Wanted: One Front Door!

A bizarre thing happened to Father yesterday.  He's currently having the house re-decorated and a local man offered to do the job at a discounted rate.  After the previous house subsided, Father was able to retain the original 1930s front door and is justifiably very proud of it.  Anyway, the workman took it away and placed an inferior door in its stead, but try as we might, we cannot locate the trader in question and the door's disappeared.  It's such a travesty and Father's distraught and probably more upset than he was when Mother passed away.

I am planning to go to the Co-op later on.  I've heard that they've got a special offer on Quiches until the end of the month.

Wilf On Wheels

Wilf sent me a letter, written in a blue inked Bic biro, via the post, which said the following:

"Dearest Margaret,

Our time together has been special and you are undoubtedly the love of my life.  However, things change and I have noticed that your love has cooled since late last September and has never re-ignited the flames of passion which once roared between us.  I have to admit that, as much as I adore you, I do find you rather tedious company at times and your single-minded obsession with the Co-op isn't particularly healthy.  I also believe that, in your heart, you still love Giles Henry Arbuthnot, the man you call 'Mr A'.  You are aware that he's no longer stalking the Earth aren't you?

I will be touring the UK in my reconditioned VW Camper Van from now on and taking peripatetic work on, as necessary.  I will always feel for you Margaret, but time marches on.

Yours sincerely,

Wilfred

The Wilf's Not For Turning

Wilf's recent behaviour has shocked me, let me tell you.  Last night he was rescued from his Mother's place in Epping Forest, but what was most worrying is what he was dressed in - a Margaret Thatcher outfit if you please?  I cannot understand it, I always knew that Wilf was a bit of a Maggie fan, but this is too much to bear.  Apparently the fire was caused by his lacquered hair setting off one of the candles.

Another one bites the dust.

Boring V

Yesterday Wilf took me to the Boring V Conference in Conway Hall, which was a 'celebration of the mundane', so I haven't a clue why he thought that I'd enjoy it! Anyway, it was an amazing day and QI's Andrew Murray-Hunter's talk about a particular model of Casio Digital Watch was brilliant.  It was, however, a shame about the last presentation though - a Creative Writing University Lecturer's dystopian story was *literally* boring and clearly missed the point.

The UK General Election 2015

Well, the Conservatives won by a landslide majority and there was me thinking that there would be a Lab/Lib coalition?  How wrong I was.  Three main party leaders have already resigned, namely Clegg, Miliband and Farage.  What does a Tory victory mean for me, a civil servant of many years standing - the beginning of zero hour contracts?  Anyhow, I'm sure that it's not good.  I wish that there was an alternative career path that I could pursue.

Wilf's taking me to the 'Boring V' Conference tomorrow because he went last year and I quote: "it's right up your street Margaret!"  Does that mean that I'm boring myself, or I have a 'unique' sense of humour?  It's often difficult to tell.

Here's my blog entry from five years ago: http://publicsectormargaret.blogspot.co.uk/2010/05/hung-parliament.html  How times change.

Auntie Barb

I have to report that Father's sister, my Auntie Barb, has moved into the former's house.  Yes, finally after years of living in a static caravan in Bexhill, she's decided to make the move to the suburbs.  She's a truly scary woman, both in presence and personality - standing some six feet and one inch in her pop-socked feet.  She sports an ancient jumper with a red deer design on it, which the fraying cuffs really show its age.  Apart from that she tends to wear clothes one wouldn't deck a scarecrow in, plus she's got a really hairy face.

Apart from that, she's really pleasant.

She brings along her collection of cats, namely: Jon Jon (a mangy old tabby with half a tail and a serious dribble problem; Captain Beefcake (a dirty splodgy black and white moggy with an attitude problem and last, but by no means least Priscilla Duckweed (a matted tortoiseshell with a piercing wail and an 'issue' with catnip addiction.)  She's never had children, nor been married, so these felines form her family.  I haven't seen her since summer 2008 when she tried to have my cousin Eleanor arrested for stealing her collection of greasy antimacassars.

We're going over for tea tonight, well by 'me' I mean Wilf and myself.  I have purchased all of my own food just in case Barb feels like cooking up her signature dish which is basically grey mince and mash garnished with frozen vegetables.  Yum.

Wilf's Mother has gone to live in the nudist colony near St Alban's.  She's happy apparently.