Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Would You Care For Some Scarlet With Your Red?

From this:

to this - in just two hours!!

Dearest The Lovely Gabrielle,

You will be so proud of me when you see my hair in the flesh.

It is really, really red.

So did you swim with dolphins, or didn't you? My daughter is dying to know, because you may have just realised her ambition. I promised to organise it for her one day. (Actually, I think I would quite fancy makin' love to a dolphin. But don't tell anyone.)

Love & kisses,


Bobble-Head Thursday

Dearest Swiss Correspondent and The Future Mrs Clooney,

Goodness me, what a busy life I've been leading! My momentous decision to embrace my feminine side (despite the evidence of my body's involuntary, gradual trans-gender development) culminated in an exciting appointment with my darling hairdresser yesterday.

You may remember that the thoughtless woman abandoned me for several months for a mere trifle: she muttered some feeble excuse about 'having had a baby'. Pah. As if babies can't be strapped to your back in a papoose (or simply locked in the cellar), to enable you to tend the precious locks of your esteemed clients.

Anyway, I graciously allowed the woman back into my home, and my hair is now dark violet with tangerine and fire-engine red stripes! Siren red, even. Or slut red, if you prefer. My poor mother would think the stripes an indicator of my dubious morals, no doubt. That's what you love about me, innit?

So obviously I had to spend the rest of the day admiring myself in the mirror and could not be expected to expend vital energy on sending you emails every five minutes.

I know you'll understand, and even applaud me.

Pix coming tonight!

Mucho HOT love and vixenish kisses,



Monday, January 28, 2008

Dear Chip Chipper Chipperoo,

I do love it when you start a Monday off right. Always plan to start the working week in a good mood, I say. It makes the thunderous black cloud which descends over Wednesday and doesn't shift until after lunch on Fridays all the more miserable. Which in turn always makes one far more grateful for a weekend than one should be. She says, not having worked outside of the home since 1997.

Re: French Christmas Parties. Of course, they're nothing like the UK version. Mainly because UK Christmas parties usually take place in December. I can't tell you how disappointed I am that you didn't extend our code name for your Boss out to the naughty blog. But at the same time, it is nice to have a little secret between just us, isn't it?

I'm getting a bit sick and tired of hearing about all this costumery and chicanery that goes on in Ballet School meetings. Not in that I don't want to hear about it, more that I want to see pictures of it. I found this video on YouTube which is what I always think of when you mention your Ballet Classes. In the most loving and supportive way, of course.

"Of course, the greatest honour in ballet is to have a pudding named after you." I made a Pavlova this weekend. It was Australia Day on Saturday. Mr Mac and I celebrated it by going shopping for groceries, having a kebab for lunch and then having raclette for dinner followed by my red berry cocktail pav. It was delicious. Of course, you Kiwis are always claiming that it was one of youse lot what invented the pav. I suppose it's only fair when Australia keeps trying to claim Crowded House and Russell Crowe as sons of the sunburnt country of sweeping plains, ragged mountains ranges and drought and flooding plains*.

Re Sciatica: Don't say nothing to nobody but I think it's getting better. Touch wood and all that. After a horrendous day on Friday where I could barely walk, Saturday was painful but bearable, Sunday was uncomfortable but not too bad and today I seem to be almost pain free. Mind you, it's happened the past couple of weeks that I think to myself on the Friday, "If it's not better by Monday, I'm seeing the doc" and I have am almost miraculous recovery only to be back at square one by Thursday or Friday again. Let's hope this is the end of it and we can all be free of my moaning and carrying on.

My Monday morning has flown past in almost the blink of an eye. I was looking forward to having a long, leisurely morning but find myself having far too much friggin' fun on t'internet and already, lunchtime is looming. I will bid you adieu for the noo. (Ooooh, Latin and Scottish! Is there no end my linguistic talent?)

With love,


*See here.

Marvellous Monday!

Dearest Fragrant Rose Petal (and Lost In Carparks Champion),

May I take the liberty of bidding you a very Good Morning indeed?

I came to work today to find that my boss had blessed me with a new, super-fast computer, a very smooooooth mouse and a clicky-clicky keyboard. Can you tell I'm typing this much faster and more zippily than usual?

NMTR on the weekend front, apart from menstrual misery, hours of knitting (daughter's scarf is three-quarters done!) and a rather fun meeting of the ballet committee - we had to haul one thousand boxes of old costumes from the attic down two flights of stairs, count and inventory the costumes and then lug them back up to the attic.

The fun part was trying some of the costumes on and dancing around a bit. And drinking chilled cider afterwards with the girls was rather droll too.

Oh, and I cooked like a demon as usual, and we dined on roast turkey leg, juicy brussels sprouts, baked potatoes and wickedly caffeinic tiramisu.

Tonight we are having our staff "Christmas" party (we were too busy in December) in a very classy local restaurant, so the calorific extravaganza continues.

I love French Christmas parties, as they are nothing like the UK version, i.e. simple drinks and nibbles, photocopying one's bum and shagging the office junior in the supply cupboard.

Although, come to think of it, a UK party would be rather amusing, for the sheer novelty value.

Muchos boring besos and healthy-living hugs,



P.S. Do update me on your Scintillating Sciatic Suffering, which I find quite fascinating and not tedious at all!

Friday, January 25, 2008

Dear Healing Kisser,

Mum went to Lourdes last year, she has used up her once in a lifetime miracle dunk in the waters of life already. Besides, even if I had no legs whatsoever, I would learn to scoot along on my knuckles on the cobbles of Rome if I had to. I'm hoping that if I'm not better, then touching the foot of St Peter's statue with an honesty and sincerity in my heart in St Peter's Basilica will cure me of all my ills!

Oh dear, your Dirty Old Lady fantasies don't feature young lads with scruffy hair who sing do they? Young Scottish lads with Italiano names? If they didn't, I'll bet they do now, you filthy mare!



Dearest Spaz,

I vote we form The Moaning Minnies' Association.

I shall watch Talladega Nights for some inspiration and then pray to Little Baby Christmas Jesus to lay his itty-bitty pink fists on you and heal you, Hallelujah! Perhaps you and your Momma should go to Lourdes rather than Roma?

Am slowly but surely getting my naughtiness mojo back. Today, in between making the world's most boring phone calls, I have been conjuring up a Dirty Old Lady fantasy about taking a very young guy camping and corrupting teaching him all about the wonders of pleasing an older woman. He's all "Gosh, I wonder what will happen if I put my finger there?" and I'm all silent and mysterious, but knowingly guiding his various bits and pieces in exactly the right way. I do believe I am qualified to write and publish an educational manual on the topic, and it should be distributed to all seventeen and eighteen year olds. You will be my Senior Editor, of course.

Sending healing kisses and perhaps some hard drugs your way,



Dear Twitchy,

For God's sake, black out your office windows! Do not open the door! You know your boss pines for your feminine form - you do not want him mistaking a facial tic for the glad eye!

I am doing nowt today as I am practically crippled. Have I mentioned my Sciatica lately? I may actually have to go and visit Dr LovelyArms and ask if I should be worried that I'm barely able to walk without my right calf spasming agonisingly. When I go to the docs, you know it's serious. I'm much happier sitting at home and self-diagnosing using the wonders of t'internet and over the counter pain medication.

Spasm is an awesome word.

With spasmoid love and that,


Friday Firsties

Dearest Mistress and Commander of the Glorious Swiss Alps,

What's on your agenda today Baybee?

NTR on my part, except that I appear to be suffering from Oddly Twitching Eyebrow syndrome today. I am afraid my boss might think I am winking at him. ALL our colleagues are away at various conferences today, so I'm feeling just a tad uncomfortable, as you can imagine.

Vacuous hugs and Empty-Headed kisses to you, my dear friend,


Thursday, January 24, 2008

Tattie Murder

Dear Mrs Tattie Assassin,

I can't tell you how relieved I am that you spelled potato correctly. Even though you may treat them badly in the kitchen, at least you don't insult them with ignominious spelling (like the incumbent Merkin president).

But poor, poor Mr. Mac, and poor, poor Little Ewan! I sometimes wonder how you can bear to confess such inquities on this public forum. I cringe for your tatties, I really do. Alas, I have no clever-clogsy scientific explanation as to the concrete texture. My esoteric explanation would be thus:

You must have been a Very Naughty Girl in a previous life, and the Evil Kitchen Fairy has obviously been hovering over your shoulder for many years, just waiting to punish you by gleefully putting a spell on your poor, innocent taters. Yes my Dear, your potatoes are enchanted. And not in a good way. Maybe I mean cursed.

And while I'm in a Premium Acerbic Harpie mood: was that really necessary to gloat about your lovely Sylv and the exquisitely wrapped spoils with which she ... spoiled you? I don't suppose you considered the dampening effect it might have on your Poor Little Matchgirl Antipo, starving in her cold garret, with nowt but a lump of coal to suck for nourishment. So you know what you can do with your sunny love and chocolatey kisses, don't you?

Why yes, I have had too much cawfee today, why do you ask? And the only reason I needed the cawfee is because of my NOISE-MAKING AT 4 AM, EVIL AND INCONSIDERATE SPOUSE.

You know I'll be all luvley and nicey-nice tomorrow, don't you? If I'm still on your Friend List, that is!

Crotchety love and Hagbag kisses,


Dear Mrs Potato Head,

How very coinkidinkal! I too had a memorable experience with spuds last night! In stark contrast to yours however, my tattie tale doesn't have a happy ending. (Heh- happy ending!)

For a start, Mr Mac put his dinner order in yesterday morning for Pork Chops, Mashed Potatoes and my Magic Corn & Beans. I hate cooking (and eating) pork chops, the smell (and taste) absolutely turns my stomach. And then, while the pork chops were cooking, I could see the fat popping off the pork and landing all over the work-top, even landing into my corn & beans pan which rendered them inedible to me. For the mashed potatoes, I used a mischung of taters which were the remnants of different sorts of potatoes left in the cupboard. I peeled two large-ish baking potatoes, a few salzkartoffeln and made up the rest of the tattie volume with raclette potatoes. They all boiled up nice and quick in my pot and after I had drained and riced them lovingly, I went in with the masher to mix in the butter and milk to make them all creamy and lovely. And this is where something very strange happened. My mashed potatoes turned into something not dissimilar to concrete. I tried to mix them around with the masher and my arm nearly dropped off, the potatoes mixture was so thick. I suspect the raclette potatoes had quite a high volume of starch in them which made the potatoes so dense. Poor wee Ewan didn't even eat them and he is only second to his father in the position of World's Greatest Mashed Tattie Lover. Mr Mac ate them without complaint but that's because he's been beaten into submission over the years.

Anyway, that's my tattie tale. Any theories to expand further on mine oh Great Goddess of the Kitchen?

Other than that, I have only some strange goings on with my Sciatica to report but to be honest, I'm so bored of thinking about it that I would send myself to sleep if I were to complain of the weird twitching in my calf, numbness is my heel and constant, never mind literal, pain in the ass I have I would send myself to sleep.

So, NMTR (nothing much to report) from this end. But the sun is shining. So that's nice. Also I received a quite unexpected surprise in the mail from one of our readers, Sylv in Biel. Sylv has not only been collecting Coop loyalty stickers for me to enable me to purchase a new, fancy, brushed chrome toaster half price this weekend, she also send me some exquisitely wrapped chocolate medallion pralines called Bielerli and Bieler Stadtsiegel which are simply crying out for a cup of tea and my book. Aren't blogs just brilliant?

With sunny love and chocolatey kisses,


Exciting Update on my Fabulous Life!

Dearest Bestie Soulie With The Passionately Exciting Routine,

It has just occurred to me that I might tickle your tastebuds with the following discovery:

For last night's supper, instead of boiling some potatoes to eat cold with my fave pickled herrings in sour cream with chopped onion & gherkins, I used a left-over baked potato.

Well! The difference was quite incredible! The old, baked in his jacket, potato had a much silkier texture and more concentrated potatoey flavour.

I do believe this knowledge may change the course of world history.

Culinary kisses,


Tasteless T'ursday

Dearest Sprakly Queen,

I am dull, dull, dull.


I do believe that today might be International Annoy Your Spouse By Talking Out Loud At 4 am Day. Did you suffer from it too?

Am currently obssessed with historical literature: Daph du Maurier, Jane Austen, Cold Mountain, etc. I do not complain for my own amusement Mama, but for yours.

For God's sake, write soon and restore some sprakliness to my life!

Lacklustre hugs and Dishwater kisses,


Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Dear Heavenly Hotness,

How wonderful it is to be blessed by your chipper demeanour on a day like today. I woke up today after a broken night's sleep to grey skies and sciatica and after I put everyone out the door and on their way to work and school promptly went back to bed for the morning.

How I would have liked to stay there all day but alas! I must deliver my first-born to an afternoon of work experience as a Techniker in a town half an hour away from here. He's only there for two hours so for the afternoon I intend to find a nice warm café that serves exquisite coffee and plonk down with my book until he is finished.

I'd love to talk about that certain someone who is packing her family in a Mystery Machine and driving around Europe solving crimes and being pesky all summer but I suspect she would totally know who we're talking about. Also, I have a rep to protect and I must keep up an air of disinterested nonch in case anyone actually discovers how very, very needy I am. So yeah, like, she's coming to Europe and I certainly won't be following the van in the neo-classic mercedes like a scary stalker, jumping out at every stop announcing, "Tah-dah! Surprise, I'm he-ere!" with a manic grin on my face. Oh, no, sirree. I shall stay at home and if they knock on my door, then so be it.

Oh, Mum's Taxi service is called for. I'll be installing a metre later on in the week and charging from their pocket monies.

With nonch love and disinterested quisses,


Terrific Tuesday!

Dearest Sciatica Susan,

After a ripping good night's sleep I think I have died and gone to heaven (except that heaven suspiciously resembles my office, which is a little unexpected). Even my colleagues appear to be wearing halos and fluffy wings. I am unbearably nicey-nice today!

So I've gone all Pollyanna on your ass, and I'm sending the most joyous, positive and healing vibes to your body in order to banish those nasty painful afflictions for ever!

Apart from that, have absolutely NTR. Will try and create some excitment soon, in order to have something to entertain Your Majesty with.

Do you think a certain special someone, who will soon be driving around Europe in a hippie van to come and see us, would like it if we talked about her behind her back? I'm really, ecstatically happy that I'm going to meet her at last! You can't keep her all to yourself you see.

Lovey hugs and annoyingly chipper kisses,



Monday, January 21, 2008

Public Service Announcement

Posting is cancelled today, due to miserable demeanour of contributors.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Antipo writes....

Dearest Future Wife,

Am addled with broken sleep, but at least I got some! Popo much better and was cheerful last night for the first time all week.

I went to ballet meeting (we are organising the end of year recital: costumes, tickets, programmes, invitations, costs) which was a lot of fun but went on till fucking midnight.

Slept soundly till 6:50, got shocked into real life by alarm, got Keke off to school and went back to bed for another hour of restless sleep riddled with bad, shouty and violent dreams until Popo awoke.

Have languished in a long bath with Russell, am now required to play Monopoly with Princess Popo. It's the first time all week she's wanted to do anything, so v. good sign.

She's calling impatiently, more later!

Dopey love and masculine kisses, although I haven't had time to check for incipient winkie growth,

Mr Pajamas

PS You should hire Clown Jamesy out on the entertainment circuit and
make a fortune!

Prince/ess of Pyjama Friday

Dear Prince/ess of Pyjama Friday,

Are you sure you're turning into a man? I don't want to be disappointed to find out on our wedding night that your winkie never made an appearance. Although the hairy top lip does stir me in places it shouldn't.

How did poor Popo sleep last night? Did you crawl back into bed this morning to steal some forbidden hours of night-night? Just the thought of your lack of sleep makes me yawn uncontrollably. If it makes you feel any better, I have probably slept enough for both of us in my lifetime thus far.

What kind of weekend do you have planned? Mine is incredibly exciting- tonight I have an appointment with Coronation St where I will witness poor old Vera Duckworth meet her maker. It'll take me all weekend to recover from the trauma, I am sure which is why it's a good thing that Mr Mac and I have absolutely zilch planned between 10pm tonight and Monday morning.

I went to a parent-teacher meeting for James last night. The (two very young) teachers both told me the same thing; James is a very intelligent young man and is particularly gifted in the area of language. However, he's so scatter-brained that he couldn't organise a piss-up in a Brauerei and spends most of his days languishing in his favourite position as centre of attention and class clown. If only he could harness all of his class clown energy and concentrate on his studies. He could be an evil genius and take over the world for me while I nurse my sore back. Bloody kids, you can't count on them for anything.

In the meantime I may just let myself be sucked into a YouTube Vortex. There appears to be a whole new swathe of Russell Brand clips uploaded for my amusement. The housework can wait, I need me a tall man in skinny jeans and a ridiculous hair do to talk all mockney and and use random long words at me.

Pyjama quisses this fine Friday morn,


Thursday, January 17, 2008

Dearest Bosom Buddy,

Poor Popo coughed and cried ALL NIGHT, and her fever is up again. She seems to be in quite a lot of pain (her back - I suppose it's from the coughing). She didn't even want me to read her stories or listen to lullabies. I doled out drugs and put her in a bath, then made her a bowl of porridge, which she ate hungrily, so that's about the only good news! Am now very late to work.

Before leaving, I instructed Cretinous Husband to make her some ramen noodles at lunchtime. Cretinous Husband protested "I don't know how to make those..."

I snapped "3 minutes in boiling water! Alternatively, put your glasses on and read the instructions on the packet!" Legged it out of the madhouse in a hostile daze.

I'm so shattered I think I shall have to schedule a breakdown this afternoon. Have to attend a long ballet meeting tonight, but after that will fall into bed and stay there all night and all day tomorrow (apart from getting Eldest Offpsring off to school at 8 am). Praise the Lord for days off work and a comfy bed!

Do you still wanna be my girlfriend? I still appear to be turning into a man.

Mr Exhausted and Cranky


Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Dearest Queen of All That Is Feminine and Gracious,

My Big News is that I think I'm turning into a man!

You already know about my insane, violent, homicidal temper tantrums.

My moustache has to be ripped out by the roots with a wax strip every few weeks, or else my top lip looks dirty.

The latest development (ooh-er!) is that my voice appears to be breaking! Our phone lines at work are very bad and every time I try to speak louder, I utter an embarrassingly strangled squawk, just like a teenage boy.

I would consult a doctor, but I will probably be asked to show my wee willy winky, and I don't actually have one yet. But it can only be a matter of time.

If my bosoms remain sumptuous, however, I suppose I could be turning into a shemale.

The good news is, we may legally be able to get married after all - Hurrah!

Virile hugs and manly kisses,
Mr Antipo


Dearest Oogy,

You have redeemed yourself, and just in the nick of time!

But I'm going to make you wait for my stupendous news, because I'm being all Busy and Important in my Orifice right now.

Tough love and cruel kisses,

Madame Antipotrix

Nonch and/or Needy

Dearest Antipo,

So many humble apologies for my absence this fine morning. I confess I am feeling much better within myself but instead of being out striding in the mountains and soaking up the healthy fresh air, I've spent most of the morning in the car, ferrying Patrick to and from work experience in the vicinity of the local castle.

I say local castle, it's about half an hour away from here but possibly the most remote half away from anywhere that I've ever been to. My darling first-born spent the morning chopping up vegetables in the castle kitchen for all the lords and ladies expected to grace the king with their company today. Or something. He had a noice toime which is what counts.

My continental blisters are still very unpleasant to the eye and tender to the touch. How I'll be able to pull on a pair of boots for tomorrow's constitutional I've no idea. I may have to just walk barefoot through the snow like I used to have to when I was at school. Barefoot, uphill both ways with only a lump of rat poison in my belly for breakfast. Kids today, getting ferried about in neo-classic meredeses, they don't know how good they have it.

Re: Your Blogitaph. You are honoured to have entrusted me with this most precious and important of tasks. I must set about writing my own so we can do swapsies with them and I'll be honoured to ask you to do likewise for me.

Re: Atonement. You can rest in peace my good friend because I watched our not-at-all-illegally-downloaded copy of it yesterday. I confess I find Briony's story far more compelling in the written word. The scene in the library, which when I read it left me feeling all oogy in the tummy and other bits, left me a bit cold when I watched Elizabeth Pirate trying to gnaw the face off Tumnus McPuny. There was one rather impressive long shot of the beaches at Dunkirk though that I found very, very clever and kind of, sort of made the fillum worthwhile.

I think the poll deciding which of us is Nonch and which of us is Needy sounds like a marvellous idea. Any excuse for a party, I say.

Oh dear, all the electrical appliances in my house are bleeping at me to go and flick switches and push buttons on them. It's getting a bit like Demon Seed around here.

With absent love and prodigal kisses,


Sulky or Stridey?

Dearest Typhoid Mary,

Your unbearable and resounding silence this morning has left me quite forlorn. God knows, if anyone understands sulky it is I!

However reason tells me that you have miraculously recovered from your plague and continent-sized blisters, and are striding out on your morning constitutional, probably enjoying the company of a delightful and witty (yet undemanding and non-clingy) walking partner, and having a great time.

But oh! how I miss you! I mean, I am extremely busy and important with work of course, but there is a grey tinge to my day today...

Have you noticed our readers have been awfu' quiet recently? Perhaps we should redecorate the Comments Box and invite them in for drinkies and cheesey nibbles. Wouldn't it be amusing to conduct a reader poll to see if they can identify which of us is The Needy One and which The Nonchalant One in our complex relationship?

Milli baci and not-feeling-sorry-for-myself-at-all hugs,


Morning Delight!

Dearest Mistress Stella,

Miss Popo's fever has broken and she is out of danger! The crisis is past. She awoke only briefly at 6 am, then fell asleep again and was still snoring in the manner of a steam engine when I left the house this morning. So my disposition could be likened to a box of fluffy ducks, as you may well imagine.

Have loads of Russell reflections to share with you, but must finish the proofreading of the report before our publishing deadline, so you'll have to rein in your impatience until lunchtime-ish. His childhood is making me quite sad.

In the meantime I will quickly send you my blogitaph (for no particular reason, only I need to write it down before I forget it). A blogging US soldier recently killed in Iraq had entrusted a friend with a final blog post from the Hereafter, to be published after his demise. So one day I will do a lengthy proper post-Antipo post for you to keep. But in the meantime, should I pop my clogs in an untimely manner, please publish the following:

RIP Antipo

When she wasn't suffering homicidal PMT, she was a genius in the kitchen and made us laugh in the bedroom.

She loved her children, her girlfriends, her Ms. Mac, her secret admirers, big words, and big bosoms.

Morbid love and hopefully not prescient kisses,


Getting Back To The Panties Debate

Dearest Ms. Mac,

I'm sorry, but I would rather poke both my eyes out with a blunt fork than say knickers, briefs or bloomers.

Pervy love and intolerant kisses,


Dearest Mrs Blister,

Re: Atonement

My advice to you is to go ahead and watch the fucker (so we can all get some peace), all the while bearing in mind that James McAvoy is really Mr Tumnus the faun, and has nothing to do with Robbie whatsoever. Think of it as a love story between Elizabeth Pirate and Mr Tumnus, and you'll be okay.

I'm so sorry about the aches and pains that Life has dished out to you on a completely arbitrary and unfair basis. If only I could fall into your loving arms, you could wear me like a Band-Aid and you would be cured instantly!

Non-phlegmy hugs and massagey kisses,



PS. Were I of an unkind disposition, the thought of you nearly going tits up on an icy street might have made me laugh out loud, but I’m not, so I didn’t.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Typhoid Mary's House of Disease and Pestilence

Dear Love,

Russell does indeed have a charming turn of phrase. I especially loved when he was explaining about his Cloak of Love (you'll get there soon) and how his teachers all embraced the concept. It gave me an especially good giggle when I later read about Harry Potter dragging Hermione into his invisibility cloak.

I am teetering on the brink of Atonement insanity. The curiosity factor is indeed a strong draw towards watching the fillum but what if James McAvoy ruins Robbie for me for ever?

Poor little Popo and poor, poor you! I am afraid you are a far better mother and nurse than I am. I tend to shut doors on sick children and leave them to sweat out the disease under the quilt, on their own. Which really, is the way that I prefer to deal with sickness myself. If they moan a lot I might go and see if they need a painkiller. Or something to make them sleep. My poor children, they don't deserve me.

I think in my frenzied attack on the housework yesterday, in which I actually done some ironing, I did a little too much and have relapsed slightly into the aches and pains of colds and flus. Also, I slid on some ice while out walking this morning and while I didn't go tits up, the little jolt did throw my back out of alignment again. Not good. And while I'm having a moan, the wet tissue paper-like substance coating on my feet which others may call skin has fallen foul of a new pair of walking boots and I have blisters the size of Australia on my heels. Nice!

But the phlegm and catarrh aren't making themselves too much of a nuisance these days so you know, it all balances out.

I wish you many, many hours of uninterrupted sleep tonight with a few pages of Russell Brand before slumber thrown in for good measure.

Bis Später Liebchen,


Dearest Mrs Brand,

Or shall I be Mrs Brand and you can be my bridesmaid? But sssshh! Don't say anything to Vivi, she's got quite the crush on him too. But hers is just a young person's crush, whereas mine is that of a mature and worldly woman.

Doesn't Russell have such a charming turn of phrase?! I'm up to the canine war between his divorced parents: My Dad's pre-emptive strike was named Toby. Comedy gold!

Re: Atonement
I don't see how you can't watch it, out of sheer curiosity, if nothing else.

Daughter's fever very bad again last night and at 4 am, but she's cooler this morning. I'm in a sleep-deprived twilight zone, feel like I've got a new-born in the house. Please God, let me get a full 6 to 8 hours tonight!

Love & dazed kisses,


Monday, January 14, 2008

Dearest Mysterious and Lovely Benefactress!

First thing I saw upon arriving at orifice: a BOOK-shaped parcel graced with your fair handwriting! Never mind that it took my trembling hands twenty full minutes (and two broken nails) to wrench off the surely over-zealous layers of sticky tape ... Anyway, I can always send you the bill from my Nail Repair Salon down the village, can't I?

Truly, lovely Russell Brand's autobiog will help take my mind off my zombie-like state of fatigue and the overwork I will surely incur tonight. You are Sweetness Incarnate!

Poor old Popo is doubtless engaged in a battle of wills with her father over The Taking of The Yucky Medicine, as we speak. I legged it out of there as soon as he got back from the emergency pharmacy! I did the nightime tepid baths, the soothing of the fevered brow, the preparing of the special little soups and miniscule pieces of fruit, the fetching and carrying of books, yoghurt, CDs, pens and paper etc., etc., etc. for the invalid, so HE can do the Battle of the Yucky Medicine. It's only right.

Muchos grateful besos,


P.S. All rural pharmacies in France are closed on Sunday and Monday from 9 am to 12 midday. But each pharmacy within a region takes a turn at being the Emergency Pharmacy to be open after hours. You have to ring the local police station to find out which one it is. They sent us to the wrong one! Bastards!

Dear Poor Harried Antipo,

I suspected something was wrong when there was no email from you by 10am today.

Why do you need Emerg. Pharm? Is it another bloody religious hol in France?

Poor Darling Daughter, please give her lots of germ-free get well kisses from me. I imagine her father will do a marvellous job of pampering her all week and foresee she will be well and in good eye-rolling, lip-curling pre-teen form in no time.




Did you by chance send your lurgy over here?

Daughter very ill with influenza, she's had 41 degree temperatures since Saturday night.

Doctor Affectionate came early this morning. He only shook hands with me this time!

I drove around half of France looking for the emergency pharmacy, am now at home while Mr Grumpy Blackheart drives around the other half of France looking for the emergency pharmacy.

Will be in orifice this afternoon. Husband gets a week off work to look after her, good job too as we are proofreading our report...

Later Babes!

Can't think of a suitably witty title

Dearest Parent-Teacher Texter,

How did you weekend pan out? I must say I am most perturbed that the school would have stolen an evening of your weekend by hosting a parent evening on a Friday! Do those teachers have nothing better to do on a Froiday noight than to drone at parents about how wonderful/tiresome/"they need to apply themselves instead of playing the class clown" their children are? Crikey, I am so pleased that the Swiss school system is still so archaic that one-on-one parent teacher evenings are scheduled weeks in advance and the times always at the choice of the parents. Mind you, I suppose it helps that the local high school here only has a couple of hundred students.

I am miraculously feeling much, much better today! I really hope that it's because I am much better and not purely because of the drugs I took this morning. I suppose time will tell when the drugs wear off. I have been flouncing around this morning actually doing housework and even a bit of mind-improving reading. This is in stark contrast to yesterday when I spent all day moaning and groaning and, quite frankly, behaving like a sick man! My lovely husband treated me like I was on my death bed, running and fetching and being all Nurse Nightingale-ey. I feel quite ashamed, considering what a terrible nurse I am myself.

There is not a lot more to tell you so I shall sign off for now and wait to hear all about your weekend.

With Moanday Love and Quisses,


Saturday, January 12, 2008

Friday Night Sxt Msg to Ms. Mac

Dearest Chesty!

Am waiting in a long, long line, so have nothing better to do than sext you - harrassment!

I'm doing the parent-teacher dance again, this time with my daughter's teachers. It's rather boring, because so far they have all said the same thing: she's lovely, clever and works hard. At least with my son there was plenty to talk about!

I've been up and down the collège stairs like a whore's drawers, from the First Floor to Ground, up to Second and down to the Basement, then back again. It's better than aerobics!

How is your phlegm my Darling? Sounds like you could open a factory. When Stella's Snot Emporium gets quoted on the Stock Exchange, I will buy shares. We'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams and can pop over to each other's houses in our private jet for woine toime, or a girly chat.

Can't wait for lunch tomorrow - I have to use up my 2007 resto vouchers before 15th Jan, so will take kids to my lesbian lover's crêperie and get roaring drunk on a thimbleful of cider.

Sleep tight Lovey,


Friday, January 11, 2008

Dearest Missus MacWheezey,

Blimey, so Mr. Mac has gone and abandoned you in your hour of need again! I really think his company should be making some kind of Grass Widow compensatory payments. Or at the very least send around a handsome replacement to take masterful command of the telly remote control for you.

Oh dear, when I said ballet school inscriptions, I must have been wearing my Franglais hat. I should have said enrolment forms or registration papers of course. But your embroidery idea is a very cute one. I am going to patent it, hire small children from a third world country to perform the manual labour for pitiful wages, and open an internet shop to sell the goods. You can spank me when I’m rich and famous. Of course, you can be my assistant. Or the tea lady. Or licker of my boots…

Golden hugs and filthy lucre kisses,

Ms. Tycoony MacWorldPower

Intervention and Chest Protection

Dearest Love,

A whole beer? Never mind the poorhouse or the asylum my dear, get thee to The Priory, quick!

Re: Repulsiveness. The catarrh and phlegm and dry retching have slowed down somewhat. Which is nice. Today I am suffering from a particularly annoying dry cough and chesty wheeze (and with the size of my chest, you can imagine the wheeze! Boom boom!) which makes me want to suck (!) on my ventolin inhaler all day. Mr Mac has been away since Wednesday being very busy and important in Canada (again) so I have had to suffer my ails all on my own. Thank you so much for your kind interest. Who would have I have whined to otherwise? God knows, the children are only interested in me when I'm serving them food.

Pray tell, what are Ballet School inscriptions? I imagine you hand-embroidering loving little platitudes around the frills of tutus and ribbons of ballet shoes. Things like, "A Dancer's Feet Alphabet: A is for agony, B is for bunions, C is for corns....." or "Tutu: too too cute, too too frilly to to be worn outside of the studio". Please indulge me....

With wheezey love and chesty chisses,


Dearest Virulent Pantie-Hater,

Ugh, it's far too early for me to wish you a pleasant morning... I stayed up late doing ballet school inscriptions and then got sucked in against my will reading blogs until after midnight. Idiot.

Up again horribly early this morning to get rugrats to school and self to orifice. Now regretting my dissolute and wastrel life style. I even drank a beer for Heaven's sake! Where will it all lead? The Asylum or the Poorhouse, no doubt.

But I mustn't always be thinking of myself. I assure you I am most concerned about your snot levels and general repulsiveness. I do hope you have recovered your former charm and beauty. Please tell me your lovely eyes are sparkling again, and your complexion as glowing and dewy as it was the day we met...

Hark! The cawfee machine calls! Later Babe!

Groggy hugs and fatigued kisses,


Thursday, January 10, 2008

Knickers, Bloomers and Briefs, Oh My!


I have given you three rather delightful little alternatives for the P word.

Even in fantasy, I can't hear the P word without having my skin crawl.

I know it's a major personality flaw, I hope we can both overcome this in a mature and sensible manner for the sake of our relationship.

Knicker elastic love and bloomer frills quisses,


Panties! Panties! Panties!

Dear Ms. Mac,

It was only a fantasy. I'm allowed to say panties in a fantasy. I can't say underwear, for God's sake. How ugly would that be?

You know I would never say panties in real life.

You need some serious therapy, my Dear!

I still love you though, in spite of your glaring personality problems.

Affectionate doctory hugs & kisses,


Dear Antipo,

Ugghhh! You said Panties.

I feel even sicker now.

I just woke up from a snooze. The most exciting thing that happened to me in my dream was a random and strange man shouting, "One hundred and eighty!" really loud and obnoxious-like in my lug'oles over and over again.

It turned out that I'd fallen asleep in front of the telly and while I was in the land of slumber, the darts had come on.


Sleepy Head

Dearest Silver Sleeve,

Urgh, you just about made me vomit my bacon quiche all over my desk. Thank you for that.

I’m so sorry to hear of your repulsive illness, but it will cheer you up to know that I’ve got my naughtiness mojo back. My erotic dreams last night did not involve my doctor, strangely, but a mystery Olympic shot put champion, who kindly agreed to give me a private training session, in order to improve my technique.

We went down to an athletics stadium on a sunny day for the session. He stood behind me to show me how to position my arms and legs correctly, but I was driven to distraction by the feel of his body pressed to the back of mine. I was sure he had a huge piece of equipment cunningly concealed in his trousers and I was longing for him to rub it hard against me. He was frustratingly proper though, and behaved like a total gentleman the whole time. Damn!

It was a hot day and we were both sweaty and breathless after the exercise. After the session, my coach sent me to the shower, but I saw him entering the bathroom behind me, and then slowly and surely his hands stripped me of my white t-shirt, white shorts and white cotton panties. His teasing kisses played on my lips, down my neck, and across my shoulders as his hands roamed my eagerly trembling body. He knelt in front of me, slowly running his hands up my calves, lightly brushing the backs of my weakened knees and trailing up my hot, quivering thighs. I made a move for the shower, but he held me firmly, not yet letting me relax. I had to stand still for his attentions, not allowing my knees to buckle.

He was now so close that I could feel his hot breath on my - and then the sodding alarm clock screeched in my ear, brutally woke me up and shocked me to pieces! I have not yet recovered from the trauma and disappointment.

In other naughty news, I nearly fainted with joy when I discovered a blog all about penises! And not just any old penises, but clever, witty ones.

You simply must add Todger Talk to your blog list at once.

Do you think our American readers will know what todger means though?

Public Service Announcement: If any of you handsome and well-endowed American readers are in the dark about this matter, I would be more than pleased to help you locate your todger. All in the interests of improving Franco-American diplomatic relations, of course.

So, dearest Ms. Mac, are you feeling better now? I’m better than medicine, aren’t I?

Clinical hugs and stethoscope kisses,

Dear Shameless Doctor-Chaser,

Are my neck massages not naughty enough then? Note to Self: Next time, grab Antipo's tits!

Re: Sexual harassment- it's only sexual harassment if you don't fancy the guy*.

Sorry for being so remote. Yesterday I spent the entire morning under the quilt, crying and feeling sorry for my cold-ridden self. When I wasn't crying and feeling sorry for myself I was chasing my nose when it wouldn't stop running. The best bit was the pseudo-vomiting when the phlegm and catarrh collected in the back of my throat. It wasn't at all pleasant. Between us, we could combine our illnesses and create a super-bacteria to sell to the baddies to be used in their quest for world domination.

I did manage to find time yesterday to play a little bit of the Xbox 360 that Mr Mac and bought ourselves the boys for a Christmas present. One of the games we bought was Guitar Hero which I can't wait to have you try out next time your grace us with your presence at Chateau Mac. Talk about unleashing your inner Rock Goddess! I'd love to describe it in detail but wouldn't do it justice. Trust me, we'll have loads of fun!

Today I went out for a walk which cleared my head a little although I forgot to bring any tissues with me so now I have a silver sleeve on my daggy old black fleece. The sun is shining though which, in combination with the exercise endorphins has lifted my spirits a little.

Re your "Is January "National Be Rude To Your Parents Month"? wonderings. To that I can only say, welcome to the jungle, baby! It's all downhill from here until about the time they leave home! Which reminds me, mine are due home any minute and will be demanding that I feed them so for now, I must bid you adieu!

With fond love and quisses,


* I just made Germaine Greer cry.

Thrustday Firsties

Dearest Lovely, If Rather Remote, Ms. Mac,

NEWSFLASH: I got groped by my doctor (my real doctor) yesterday! I hope that’s got you choking on your cornflakes & haggis.

Well okay, it was more of an affectionate caress than a pervy grope, but still! He’s a lovely man, I’ve known him for years and he’s seen me through some baaaad times. He always gives me a kind of clumsy half-hug at the end of every appointment (which is very un-French), and I’ve always assumed it’s because he’s relieved that I’m still alive, kicking and relatively (!) sane.

But yesterday, when I asked him to check my donkey’s bollock-sized tonsils, he looked down my throat and then had a good old feel of the glands below my ears with his nice warm hands. He then administered a kind of gentle caress down both sides of my neck, in a friendly way, to punctuate the end of the examination. It was lovely. If I didn’t like him so much I suppose I’d have to lay a complaint of sexual harassment or improper conduct, wouldn’t I?

So I regret to inform you, Dearest Dr. Ms. Mac, that I no longer require your services. You are hereby fired. You never gave me naughty little massages anyway, did you?

In other news, the Committee Meeting of the Ballet School was three hours of bureaucratic boredom. I came away with two massive ring-binders (tee hee! I said ring!) of 150 enrolment forms and am now responsible for collecting the fees for the second term. On the plus side, I have been invited to receive the Mayor’s Best Wishes For The New Year ceremony. On the minus side, it’s on Sunday morning. On the plus side, it will inevitably involve some kind of apéritif or other French drinkies. So it’s all good really.

How was your Wednesday? A bit lack-lustre, I imagine, as I was not glued to my computer, sending you words of wisdom and naughty thoughts all day. But I suppose you survived?

Hot lovin’ and nice kisses,


Wednesday, January 09, 2008

PJ Wednesday!

Dearest Domestic Goddess,

Have absolutely nothing of interest to tell you! Just signing in so you don't think I've gone AWOL.

As soon as I get last offspring away to school I will do the happy dance in honour of my two and a half hours of FREEDOM! and domestic bliss that await, before the little buggers trudge home for lunch.

Home-made pizza is on the menu: mozzarella and salami for the anklebiters, mushroom and shallot for me.

Tonight however, I shall don a pearl necklace, smart little suit and heels in order to attend, in my official capacity as Secretary, my first ever meeting of the Ballet School Management Committee. I'm sure you await my tales of internal politicking and diplomacy with great impatience. You are most certainly tense of spirit and sporting bright, expectant eyes.

Hasta pronto Baybee!

Muchos besos,

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Tuesday Titillation

Ms. Mac sent me a very lovely e-mail this morning, which raised my gloomy spirits. However, she unaccountably omitted to blog it herself, so I bravely took an executive decision to blog it on her behalf and without her express permission. Do you think I'm going to get into trouble? We all know how publicity-shy and discreet she is. The original shrinking violet!

Ah well, publish and be damned! She can always sue me later.

On 8 janv. 08, at 09:21, Ms. Mac wrote:

Dearest Self-Diagnoser,

Are you as springy today as you were yesterday? How did your day of skiving at work pan out for you? All was quiet here at Chateau Mac. Ewan had a friend over in the afternoon but apart from that, no other happenings to report. My veggie soup was rather good though. I think I might heat myself of bowl it now, actually - I'm absolutely ravishing this morning.

Only one fixed engagement for today- walking in the afternoon. Thankfully, we have some blue skies today but I was planning on walking whatever the weather because I need to get out and about. I need some fresh, unadulterated by chores, air.

What about you? Lots of phoning foreign countries and flirting with faceless business men? What a job! Are they hiring?

Love, Moi

Antipo replied:

Dearest Fellow Aspie,

You are indeed absolutely ravishing this morning.

The bounce in my step is somewhat saggy today, oweing to a looming throat infection which I fear is going to get the better of me after all. I had been so clever: over the last four or five days I took note of the swollen tonsils and kept warm, took vitamin C and - most importantly - went to bed early every night to get plenty of sleep. There is still no fever, but I'm all achey and tired and the tonsils are still as big as a donkey's bollocks. Not as hairy though, thankfully.

I have to take eldest offspring to the quack for a medical certificate tomorrow anyway, so I might just succumb to the siren call of antibiotics and a quick fix. My nightly blogging addiction has had to fall by the wayside, which is a very grave situation indeed.

Also, I have bitten my tongue very violently (I was attacked by a psychotic grapefuit), so my dreams were sadly uninterrupted by erotic thoughts or sleazy longings. NTR (nothing to report) on the Naughtiness Front, Baby.

My skiving only lasted the morning yesterday, and I guiltily tried to catch up on real work all afternoon.

So, my faceless business men await. Let the flirting commence!

Lethargic lovin' and feeble kisses,


Monday, January 07, 2008

Dear Antipo,

While you do indeed display some of the classic symptoms of Aspergers Syndrome, I would look further into the field of medicine for your particular syndrome. For the Asperbergers symptoms do not include the following sympoms of yours:
  • Complete and utter gorgeousness
  • Incredibly high IQ
  • Wide ranging sense of humour which fills the lives of all those around you with laughter
  • High appreciation for exceptionally handsome (and sometimes hairy) men
Actually, now I come to think of it, I have those exact same symptoms! There must be something a doctor somewhere can do for us. Perhaps Dr Kovac could give me a thorough examination? And of course, I'll need a second opinion from Dr Ross.

Oh, I've come over a little faint. Must.... lie.... down.....


Hi, My Name Is Antipo, and I’m an Aspie

Dearest Doctor Ms. Mac,

Never mind your cold and sciatica, what about my syndrome? It was once suggested that my son might be suffering from a touch of Asperger’s syndrome, although I now know this is not the case. However, I did a lot of reading about the subject. I spent the weekend reading Jerry and Mary Newport’s memoir Mozart and the Whale. The fact that The Lovely Josh Hartnett (with whom I'm not at all obsessed) played Jerry Newport in the movie about their life, has absolutely nothing to do with my interest in the book. It is pure coincidence that his big brown eyes and pouty lips appear on the poster for the movie and did not attract my eye at all.

If it weren’t for the fact that I patently don’t suffer from the main symptom - severe trouble with social situations – I would declare myself to be a fully-fledged, self-diagnosed Aspie. There is a wide variety of symptoms within the Asperger’s range, but my “symptoms” closely resemble Jerry’s:

- obsession with birds
- explosions of bad temper manifested in violent shouting fits
- dislike of any changes in routines and lack of detailed organisation
- appearing to lack empathy
- a formal style of speaking that is advanced for the subject's age
- avoids eye contact
- unusual facial expressions or postures
- preoccupation with only one or few interests, which he or she may be very knowledgeable about (in my case, bosoms and food)
- talks a lot, usually about a favourite subject; one-sided conversations are common.
- heightened sensitivity and becomes over-stimulated by loud noises, prone to sensory overload.

When you have time in your busy laundry schedule, dear Dr. Ms. Mac, I would be very grateful to receive your diagnosis and perhaps a prescription. I could be an idiot savant, couldn’t I?

Love and repetitive, OCD kisses,

Dearest Patiently Waiting For My Return Soulie,

It's really quite good to be home. As you know we've been home since the teensy wee hours of Friday morning and I'm only just starting to feel recovered from the massive, long drive from Scotland today. Already this morning I've taken James for an appointment at the hospital about his arm, been to the p'stoffice and gone and done a couple of hundred fancs worth of shopping. As you know though, a couple of hundred francs doesn't go that far so I only have about a basket worth of groceries to unpack.

I still have so much to do to get the house in order for the bloody new year that we're already well into. I still haven't unpacked my suitcase and I have a tonne of washing down in the drying room ready to be brought up and folded as well as the socks'n'undies to sort. The weather is quite foul here. The rain is melting all the snow on the roofs which is almost all gone. I'm pleased about that because it slides off the roof with a thunderous scrape against the tiles before crashing below causing walking beneath eaves to be a very dangerous sport.

I have managed to catch a cold after everyone in Scotland threatened me with their germs. I suppose it was incubating all the time I was there and has now hit me with a vengeance. My hideous sciatic nerve seems to be on the mend. I didn't wake at all last night and I can sit here comfortably in my new high-heeled dancing shoes (which I got for the bargain price of £14.50 in a boxing day sale) without squirming and wriggling, looking for a non-hurty sitting posi. Thank God! And touch wood!

I spent last night catching up on some blogs and getting back into Scrabble practise. How you made me laugh with your tales of Mémée and her oh-so appropriately timed descriptions of various family members' bodily fluids. It reminded me of when she described the colour of Pépé's toe jam which sounded the exact same colour of the broccoli and blue cheese soup you were eating for lunch. What a scream Mémée must be!

How wonderful your day in Troyes (which of course, in my head I pronounce in English even though I know it's completely wrong) sounded. I am not jealous that you and Vivi had such a wonderful time without me, not at all. Not even a teeny tiny little bit.

Now I have to go and make some veggie soup to feed the family. I want to get it on now so that I can play some Halo3 on the new Xbox360 that the family received as a Christmas pressie before Ewan gets home and starts demanding control of it. Also, before I fall asleep. I'm knackered from all this activity so early in the morn.

With veggie soup love and kisses until later,

Mrs Busy

Dearest Returned Scottish Pilgrim,

How good it is to be alive and kicking on a Monday morning, with children back at school, the normal routine underway, and the knowledge that you have safely returned and will doubtless shower me with electronic attention all week in a noble attempt to catch up.

Ha ha!

Nah, I'm sure you are gently recovering from the trip, the excesses of Hogmanay and perhaps contemplating a mountainous pile of evil laundry and other vile household tasks. The only task I have allotted for myself today (apart from keeping up the pretence of working hard, every time my boss walks past my window), is to bring sunshine and giggles (preferably sleazy ones) into your life.

The reason for my astonishing good mood so early on a Monday? Handy hint for crippling backache: lie flat on your front (on a hard surface like the floor) and have an eleven year old stand on your back (after having removed her shoes), and slowly walk up and down your spine. Magic!

I had a fabulous day's shopping in Troyes with The Lovely Vivi last week: it's a beautiful town with churches and medieval architecture galore. I feel a bloggie girlfriends' reunion coming on, and what better place to catch up? Vivi sends her love and gigantic kissous. She made me laugh ALL day! The shops in Troyes are great and situtated mostly in car-free pedestrian zones. I treated myself to a bargain bin DVD: Sense and Sensibility with Emma Thomson and Hugh Grant, so today I'm all "I do hope your parents enjoy good health" and "Are you in need of refreshment, Madam?"

Gracious hugs and esteemed kisses,

Mrs Bouncy McBoingBoing

Friday, January 04, 2008

She's Back!


Am home but knackered. Slept like logs until 12:30 when we got up and started unpacking and collecting Sweetie from the babysitter. Sweetie apparently had a brilliant time. Spent 2 weeks out of her cage being bathed by Nico and had attention lavished upon her by everyone who came to the house. She smells of smoke though which worries me- can budgies catch passive smoking cancer?

More later my dear,


To which Antipo replied:

Oh my Dearest!

You are so kind! I have been posting horrid things about you all day in an attempt to amuse myself (and our fifty kajillion readers!).

Sweetie had baths? That's lovely! Who the hell is Nico? Not the dead former junkie and lead singer of The Velvet Underground, presumably. Her lungs are probably fine, it was only 10 days or so wasn't it? (even though it felt like a rancid eternity to me of course).

AM. SO. GLAD. you're back. I can breathe again!

MEGA hugs & kisses,


A Gentle Nudge To Ms. Mac

Dearest Jet-Lagged World Traveller and Global Phenomenon,


Oops! I mean:

Dearest Light of my Life,

My day is so empty without you. If you could only feel the pain of your electronic silence, you would hurry and send just a little word or two, to put me out of my misery.

Yours sincerely,
Ms. Neglected and Crying

Let The E-Mail Harassment Begin!

Dearest Scottish Sophisticate,

I do hope this is not too early an hour to be plaintively requesting news of your good health and safe arrival in The Village of The Damned.

I expect you all fell into a death-like slumber for at least twelve hours, so I know that in theory I can expect no signs of life until this afternoon.

I wonder how many crates of good British tea bags you made The Lovely Mr Mac carry up the stairs last night, so that you can at least start today off right.

Am very much looking forward to DETAILS, Baby, details! And photos! But take your time.

But not too much time!

HOT luvin' and excited reunion kisses,



She’s Nearly Home!

Ms Mac to Antipo on Thursday night:

Darls, have made it to La France with no real trouble. Mr Mac’s nerves starting to fray – if only drink-driving weren’t quite so dangerous and Eye Spy could be played in the dark!

Oh well, only 684 kilometres to go.
Xxx xxx

Antipo to Ms. Mac:

Congratulations on having made it this far! I’ll be sound asleep when you stagger up to bed tonight. And tomorrow I will have to let you sleep half the day before querulously requesting that you send me some news.. My fingertips will be bloody stumps!

Am sending one of my special neck rubs to Mr Mac. And a clout round the ears for the MiniMacs! And hot lovin’ for you, of course!

“See” you real soon!

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Restrained Reply From Antipo

Dearest Queen of Sporting Universe and Balls of Fury,

Drive safely today: roads all black ice here. I slipped and slid all over the footpaths on my way to work and had to hold the railing while inching my way across the bridge. It was terrifying! Was hoping to break an ankle or two in a very complicated and unusual, but entirely painless, fracture and be off work for months on end, but it didn't happen.

Can't wait till you get back to your computer and enliven my existence once more.

Ooops! I mean... Have you been away somewhere? I never even noticed.

Frosty Lurve and Ice Queen kisses,

P.S. No news today, my brians are empty

Ms. Mac's riposte:

Thank you for road condition update, dearest Weather Woman. Have driven thru snow at the Borders already, but now near Blackpool and roads quiet and snow-free.

Finished reading Russell Brand last night - I feel like talking all mockney and being verbose today!
xxx xxx xxx

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

News From Ms. Mac

Soulie Salutations! Here we are on our last day of the Annual Pilgrimage.

Mr Mac kept me up all night last night, and not in a good way. Coughing and spluttering all night kept me and my sciatic nerve on the edge of insanity.

Breakfast with high school bestie Lisa is just what the doctor ordered! Taking boys, husband and sciatica to the pictures again today - Balls of Fury promises some light relief. But first, some Scots-style Tex-Mex for lunch: do you think it’s ever too early for a margarita?

Will send news from the road tomorrow.


I just won two games of Ten Pin Bowling – I’m the Queen of the Sporting Universe! We didn’t end up having Scottish Mexican. Boo hoo: we had to have Chinese slop instead, which I don’t mind telling you was vile!

Took the opportunity to snooze thru’ Balls of Fury instead of groaning thru’ the cheesey slapstick. Will be back in touch from The Road To Mandalay the morra, my Dear.

Loads of quisses,
Xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

Ms. Mac Bends Over Backwards to Curry Favour With Antipo

She sexted me quite late on New Year’s Day to say:

Happy New Year to you and the family my dear friend! Apologies for late wishes – too many gins last night! All the very best, anyway, for 2008!

Loads of love,
xxx xxx xxx

(When she sends ‘loads’ of love you can tell she is desperately trying to win me back).

I replied:

Hippo Nude Year to you, my Bestest Soulie! I didn’t dare sext you too early, in case the dreaded Hangover Hammer was drilling the Edinburgh Military Tattoo into your puir wee heid.

How is puir wee Mr. Mac today?

I am spending the first day of the new year curled up on youngest offspring’s bed, clutching a hot wheat bag to my belly to soothe away the worst menstrual cramps in The Hystery of Uterine Discomfort. So that’s nice.

We are also playing her new electronic Monopoly game and listening to her new Avril Lavigne CD, which I love. Avril is feisty and stroppy and doesn’t take crap from boys. I should have been like her when I was sixteen....

My daughter is a proper mini-tycoon. She has made millions of euros, and owns hotels all over Paris. I have been to prison SIX times and am almost bankrupt. So that’s nice too.

Will console myself with hot tea and left-over fancy wee cakes in a minute.

Poor You-Know-Who’s computer is kaput, so she is no doubt inflicting her humourlessness on her real-life friends. We don’t have to suffer any more!

Loads of love and Nude Year kisses to ya!


(I was very restrained and only sent three kisses this time. I don’t want her to feel she is totally forgiven. I’m going to make her beg for it.)

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Last Sexts of the Year

I think Ms. Mac must be feeling guilty about her appalling neglect, as she has sexted me again today!

Hello Dear French Kisser,

How is your Hogmanay progressing? We're preparing to head out on the town for an eve of heavy drinking and singing Auld Lang Syne. Will have to be v. careful not to get too drunk!

Sciatica still crippling. How was your film excursion?

Missing our daily epistolary exchanges desperately... of course!

More in the New Year!
xxx xxx xxx

I replied:

Dearest Drunken Lassie,

Am so glad you are fit to leave the hoose! Have you dragged Mr. Mac from his deathbed, or is the poor lamb too feeble to join in the festivities? Don't get too fresh wi' the lads down the pub - it could lead to hand-holding, and that could lead to ...

babies (at best), and an S.T.D. (at worst)!

I myself am only mildly tipsy. We are all rather crook here too, but indulged in some champagne and fancy nibbles, including your old friend, le foie gras, before settling in for a cosy night in front of the telly to count down to midnight. Evil Hub tried to make us watch some god-awful young people's music video clips (house or techno), but we made him change channels.

If I were ten years younger (okay, make it twenty), I'd be drinking beers, whisky & rye with some good ol' boys in a saloon in Texas and performing a striptease on a bucking bronco clad only in a red satin corset, with my bosoms spilling fabulously out of the top, before inviting the handsomest cowboy to unlace me...

Ah well, time to put on my fluffy slippers and make a cup of hot chocolate before climbing into my winceyette nightie and heading for beddie-byes.

Can't wait to see your new haircut Foxy Lady!

Happy New Year and ciao Bella!

Love and last kisses of 2007,