Blimey, haven’t been here for ages… but hey, it’s not as if anyone actually reads this!
Anyway, the now-divorced ex-husband is getting married! He has met a woman who is willing to take him on. Apparently she is very nice…. BUT she has exactly the same name as Dorty*… EXACTLY. And it’s not a common spelling. I have been told by him that Prospective Wife No 2 did very well out of her divorce settlement and kept her five bedroom house, blah blah. Well, that makes me feel GREAT for splitting everything with the jammy git so fairly.
At least some things don’t change – he still knows how to treat a lady. A wedding booked for 9/11 and a wedding night at the local Travelodge. Class.
*obviously not her real name
I think I have mystical powers! At the very moment of posting the last post (now deleted coz I felt mean) saying what a git the SPSTBEH * has been, he was being run over! There were earlier reports of him having a broken hip, which were wildly exaggerated (by him), but he is just bruised and feeling extremely sorry for himself. He managed to save his kebab though.
*Stupid pissed soon to be ex husband
I’ve always liked bees. They make honey and if they sting you they die. So obviously it’s not something they set out to do. However…
Faced with a swarm in my back garden I took the only option out – I fled shrieking into the house and slammed all the windows shut, peering round the blinds in abject terror, replaying a thousand horror films in my head.
They have now taken up residence on the Green outside my house – yes, that’s RIGHT outside my house – forming a kind of living carpet of bees.
And I had to shout at some of the local kids for poking them with a stick. Honestly, they don’t care about my life at all!
Those of you I actually talk to with an actual telephone, or actually see to actually talk to, will know that my STB Ex-Hubby has been ‘temporarily’ staying on my sofa while his flat purchase goes through.
This has presented so many problems (of the normally unimportant kind, but when you add them all together….grrr) but I think I have handled the situation with aplomb. Mostly. Well, he hasn’t tried to kill me while I sleep, and I’ve only screamed at him twice.
They say patience is a virtue but sod virtuous. Where’s the fun?
I want to thank everyone for your support during this irritating time. I really don’t know how I would have got through it, especially considering the ‘temporary’ stay has lasted EIGHT MONTHS so far. Thank you, thank you. You will all be invited to the ‘Thank F**k He’s Gone’ Party. As usual, clothes optional.
I’ve got a rather ‘large’ birthday looming tomorrow but, despite this depressing aspect, I’ve had a fab time so far. I met different friends each day for birthday lunches and shopping last week, and had a lovely time in rainy Brighton this weekend – gay men heaven! To the extent that the hen parties we saw looked rather… limp.
I’ve had family over today and am rather squiffy after squaffing champagne. I’ve had a great time and feel very loved indeed. And I’ve got some fantastic prezzies too.
Happy Birthday to Me!
Me and Dorty fell victim to the age-old prank of ghost-knocking. The sort of prank that used to require the contents of my mum’s sewing box and rubber-soled shoes.
Picture the scene: all was peaceful in the Angel-a household. It was dark and the house was all cosy with the curtains shut. CSI on tv, a cup of tea to hand. Then came a knock at the door. And another. And another. Reluctantly, I paused Warrick getting his kit off and went to see who it was.
There was no-one there.
Then I spotted it. A length of cotton tied to the door-knocker. And I could just make out two indistinct blurs lurking on the green near the goalposts.
Dorty was outraged (it seems I’ve brought her up far too well). She grabbed the 5 million candle power spotlight torch and suddenly the young ruffians were illuminated, frozen like rabbits before headlights.
They scurried away to the sound of our laughter.
Ah, how the tables can turn.
I hate it when people don’t listen to me, especially the Ex when I’m giving him explicit instructions.
But I have realised that I am guilty of the same sin, especially when it comes to the Ex saying, well, anything at all really.
Over the Christmas period, there were a few comments on how Dorty looks like me. Never one to pass up an opportunity to rub it in, I said, “Aren’t you lucky? You’ll look just like me when you’re older”.
I caught her horrified glance at my bottom. And laughed. A lot.
Well, Happy New Year to all! I had an exciting time this year, so exciting I recorded what I was doing at midnight for posterity. So… here’s some before and after photos. What a swell time I had.