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, February 28, 2008

Blandy Thursday Culinary Challenge

Dearest Mrs Blandness,

Perhaps the following will add a bit of spice to your day.

Today, while eating your ham sanga, maybe you can give your pretty little head a shake and dog out some interesting recipe ideas for a bottle of exquisite balsama bianco.

I was given a bottle of Passione brand white balsamic vinegar, a prodotto Italiano (Modena) some months ago and I have no idea what to do with it.

I look forward to your culinary expertise!

Molto Baci!


Blandy Thursday

Dearest Darls,

Got nothing to say, and no wit with which to say it!

(Just thought you'd like to know!)

Hot kisses and nekkid lovin',


Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Dear Esmeralda,

Did you know that Esmeralda is Spanish for Emerald? Of course you did!

Last night's orgiastic bacon-wrapped asparagus was described as "sublime". I declare it a complete success!

Today I had plans to make a wonderful pasta I saw my new Chef Boyfriend, the slicky sexy and leatherly lubricious, Giorgio Locatelli cooking for me on the telly yesterday. He sliced up some garlic, some chilli and fried them off in some olive oil. After they'd been fried, he added more olive oil to cool the pan down to stop the garlic and chilli burning before adding some crab to the mix. After giving all that a quick stir he slugged in a good old slurp of white wine which he cooked the alcohol out of and reduced a little before adding his freshly cooked spaghetti and mixing it all through. I eagerly showered (!) and dressed today and rushed off down the shops to grab a generously sized tin of crab meat to try it myself for tonight's dinner but despite having gone to two decent-sized supermarkets, there is no crab to be found, tinned or fresh on the shelves. Bloody stupid Switzerland!

Instead I will try it with some little prawns and let you know how it goes.

Have you collapsed at your desk yet? What on earth possessed you to get up early this morning and start working? Was it the lure of listening to all those sexy Aussie accents saying things like, "No wockin' furries, darl!" and "Don't come the raw prawn with me, love!" I know I can't get enough of it. Sometimes I even break things on purpose to hear my darling husband drawl at me, "I told you not to do that.... and now you've fucked it!" Mmmmm! Sexy!

My sympathies on your sore shoulder and facial twitch. Should I make an appointment at Dr LovelyArms for you? I'm sure he'll give you a good poking and some retard tablets and he'll have you sorted out in no time. Taking Hunchbacks and turning them back into Esmeraldas is his specialty, believe me!

Muchos besos Esmeralda,


Weary Wednesday

Dearest Ms. Kinky in the Kitchen,

Are you sleeping off your orgiastic bacon & asparagus after-glow? I wonder if The Lovely Mr. Mac gave you a special thank you for your tender ministrations?

I am all virtuous and smug, having arrived very early at work in order to make a dozen calls to Australian clients. But a wave of fatigue will likely crash down on me soon, rendering me unfit for human consumption for the rest of the day.

In medical news today, my facial twitch/sexy, if intermittent, sneer is back, and I also managed to wrench a muscle in my neck/shoulder region, when dressing hurriedly this morning. It hurts like buggery now. Any volunteers to massage it back into the right shape?

Love and kisses,


Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Tales from the Kitchen

Dearest Kitchen Queen,

After massaging my asparagus spears from base to tip with some exquisite olive oil, using the gentlest of fingertip touches, I wrapped them softly in thin slices of subtly smoked bacon before gently laying them into a roasting pan. They'll be served later with a rich (yet fat-reduced, thanks, Thomy!) hollandaise sauce, the creaminess of which coats the inside of your mouth with a velveteen touch before sliding sensuously down to warm the very deepest parts of your being. To accompany bacon-wrapped asparagus-spears, I sliced up a red and a yellow pepper, both sweet and juicy and rich in colour. I tossed them gently in the same olive oil with salt and pepper before arranging them delicately in a separate roasting pan alongside some smooth-skinned, bite-sized button mushrooms. They're all roasting together slowly now, filling the house with a sexy Mediterranean waft of vegetables and oil, all tempting me to scoff the lot before Mr Mac gets home.

You know the best part of it all? None of the children like any of the ingredients, baby! It's all for me and my mister.

I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow.

Bacon-wrapped love and kisses,


Culinary E-Mail Exchange Between Two Domestic Goddesses

On 26 févr. 08, at 15:44, Ms. Mac wrote:


If I grill asparagus and wrap it in bacon, will it still be good with hollandaise sauce?


On Tue, Feb 26, 2008 at 3:49 PM, Antipo wrote:


What time will it be ready? I'm checking the Paris-Zürich train timetable right now!!


On 26 févr. 08, at 16:02, Ms. Mac wrote:

So, should I just wrap the spears in bacon and then whack under the griller? Should I toss the spears in olive oil first or will the bacon fat suffice? What about salt 'n' pepa? Condiments before bacon or after?


On Tue, Feb 26, 2008 at 4:08 PM, Antipo wrote:

Oooh! Hark at Little Miss Attention to Detail!

I have no idea Lovey. I would suggest massaging those fine, manly, green shafts in a light, sensual coating of olive oil - paying special attention to the nobbly bit at the end - then wrapping them in a silky bacon covering and pressing them gently under a fiery passionate grill until they explode in ecstacy down your throat. Deep, deep down your throat!

Salt & Pepa (let's talk about sex, baybee) before, I guess; Don't make much diff I suppose.

Hot stuff kisses,


Dearest Love,

How wonderfully patient and loving you are, to still write to me even though I take such long, unannounced leaves of absence. I'm in a bit of a funk. Nothing seriously funky or like, New Kids on the Block Funky, just a blahh, blech, can't be bothered kind of funk where I don't want to do anything except wander aimlessly around the internet, playing the odd game of scrabble and reading my favourite blogs. It's all because I am out of routine of course; the boys have been home from school for about 100 years or something. Luckily, I have lots and lots of Gilmore Girls episodes to watch while I roll around on the lounge sighing, drinking tea and being a lounge lizard.

Although, I was mightily impressed by the sheer heights of naughtiness you set in for yourself on your birthday. Whoah, mama! You saucy mare!

How I wish I had more to share with you, or even had the emotional energy to make some humorous observations about my funkdom but alas! I fear I am losing my sense of humour minute by minute.

I'll be fine once the boys have gone back to school, I'm sure but until then, can you bear with me, oh lovely Goddess of Naughtiness, Supreme Empress of Gorgeousness and all-round bit of Hot Stuff?

With lackadaisical love and numskull kisses,


Tuesday Tosh

Dearest Absent Soulie,

How are your lovely offspring today? And how is your health? I do hope you have recovered from your scabby nose affliction. Please tell me all about it in great, technicolour detail!

Isn't it strange, that just a few hours after I definitively banished Seb Chabal from my thoughts, I came across a shirtless photo of him last night in a trashy mag quality publication sent by my MIL, and then dreamed about him?

It wasn't a saucy dream at all, sadly. He was merely signing photos in our local bookshop, so I lined up with the other over-excited fans, got his autograph and asked permission to shake his hand. My dainty fingers were quite lost in his meaty paw. Ooh, I get a chill down my spine just thinking about his meaty paws and what they could do. But otherwise, the dream was quite chaste. Pah.

The children are away but I am not missing them too much yet. I have been sleeping late every day and consequently having to work very late, so the days are very full indeed.

I do hope something exciting happens to you soon, so you will be impelled to WRITE TO ME!!!

Much frosty love and nonchalant, not-missing-you-at-all quisses,


Monday, February 25, 2008

Naughty Monday Confession

Dearest Mrs Dreamy MacClooney,

It’s a good job France lost to England in the rugby on Saturday night, and that Seb Chabal didn’t even play, because now I can wipe them from my memory and get on with my life.

My special birthday lunch out yesterday in the finest restaurant our little village has to offer was EXQUISITE! The weather was astonishingly hot and sunny and my girlfriend Patricia and I strolled out in short sleeves and floaty skirts (revealing our dainty ankles), nearly causing car crashes in a highly amusing fashion.

Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you about the scallops in ginger and scallion broth, or the friscassée of guinea fowl with mushroom sauce scattered with shavings of black truffle, nor the warm apple charlotte served in a small ocean of vanilla sauce, because it will only make you hungry. Or envious. Or both.

I promise I will take you there next time you come and see me. Make it soon. I am pining away without you.

The Lovely Lesley of Peregrinations wished me much naughtiness on my birthday, so I took up her challenge in the most scandalous way I could. Shall I tell you how naughty I was?

To celebrate my 43rd burpday in the naughtiest way possible, I went into the bedroom, took off ALL MY CLOTHES and posed with a variety of – ahem – accessories and foodstuffs for some nekkid pix. I really did!

As you know, I have long had a hankering to appear one day as the Playboy Geriatric Centrefold. But now I find I’m too shy to publish the pix. However, it’s very nice to have them, as a future reminder of how long I was able to hold at bay the sagging and bagging of my middle-age.

Top Photographic Tip from Antipo: The advantage of taking self-portraits in unusual positions, is that the subsequent blurring is just as effective as airbrushing and soft lighting for cleverly disguising any minor imperfections…

Much saucy love and erotic kisses,

Mrs Naughty MacSauce


Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Sniff! Thank You! Thank You!

Darling Ms. Mac,

I'm actually tearing up while watching The Lovely Tennille express our fondest sentiments so eloquently. She is a beautiful woman and I would kill to have her singing voice. Two things occurred to me while watching that video from the Dark Ages:

1) I had the exact same haircut as Tennille in 1976, and I looked damned cute too (although the effect was somewhat marred by my missing tooth).

2) Those pointy bosoms on the back-up singers are really quite sexy.

My 460th Burpday has been a magnificent affair so far, with pressies from ALL OVER THE WORLD and phone calls from New Zealand, and shopping and baking, and it's not even half over! I have so much to do and will have to report back to you later I'm afraid. I hope not to be too drunk on cider tonight when I get back from my wee party, and I will scribble down all the details as soon as I can.


Mucho glowing love and delighted kisses,


Birthday Girl!

Many happy returns of the day dear Antipo! On this, the 20th anniversary of your 23rd birthday, I'll open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in your honour and drink it all by myself. It'll be tough, you know how I abhor that sweet nectar of the gods but that's how much I adore you!

May your day be filled with sweetness and light and may we share many more years of soulie-ship. Like Captain and Tenille said, "Love Will Keep Us Together" It's our song, baby!

With much birthday love and gajillions of champagne quisses,


Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Mother of the Year

Dearest Ms Mac, Mother of the Year, obviously spending quality time bonding with her lovely children,

How is the enforced proximity to your lovely offspring coming along? I do hope you haven’t murdered any of them yet.

Boy, have I got exciting news for you! I was unshackled from my desk and let out of the office for an hour to be weighed, poked and prodded by the industrial doctor for my annual statutory employee medical check. The chance to get outside and walk in the blazing sunshine for 40 minutes was a hell of treat!

The only thing that worried me was that after I weed in a large plastic cup and the nurse dropped a tablet in it (?), I couldn’t help noticing that it turned exactly the same colour as the “apple juice” in her plastic goblet, positioned on her desk, next to her computer. I’m dearly hoping it was apple juice, because she took a good hearty slurp of it at one stage. The only difference I could see between my pee-pee cup and her apple juice cup was that the one I peed in was as big as an American-style Big Gulp cup. Eurghh… am making myself quite queasy now.

The lady doc was lovely and we had a good old chat: I tried to spin it out for as long as possible. However she couldn’t find anything wrong with me and signed me up as fit for work, dammnit. I wish you were my industrial doctor, as well as my beauty therapist, fashion advisor, Playboy photo-spread stylist, psychotic-logist, and all-round lifestyle coach. You would be sure to prescribe frequent rest periods for my fragile psyche and troublesome bunions.

Much sunny love and juicy kisses,



Invoice (Payable Within A Lifetime of Receipt)

Dearest Antipo,

You may consider a special recipe Kir the cost of your Metaphysical Funk Cure from yesterday. I shall expect to be treated to one next time we see each other. Make it a Kir Royale and you can keep me on retainer.

re: Your Dream Man- Oooh, it's always the quiet ones you need to watch out for isn't it? I hope he at least wrote you a poem before defiling you in such an abrupt manner!

re: Mature Displays of Comedy- My dear, I expect nothing less than the occasional pube joke here and there from you. If it were God that gave us pubes, it was surely only to amuse us all.

I apologise for this rather humourless and boring missive. How I would dearly love to crack you up with an amusing anecdote or two about my life but honestly? There's nothing going on here. Nothing! Oh, I have a scab on the inside of my right nostril, a result of giving it too thorough a picking the other night. Now I feel like I have to spend all day blowing my nose which is really most time-consuming and gives me the constant fear that I'm going to end up with my brains in my aloe-vera tissue. So that's nice.

What will you be doing tomorrow? It's Wednesday tomorrow isn't it? There's nothing else going on tomorrow, 20th Feb is there? Nothing that you or I or any of your multitude of friends and rellies should be celebrating? No I thought not. So just another pyjama day then?

Yours with ordinary, everyday, not-anybody's-birthday-tomorrow love,


Tittering Tuesday

Dearest Dr. Ms Mac,

Your sensible dose of common sense and cod liver oil brought me right out of my metaphysical phunk. Don’t forget to send me the bill!

I had a very amusing time last night at yet another ballet committee meeting with the girls, which also helped change my gloomy outlook on life. It took place after hours in the village bar (closed on Mondays, but the owner of the bar is also our new ballet committee president). We worked very hard on costumes and lists, but had lots of fun clowning around with rabbit ears, tutus and wigs. One of the short and curly wigs was placed amusingly between my thighs, in an extremely mature display of comedy.

At the end of the meeting, the bar owner treated us to her special recipe kir, one which I’ve never tasted before. I’m sure you remember drinking traditional kirs with me: a shot of cassis (blackcurrant liqueur from Dijon) in a glass, topped up with white wine. Well, Madame la Présidente used not cassis, but a chestnut and vanilla flavoured liqueur instead, and it was mighty tasty, if rather potent. I danced and sang all the way home! Of course my head (and other bits) are a bit throbby today, but it is not an unpleasant sensation.

You kindly enquired about my latest fantasies. I seem to have outgrown swarthy rugby players, Texan cowboys and beardy Kiwi comedians. My latest imaginary lover is a sensitive, poetic and intelligent type, who leads me by the hand into a forest, cooks me a lovely picnic and then whispers sweet nothings in my ear, before pushing me up against a mossy boulder and taking me roughly from behind.

Cawfee time!

More later!

Much jolly love and completely-over-myself quisses,


Monday, February 18, 2008

Dear Mrs McJudgement,

Oh dear, it seems all of those horrible parents you encounter on your walk to school could be rolled up and meshed together and in the resultant mélange, you'd probably find me. I ask you, were there no displays of good parenting to report? No kisses from loving mothers to sons, no hugs for daddy before heading into the school yard? No mothers running behind their precious offspring, waving bags filled with gôuter that their beloved littlies had left behind on the kitchen bench? Surely, the world's not going to hell in a hand-basket quite so soon?

Come on, love! Get your head out of the meta-physical and tell me if you dreamed of any lovely bods over the weekend. I dreamed last night that I was in a room filled with people. I knew that in amongst all of those people I'd find my true love, Mr George Clooney but I couldn't see him anywhere. It didn't help that my bearded wonder-husband kept standing in front of me, waving and shouting, "But I'm here, I'm here!" I wonder what my sub-conscious could possibly be telling me.....

The children are all off school now for Sportferien which is the two week break generously awarded to Swiss parents by the schools so they can take their children skiing. I won't be taking my children anywhere. Except perhaps to culinary heaven and back. Last night I cooked an outstanding lasagne and today I have plans to make my world famous and outrageously expensive (for a soup) ham and veggie soup for dinner. These kids of mine don't know how good they have it. See, in amongst the slovenliness, lateness, rudeness, cruelty (yes, I have been known to smack and shout) and stress, there's also an awful lot of love and attention for our children.

I hope I have set your mind at rest in this matter, at least for now.

With much navel-gazing love and meditative quisses,

Your soulie,


ps. I read a book today, Josephine Hart's Damage, which is described as a novel of sexual obsession and thought I would get a bit of a thrill from some raunchy passages. Pahhh! I've felt more stirring in my loins while watching Coronation St. What a rip off! (Other than that, it was ok though)

Metaphysical Monday

Dearest Dr. Ms. Mac,

I’ve been wracked with self-doubt and metaphysical wondering this weekend, my Dear. Life eh! What’s it all about? Why do we bother? Why is child-rearing so hard, and who are we to think we are any good at it, anyway? Why don’t we have to pass exams before procreating? Are our children, despite our good intentions, going to grow up to be thieves, drug addicts, or even bad parents?

I have to walk past the two village primary schools to get to work every day, and this morning I was struck yet again by the seemingly hopeless examples of parenting on view every morning. I see slovenly parents, late parents, cruel parents (smacking and shouting at their children), lazy parents (you should see they way they park!), rude parents (not stopping their cars at pedestrian crossings to let other children cross), stressed parents (parents should be paid to take their time and ensure the little darlings are escorted to school in an unhurried, serene manner), seriously ill-dressed parents… the list goes on. Ooh, you didn’t know I could be so judgemental, did you?!

I realise that this is a very heavy topic to hit you with first thing on a Monday morning, so I will graciously allow you plenty of time to answer. But I expect nothing less than the answer to the Mysteries of the Universe.

Tortured love and Deeply Painful kisses,



Thursday, February 14, 2008

Dearest Queen of Distended Bum Flaps,

My love, how you have made me laugh on this Valentine's Day morning. A good old belly chuckle is worth so much more than merely hearts and flowers. I too am proud of your your friend of a friend's triumphant trumping prowess. I only wish I had been there to witness it- at the friend of your third cousin twice removed's neighbour's sister's dog walker's house of course, because I know that kind of thing never happens you your house.

How is your morning so far? I have been out striding in the hills already and now and going to sit down for a heavy day of internet surfing and occasional telly watching interspersed with the odd conversation or two with Mr Mac.

Oh, oh! Mr Mac has grown a beard! It took him all of three days while I was away- that's how virile and masculine he is but I think he'll have to go clean shaven to work on Monday. I shall take full advantage of kissing him over the weekend though. Sadly, I have been menstruating this week which has prevented full-on beardy shag attacks. Do you think that was far too much information? Oh well.

With love on this cold and frosty morning,


The Most Unusual Valentine’s Gift Ever

Dearest Sophisticated World Traveller,

Happy VD to you my dear!

I do hope you are spending a nice easy morning recovering from your harrowing trip to Roma.

Allow me to present you with my bestest Valentine wishes. I know you will be waiting impatiently for the postie to bring you flowers and chocolates from me, but I have to warn you now that … erm… there won’t be any…

It’s not that I forgot… or wasn’t sufficiently organised in advance to mark the occasion… I simply wanted to surprise you with something completely non-traditional. You wouldn’t want flowers or chocs anyway, would you? So I have the honour of bestowing an amusing story upon you, as a mark of my deepest affection.

Are you sitting comfortably?

The Earthquake

Last night, a friend of a friend of my neighbour’s third cousin told me that she was very excited upon leaving work, to learn that her husband was taking the children out late night shopping. She bought some tasty nibbles for dinner and fairly sprinted home, planning to enjoy a child-free evening of blissful peace and quiet in front of the television.

Sadly, before she could get her dinner on a tray and switch on the idiot box, a call of nature propelled her loo-wards, where she spent about thirty precious minutes of telly-time straining with a surprise bout of constipation. She finally managed to evacuate something the size of a small continent, but not without much pain, suffering and actual injury. What a waste of good telly-watching time! Also, her stupid husband brought the children home at 7.30 pm, so she only managed to get halfway through Prizzi’s Honor. Oh well..

Here comes the funny part: She was sat knitting in her daughter’s bedroom while the daughter was getting ready for bed, when a tiny but uncomfortable pressure in her lower intestine compelled her to discreetly lift one buttock by only a centimetre, confidently expecting to get away with a very small and silent gasous expulsion. Sadly, though,
“the best laid plans of mice and men…”; the resulting nuclear explosion (which rent the very skies) was not only the loudest fart in the history of flatus reflex, but also had the novelty of causing, as it passed through the woman’s poor, distended sphincter, an audible flapping…

The young daughter was not only shocked, horrified and vastly entertained all at the same time, but also wildly overexcited because of the Coca-Cola her idiot father had foolishly allowed her to drink at dinner. She went sprinting through the house, screeching, groaning and crying with laughter, thus drawing as much attention as possible to the horrendous faux-pas. I don’t think the mother had ever been more embarrassed (and yet strangely proud at the same time).

Isn’t it a shame that such an amusing episode could simply never occur in my house? I would love a good laugh like that from time to time.

With delicate love and silvery, fairy princess kisses,



Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Dearest Returned Roman Princess,

You are so kind to have bestowed your words upon me! I'll come out of my limbo, and my life can begin again forthwith!

"I'm alive! I'm alive! Hello birds! Hello flowers!" (Life of Brian)

I had of course already checked out your stunning Roman pix on Flickr last night, but it is so very satisfying to be able to read your anecdotes about hooligans, airport débâcles, accommodation distasters and crap too.

Why don't you just not unpack your suitcase and fly over here to tell me all about it? Will save you having to write it all down, with your wee precious fingers. I will graciously grant you a wee rest first though!

Only excitement to report from France today is that my tuna sandwich was succulent, and my boss will be sacking one of our translators by phone later today! I so wish I could be a fly on the wall to hear it! (Not one of those blowsy, furry, dirty, repulsive, germ-ridden flies, but a small, sleek, shiny, acrobatic, dainty, nice fly). This person will be replaced by a much more efficient and accurate translator, so my life will improve immeasurably when I'm doing next month's proofreading. So that's nice.

More later Signora Mac,


Roman Recovery

Dearest Patient Soulie,

I am back from my Roman Adventure. You've been so very patient, waiting for all of my news. Yesterday I was utterly exhausted from all the walking Mum and I did around the eternal city. Of course, we had to share Rome with about 3 bajillion English who had turned up to give the Italians a leathering in the Six Nations Rugby match that was being played on the Sunday afternoon. They weren't so bad, really but you know, I don't much like sharing my Rome with the Romans, never mind a bunch of bloody foreigners!

We did have a few mishaps before our adventure even began which made for an ominous start to our weekend but Mum and sailed through the delays at the airport and there being no room for us at the inn with aplomb before we settled into our hotel room a few hours later than expected but soon we were out and about soaking up the atmos and wandering around pointing and looking with awe at the endless wonders Rome has to offer. Our hotel was only about 3 minutes walk from the Piazza della Repubblica. By the end of our weekend I felt almost like a local, even venturing out on our last morning without the priceless but well folded, worn and torn (by us) map the hotel had given us.

I did see the Calendario Romano (AKA sexy priests calendar) which I had a flick through but didn't buy because most of the pictures were the same as last year. Which is not a bad thing, after all, Padre Marzo who was my favourite from last year was featured again. The Trevi Fountain was just a beautiful as last year and this year I managed to see it at night which was an extra special treat. Mum and I were sure to throw a coin in to ensure our return one day. We dined on some fine Italian food, pasta with swordfish and eggplant, for instance. Once I asked one of our waiters what Granchio was and was astounded to hear him warn me off that pasta since it was "crap". "Crap?" I asked him again and looked at my Mum for an explanation. "Yes, Crap," he said and made pincher motions with his fingers. "Ohhhhhh, crab!" I exclaimed and we had a good laugh. All in all, the pasta was perfect, the pizza was pure pleasure and the prosecco was preciously provocative. ZOMG! Roma, baby! Roma!

Oh, there's so much to tell and so many photos to look at. Once I have everything straight in my heid, I should be able to write a magnificent octopus about all of it for your exclusive enjoyment.

I hope this will satisfy your curiosity for now, my dear patient friend.

Mille baci, bella Signora!


Easy Like Sunday Morning

Dearest Ms. Mac,

This is the real Antipo speaking. I didn’t really die when you went off and left me! (But I came very close).

You know how sometimes a song comes out of the blue and lodges in your neurones, and you find yourself singing it over and over again for days on end? Well this morning on the way to work, Easy Like Sunday Morning popped into my mind. I have no idea why, but I am to be congratulated for it nonetheless. It’s such a soothing ditty to warble when one has had a poor night’s sleep and one is expecting a shitty-arse day (work-wise) ahead of one, and one was served by the least competent bakery assistant (she’s as stupid as pig dribble) when buying one’s sandwich.

And yet, I’m feeling all lovely and serene, thanks to that song, and almost certainly thanks to the anticipation of receiving lots of lovely NEWS! from your own Dear Self today. Does your lovely Mum have an email address, so I can write and tell you how much I heart you?

Also, how could I not be happy and excited, with the knowledge that my bag harbours a juicy tuna salad sandwich, on spongy round Swedish bread, and a fabulously sweet and crunchy French mountain apple for my lunch? I rest my case.

I’d like to see you try and top that on the Excitement-o-Meter!

Smug love and foodie kisses,



Moving E-Mail Exchange Between Two Soulies

On Feb 12, 2008 1:15 PM, Antipo wrote:

Lovey, is my new email address not working?
I'm afraid to harrass you too much, in case you are being very busy & important, rather than recovering gently after all your recent excitements...



On 12 févr. 08, at 16:39, Ms. Mac wrote:


Email working perfectly. Sorry, have just been so incredibly exhausted today and have been trying to unpack.

Please forgive me for my silence, it comes from nothing more than me being the oldest, tiredest person I know.

Love and quisses,


On Feb 12, 2008 16:42 PM, Antipo wrote:


I am SO HAPPY you are back! Even if your travels have rendered you totally decrepit!

Poor auld Sausage. It's a tough life, but someone has to do it, and you are obviously The Chosen One.

Fuck the unpacking! Just put your feet up with a cuppa and catch up on all my brilliant posts. Strangely, your absence did not diminish my excellent creativity, 'though I feared it might!

Huggiepoos and sloppy lovebunny kisses,



Tuesday, February 12, 2008

She's Back!

Dearest Ms. Mac,

This is the Ghost of Antipo speaking. Poor Antipo pined away in your absence, ended up selling her soul on E-Bay (may she rest in peace) and I am now running this joint.

I plan to haunt you and drape slimy ectoplasm around your house and all through your hair until you provide an extremely long and Magnificent Octopus about your trip to Roma, baby, Roma!

Much spooky love and translucent kisses,

The Ghost of Antipo


Friday, February 08, 2008

Antipo Is Pining Away

Dearest Mrs Social Butterfly,

A strange, low-grade melancholy has set in today. I’m perfectly fine, but have started off the day knowing that your Leave of Absence has condemned me to eight friendless hours in the hellhole I cunningly refer to as 'Work'. What can I possibly write about? My life is dust and ashes without you.

All I can think of is that you and your inconvenience Friend will be riding through Switzerland in a sports car, with the warm wind in your hair. I guess you will have to stop for refreshments at some stage, and will probably toast each other’s good health with champagne. Please let it not be Veuve Coquelicot, but a far inferior brand.

After warming your hands by a roaring fire in a rustic inn, you will surely tuck into a cosy lunch en tête à tête, served by a ruddy-cheeked peasant girl.

At the end of the day you will probably go prancing off together, hand-in-hand, across a picturesque meadow in slow motion and soft focus towards a magnificent, blood-red sunset…

While I sit here and stifle a sob and pine for what might have been…

Also, if you don’t bring me back a copy of the Sexy Priests Calendario from Rome, your salary will be severely docked.

Just remember, our entire relationship (not to mention next year’s Christmas bonus), hangs in the balance….

Unrequited Love and Forlorn Kisses,
Ms. Pitiful McSobSob


Thursday, February 07, 2008

Thursday Report from Antipo

Dearest Imminent Roman Pilgrim,

Yesterday’s black mood has lifted and I am fit for human consumption once more.

However, I know you will be buzzing around like a blue-arsed fly (if you don’t mind the simile) today, as you have all your important and sophisticated Romarrangements to complete. So don’t mind me. I won’t get in your way. I’ll just sit here quietly in my corner and play with my fingers to stave off the loneliness and boredom.

I completely understand that the Holy Father requires your presence at Catholic HQ, and that you have better things to do with your time than entertain me cybernetically. It is of course not possible for me to assume I could be more important than His Holiness (and the sexy priests calendario).

I’m trying to look on the bright side: Your long absence will give me the necessary time to produce some finely-crafted, hand-hewn creative writing. And to clean the fluff out of my tummy button.

Mille baci and pious thoughts,



Wednesday Sxt Msgs From Antipo


Am watching TV and eating corn chips for breakfast, in the fine Hollywood tradition of horny but spurned females. Will avoid Jane Austen and romantic comedies though. Saving Private Ryan ought to cheer me up.


Wednesday night

Haven’t slit my wrists yet, but tall buildings and speeding trains are looking mighty attractive. Private Ryan was an excellent distraction – ah, the futility of war! Puts my shit into perspective! Also enjoyed a fleeting crush on Barry Pepper (Private Jackson).

How are Romarrangements shaping up?

Gallows humour and black kisses,


Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Leave of Absence

Dearest Antipo,

Please forgive me for taking a short leave of absence in the next few days. I have an EIP (extremely important visitor) coming for a short visit. Of course, I won't be having any fun at all, driving aorund in the neo-classic mercedes and seeing beautiful Switzerland in your absence so fear not that you will be replaced in my affections by a real, live friend. Oh, I mean it's not a friend, just an inconvenience, really. Honest.

I was so busy today and yesterday bringing the house up to scratch for the EIP that I neglected to write to you. I hope that it may soothe your soul to know that I spent most of the day baking muffins. I baked a batch of apple and sultana and then a batch of experimental raspberry and white chocolate. While mixing up the batter for the raspberry muffins, I chucked the raspberries into the mixer and realised when the batter turned a bright pink that perhaps I should have folded the fruit in gently instead. Never mind, I folded in a load more raspberries into the pink mix, along with chunks of white chocolate. When they came out of the oven I was a little worried that there was too much fruit in them and that they wouldn't hold together. I am pleased to exclusively report that they held together perfectly and were completely delicious. Moist, tart and with a creamy touch from the bites of chocolate, I believe they were the kind of muffins God has served to him for elevenses. The apple and sultana ones were pretty bloody good too. In fact all of them were so good that there is none, zero, zilch left for the EIP to try.

Speaking of God, after my friend, I mean inconvenience, has left, then I am headed off on a pilgrimage to Catholic HQ with my lovely, devout mother. ZOMG! Rome! I love Rome. My presence will be required at the Vatican all weekend. Not by the Pope, you understand, by my mother but that's ok because I'll be in Rome! For an entire weekend! Without my children! I shall be sure to send lots of sext messages to update you with all of my goings on. I expect to see lots of lovely handsome Thorn Birds type priests flouncing around in their long black robes. I'll also be on the lookout for the Sexy Priests Calendario and this time, while my mum's back is turned, I might even buy it! Have I mentioned how much I love Rome? City voted most likely to turn Stella into a raging hyperbolic.

Re: Kissing Beardies. Bearded men are a delight to kiss (if you fancy them, of course). The best time to kiss a beardy is when the beard has grown long enough to start to curl slightly. That's when it changes from being a macho, rugged delight to look at but prickly to kiss and goes a bit softer on the face. There's nothing stopping a man from using a bit of conditioner on his beard either which smells nice. Of course, a beard has to be a nice thick beard or goatee. None of this patchy crap that the young whippersnappers think is a sign of manhood. Mind you, if the beard reaches and tangles in with his lower eylashes, then that might be a little too hirsute for my liking. Best leave men that hairy to an internet fan-base, I say. And I do like a bit of uniformity in the colour of beard- I had a friend whose beard grew in about five different colours which was very strange. Having said that, a salt & pepper beard is very distinguished, of course.

My dearest, I shall leave you for now. I shall try to write when I get a free moment. But I am afraid that between now and next week sometime, I shall be quite distant. You will be constantly in my thoughts, of course, and think of the vicarious thrills you'll be able to enjoy when I tell all afterwards!

Leave of absence love and quisses,


Terse Tuesday Tidings

Dearest Mrs. Very Busy and Important Entertaining Other Lovely Friends Today,

Offspring: rude

Work: frantic

Brain: mush

Mood: so-so

Love & jealous kisses,



Monday, February 04, 2008

A Tiny, Cautious Reproach

Dearest Ms. “Treat ‘Em Mean, Keep ‘Em Keen”,

Do you have a vitally important appointment today that I have inexplicably (and shamefully) forgotten?

Perhaps you are so stoned on your anti-inflammatories, that you are hallucinating about writing me long and brilliant missives, without actually managing to put finger to keyboard…

I am so lonely without your wonderful wit, your delightful doings and your heavenly hilarity to comfort me today, that I may be forced to go onto E-Bay soon and auction my soul to the highest bidder.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Yours faithfully,
Downcast of Doncaster


Will extra kisses bring you back?


Kissing Beardies

Dearest Ms. Marj Proops,

Help! I’ve been enjoying many kissing dreams lately, and the recipients of my kisses have all been beardies! Obviously my usual bearded boyfriends (Seb Chabal, Tom Petty, Hairy McLary and Jemain Conchord) should figure prominently in my fantasies, as is only right and proper.

However, the most recent dream involved a beardie of our acquaintance whom I do not fancy at all. I even think he’s yuck! So why was I dreaming lusty dreams about him? I don’t like this strange phenomenon at all.

Also, I don’t believe I have ever kissed a beardie or moustachioed in real life, not ever. So what does it feel like? I’m wondering how accurate my dreams can be. As your lovely husband was once a beardie, I need you to reassure me that it doesn’t tickle and cause giggles at the most inopportune moment.

Yours sincerely,

Dearest Mrs Discus Champion,

What is the state of your aches and pains today my Dear? Did you spend the weekend blissfully spinning out on prescription drugs and getting sensual massages from The Lovely Mr. Mac? Or is he gallivanting in bloody Canada again? I can’t keep track of that man’s movements!

From the Physical Disfigurement News Desk today: you’ll be relieved to know that my inconvenient eyebrow twitch has righted itself. However it has been replaced by a new twitch, in a small muscle between my nostril and upper lip, giving me a rather sexy sneer, à la Elvis Presley. Actually, I suspect it would be rather sexy, if only it remained constant. Sadly, it wavers, flickering from sexy to retarded, and back again. Just be grateful that your hideous disfigurements can be hidden beneath your clothes. Thank God for my aubergine hair and Wonderbra, which hopefully distract the eye from my current affliction. I have no idea what could be causing this mysterious facial neuralgia. Any suggestions, Oh Highly Esteemed Dr Ms. Mac?

Will report my scintillating weekend to you after I have accomplished a jot or two of work.

Muchos Moanday Mwahs to you,

Ms. Twitchy McTicTic


Saturday, February 02, 2008

Naughty Sexting

Antipo sexts:

Darls! Did the earth move with Dr Lovely Arms? I just got my 7th subscriber for January and only 10 mins ago! Am now skipping home from work! Billionaire kisses, Antipo x$x$x$

Ms Mac sexts:

Dr Lovely Arms was very firm but tender with me. He twisted and turned and poked (!) and prodded me and diagnosed a herniated disc - ouch! The worst thing about it all was when he asked me to take off my boots and jeans to get on the bed for all the manipulation and he saw me in my pop-sox! How embarrassment! I'm rethinking the pap smear/smear test thing. If he's seen me in my pop-sox and can still look me in the eye then I can probably deal with him seeing the lady-garden. Anyway, I've got some anti-inflammatories and hopefully they should help clear it up. Muchos weekend Besos, mi amor!

Antipo sexts:

How the hell did you herniate your disc?! When you slipped on evil, icy Swiss street? Perhaps the pain will take your mind off the excruciatingly embarrassing and undoubtedly deeply shameful pop-sox débâcle. My dearest, had you taken leave of your senses? What where you thinking? You have always been such an icon of style and a Priestess of high fashion to me. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. My Stellallusions are shattered and and tinkling in tiny fragments at my tragic, betrayed feet. Going for a MacDo now! Happy anti-inflammatories! Antipo xxxxx

Friday, February 01, 2008

Singin’ In The Rain

Dearest Absent Soulie,

I have just had the best imaginary conversation with you! I had to go home for lunch and leave the car there for Mr Grumpy Blackheart, then walk back to work.

So I decided not to be depressed about The Big Wet, but to embrace the torrential rain and enjoy it. I’ve always been a rather moist kind of girl anyway, haven’t I? I swear, I skipped all the way back to the office with the sexiest umbrella in town, spreading joy and splashy puddles all the way.

The courgette, feta, olive and pepper quiche-flavoured burps I did along the way were great company.

I do hope you are enjoying the embrace of Dr Lovely Arms. Ooh, just think, he must be feeling and prodding you as we speak! I’m trying not to feel too envious, and am willing myself to feel generously pleased for you instead.

When he has magicked away your sciatic silliness, which trendy nightclubs in The Village of the Damned will you be frequenting all weekend? And how many new boyfriends do you think you’ll pick up? And what positions will you use? I want to hear it all! I need a vicarious thrill Baybee!

Much Freaky Friday love and Raving Maniac kisses,



Happy February!

Dearest Curly Girl and Blogger About Town,

How I missed your adulation yesterday! I do get anxious and needy, you know, when you fail to acknowledge my existence every ten minutes or so. But I know you also Have A Life, and this is a bitter truth I must accept. It is so good to be back in your favour! We are getting all cosy, like an old married couple, aren't we? (I don't know where The Lovely Mr. Mac fits in to our relationship though!) I know that you sometimes have your wee moodie moods, and I must simply indulge them.

Cracking open the champagne is a good idea. I shall do it and loudly proclaim "Because Stella said I could!"

Darls, I won't be buggering orf to NZ until mid-July, so perhaps we can fit each other in (snigger!) before The Big Trip?

I wish you every joy with Dr Lovely Arms this afternoon, and trust you will make the most of all potential sexual and molestation opportunities. Just be sure to tell me all about it!

In Gloomy News, I have to tell you that my bloody Yahoo email has been playing silly buggers for over a week now and it's driving me Norah Batty. I am receiving emails (mostly querulous ones complaining of my silence), but it's extremely difficult to reply to them. And the address book function seems to be completely fucked. I haven't had time to sort it out, what with my hair cut and colour being so urgently needed. Then posing for glamour shots. Oh, and the children required nourishment most nights too.

I completely understand the thrill of being recognised, and the sensuous stroking of one's ego. I well remember the frisson The Lovely Sam de Bretagne gave me when she said "OMG Antipo! You're so famous!", to which I snorted 'That's a big fat lie!' But as you know, big fat lies are my bread and butter, aren't they?

From the Tragic News Desk, this just in: I recently ordered tix to take my son to the Stade de France for the France vs. Angleterre rugby match in three weeks time. I was nobly spending vast wads of cash purely for my offspring's benefit. Afterwards it struck me - My God! My best and biggest boyfriend Seb Chabal will surely be playing! I will get to see him in the flesh! I might faint from the excitement! (He might faint from the excitement!) But I have just learned that the bastarding new French rugby coach has not selected my darling Seb to play in the match. Woe is me indeed.

Let us now turn to the Weather Desk: a tropical rainstorm is absolutely thrumming down onto our flat corrugated roof with unmitigated violence, and the temperature has shot up to 8 whole degrees C! I feel I should be sitting on a verandah in a strappy sundress, drinking Singapore Slings, being fanned by a coolie and smouldering sultrily. Not chained to my formica desk, feeling the monsoonal vibrations reverberating frustratingly through every cell and corpuscle of my being.

In Fantasy News today, I am daydreaming of an illicit hotel encounter with a very large and virile, shaven-headed Adonis who throws me against the wall and enjoys being bitten, scratched and even kicked. That should keep me going until lunchtime.

Pervy Love and Juicy Kisses,



Oh oh!

Pinch and a punch for the first of the month!



Dear Flame-Haired Hot Stuff,

Firstly, let me apologise for my neglect of you yesterday. I was simply not in any mood to do anything yesterday after I went for a walk. Can you ever forgive me? Of course, I was itching to see your new do and so I was delighted to have a glimpse of it last night when you finally posted your glamour shots. Hoo-hah! If I weren't already married! What a complete and utter triumph. I hope the new baby is a delight for your hairdresser but also secretly hope that having one baby will put her off having another so that she doesn't leave you in the lurch like that again. The cheek!

Coffee with Sylv was delightful. Sylv and I also met another blogger who is new to Zürich and all of her charms so we had a good old gab-fest down in the depths of Starbucks for a good couple of hours. After Sylv and I had farewelled India, we walked down Bahnhofstrasse to catch our trains home when all of a sudden, Sylv stopped and started speaking to someone. That someone turned to me and said something along the lines of, "Oh my god, are you Ms Mac? How wonderful! I read your blog every day! Can I have your autograph? Can I have a photo of us two? Wait, I'll get my mobile out....." It turned out to be Sylv's favourite neighbour (FN) who she refers to frequently in her blog and who has commented on my blog a couple of times. Actually, it didn't go down quite like that but he did ask, "And so you must be Ms Mac!?! I wondered if I ran into Sylv today would I get to meet Ms Mac!" and I felt a little bit like a celebrity which was weird. No, actually, If I'm totally and completely honest with you it felt fucking awesome! Remember how we felt that time Tilda Swinton recognised us in Hediard that day? Just like that.

Many congratumalations on your 6th subscriber for January. Never mind the French bitch and break out the Veuve Clicquot, I say. Champagne was invented for such moments of victory. Did I mention that I have two bottles of the lovely bubbly just sitting in my fridge, waiting for you? Oh, I was planning to make a special visit to see you again this summer in my head last night and then it suddenly came to me that you'll be buggering off to NZ this summer won't you? There won't be no time for me in between all your lovely native family and friends. I haven't been more disappointed since the last time I answered the phone and it wasn't George Clooney on the other end, asking me to marry him.

Oh well I bear it bravely. I'll get over my disappointment. No doubt, far sooner than I should.

I should get going now. I have an appointment with Dr Lovely Arms this afternoon so I need to start getting tarted up for him. Yes, he is that gorgeous. I was telling Sylv and India on Tuesday that having a doctor this young and gorgeous is a strange thing for me. For the first time ever in my life, this a GP who makes me feel as though I should go to a gynaecologist for my smear test/pap smear for fear of sullying our relationship by giving him a glimpse of my tired, old lady-garden. Also, he gets to have a feel of my boobs (something Aussie Doctors never did) and I couldn't be held responsible for my thoughts/actions after such an occurrence, I am sure.

Yours for ever, with pervy love and pumpkin patch kisses,


Funbag Friday!

Dearest Bestie!

I'm such a bad friend, all wrapped up in my flame-haired excitement, that I completely forgot to demand details of your outing with The Lovely Sylv.

Oh no! I guess you'll never ask me to be your bridesmaid now...

In career news, I managed to get a 6th new subscriber for January, just minutes before leaving the office last night, so it was a hugely exciting way to finish off the day. You know my monthly target is 5, and I had sadly resigned myself to not breaking any records this month after all.... Can't help resenting the French bitch in Michigan, who had promised to send her subscription form last Monday, then again on Tuesday and Thursday, but didn't. She would have been Number Seven.

Do you like our new Naughtiness look? We could start calling ourselves the Pumpkin Patch Kids.

Have not had cawfee yet, must go and fortify myself before further expenditure of energy kills me!

Flame-haired lovin' and HOT kisses on this damp day,