard to working in the shop to 'get myself sorted' as he said. Polly has moved into Eleanor's and I haven't heard any whingeing yet so I'm guessing that all is progressing as it should.

Let me describe my new 'pad' if I may. Entrance is via the Tradesman's (no smutty remarks please!) and the external stone steps lead up to my own front door which opens into a narrow hallway. Now I know it's always the way with rental flats but why on earth do landlords allow their tenants to choose their own decor? Therefore the hallway is painted bright red and as such, resembles the basement/descent into hell aptly shown in the Amytyville Horror. The living/dining room is carpeted in a bowls club green and painted a natty apple shade and the bedroom's a vivid blue with a 1980s squiggly carpet. I've left the best to last which is the bathroom - somebody was clearly a fan of aquariums because its turquoise hue and plaster seamonsters really set the room off, as does the plastic shower curtain with an embellished dancing goldfish design.

I'm now nipping over to the Co-op to choose my dinner; sometimes living alone has its benefits - I never have to stomach Mother's grey mince 'n' mash combo ever again! Yay!