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.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Whiffy Wednesday

Dearest Ms. Mac,

I'm thinking I really should get in the shower and freshen up a little before venturing out to get the kids from school for lunch.

But I have blogs to update, sewing jobs for handsome Australians, and a ton of housework and shopping to do, due to spousal incomptence during my six-day absence from home. So I think I'll skip my personal hygiene today, you don't mind, do you?

D'ya know? I'm still in withdrawal from having left your cosy Swiss nest in the Village of the Damned, and am replaying all the best bits over and over in my mind.

- the virile, PMT-fuelled way you shouted and waved your fists at those cretinous Swiss drivers
- our fabulous lunch, spiced with girly gossip with The Lovely Sylv, long may she reign

- totally admiring The Lovely Sylv's exciting cleavage
- getting a massive bear hug from your husband when you weren't looking
- visiting the Schoggi Haus for early, chocolatey Christmas shopping
- the fact that we didn't talk about US politics, not even once! Not even in comedic way!
- being towered over by the MiniMacs, and distributing wee chocs to them in order to keep them on my side
- the raclette dinner we had with The Lovely Simon, who won the ladies' hearts with very fine chocolates and suave conversation
- hooting with laughter (toot toot!) at Peep Show, Lost in Austen, and that funny show with the obnoxious children at a weddding...
- swooning with lust every time Seb Chabal came on screen during the France vs. Australia rugby (I don't even mind that France lost!)
- thinking 'Remind me NEVER to let Mr Mac mix me a vodka and orange ever again'...
- calling The Lovely Andi to congratulate on her long-awaited American citizenship gig (and to warn her about Americans)
- eating The Lovely Gomad's Birnenbrot with cawfee for breakfast, or was that our second breakfast of the Saturday?
- fetching the messages at a big shopping centre and NOT being accosted and abused by crazy old Swiss grannies keen to impart their childcare tips.

Today I am forlornly sniffing the plastic bag in which you so lovingly wrapped my Mystery Spice sandwiches for my long train trip home, and wishing you would adopt me on a permanent basis instead of cruelly welcoming me in and then casting me out after only three short days of bliss.

Later Babe!

Muchos besos muy calientes,

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

The Ultimate Sacrifice

Darls, you do realise I stood up a hot date with Seb for you?

Chabal to start for France against Australia

My neighbour is taking Kevin to the match and I was supposed to go too, but never thought that Seb would be playing even as a sub, let alone a whole match!!!

So you are doubly, triply honoured by my presence on Saturday!

(I think you probably kiss better than Seb anyway)




Darls! I drove the first two hours, can now see the mountains. Lunch was salmon sangas, had to be quick, we were running late- ha! We are listening to a cd of Mika, I had fun translating "suck too hard on your lollipop and love's gonna get you down"! I saw snow forecast for Zurich on Saturday. Got my woolly hat and glubs packed. Hope this sext has brought a spark of excoitement (if not actual danger) into your day. Can't wait till 6pm- champagne o'clock! My handsome greek will be there after all, he has changed companies. Hold on Zorba, I'm coming!

More later, Hot, Greek kisses, Antipo xxx

Monday, November 17, 2008

Re: request for reservation

Dear Sir or Madam,

I hereby confirm my reservation at Château Mac for three nights in the luxury penthouse suite.

Please confirm you will send handsome little man in a smart uniform and fetching blue cap to pick me up at the airport on Thursday aftenoon.

Please confirm champagne is on ice.

Payment will be rendered in kind (fancy French goodies).

Yours very sincerely,

Ms. Busy and Important


Saturday, November 08, 2008

The Countdown Begins!

Dearest Soulie and Light of My Life,

Only thirteen days to go until I see you again! How honoured you will be by my presence!

Have you hoovered the guest suite yet, and strewn rose petals around? (You may use dried petals, as long as they are richly scented, for it would be a foolish extravagence to fly in fresh ones from another hemisphere, not to mention harmful for the environment).

I am so looking forward to seeing your smiling face light up with joy as I alight from the train. You will clasp me to your magnificent bosom, then take me home for cocktails (gin and lemonade please), just like the old days.

While I curl up on your red sofa, all cosy like, flirting with your husband and scolding your children, I imagine you will be in the kitchen, slaving over a hot garlic & meatballs, or perhaps your stupendous laksaaaaaah! (Try not to let drops of sweat fall into the sauce though).

I await a list of menu options, with your suggestions. Each dish with a ticky box for me to indicate my agreement or displeasure.

I just can't wait! It has been too, too long, Dearest.

Humble love and modest kisses,



Friday, November 07, 2008


Am here, am hale and hearty, just have absolutely nothing to say!

Hand over your Most Boring Soulie in the World award, sharpish!


ps. I love that Gomad called us a pair of slappers! How right he is!

Swiss Friday

Dearest Ms. Mac,

I’m feeling very Swiss today! Shall I tell you why?

I dressed this morning in my fabulous red coat, tightly buttoned, had my scarf neatly tucked in and my hair in a tidy chignon (oh là là !)

As I walked briskly through my village with a intimidatingly efficient air, my head up, shoulders down and back ramrod straight, I noticed to my great displeasure, that a house which had obviously hosted a children’s birthday party weeks ago was still sporting some tatty, shrivelled up old balloons on its front gate!

The word which immediately sprang to mind was schlampig! Admittedly, this might not be a good Swiss-German word, but in old-fashioned Hochdeutsch it means ‘slovenly’, and it’s one of my favourite words, as you can imagine.

So I tut-tutted, and pursed my lips in disapproval. I even considered ringing the Schlampes' doorbell, or writing them a note, to let them know how unacceptable this was, but I didn't want to be late for work. Such a dilemma! I had to settle for casting a scowly, evil look in the direction of the house. I think that will help them see the error of their ways.

Then I noticed the disorderly autumn leaves strewn in totally irregular patterns across the footpath, and I had to scurry to work, looking neither right nor left, my heels tap-tapping loudly to cover my irritation, before anymore unpleasantness could disturb my peace of mind.

Re: your vexing problem of stolen identity.

Um… I have to come clean Guv’nor… it was me.

I am the guilty party. I adore you so much and envy you your exotic life so deeply, that I was compelled to try and be you, just for a day or two, in the hopes that a micro-milligramme of your utter fabulousness might rub off onto me. Also, all your tasty boyfriends from the past have been popping up out of the woodwork and, you will be pleased to know, are ecstatic to be in touch with you again.

So, stalkery love and usurpy kisses,



Thursday, November 06, 2008

Oh Lovey,

Je suis jealous! It's been ages since a big ole brawny truck driver honked at me. Last time I got honked at, it was a goose, in a zoo.

Mind you, there was that time I was with James at the local train station and a random guy stopped me, told me how lovely my eyes are and asked me to have coffee with him. James looked at him like he was blind and mentally disabled and had a look on his face that quite clearly screamed, "WTF!?! She's my mother! She's old!" Hah! You know what will learn our 'orrible teenaged sons? When one day, they're in their 50s, look over at their wives who are berating them from the kitchen for their latest petty offence and realise, "Jaysus, I really did marry my mother!"

Since writing the above, dearest Antipo, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you -- be assured that I am well. As I was searching for members of my family (namely my sister) on Facebook today, I ran across someone with the exact same name as me, my christian, middle and (maiden) surname. Bear in mind that I do not have a name like Sharon Anne Brown. I clicked on who my Doppelgänger's friends are, out of interest and my Doppelgänger has befriended a bloke I went to school with!

Given how unusual a name I was given at birth, and given the fact that he's sent me a couple of messages on Friends Reunited, I suspect the dolt I went to school with thinks he has befriended me! But he hasn't! He's befriended someone who has either been given the same name as me who he knows or someone who is pretending to be me. I don't know if a) it would be terribly presumptuous of me to message him and say, "Oy! Thickie! That's not me, this is me!" or b) if I can be arsed messaging him at all. What do you think? It's all very odd, isn't it?

Mmmmm.... having a lunchtime cup of coffee. And thinking about all the babies floating about at the moment. I have three blog friends now with brand new baby boys, a brand new baby niece (new photo here) who is getting more and more gorgeous with every day and a friendly neighbour ready to burst. I tell you, if it wasn't for the fact that I am so over having babies of my own, I'd be exceptionally broody right now. Actually, I do have a pang, not so much for the actual baby, but that feeling of excitement and anticipation that you get just as your due date rolls around and you know that at any moment, you could have another wee bundle of loveliness to cuddle and get you up in the middle of the night!

With broody love and quisses,



Monday, November 03, 2008

Dear Black 'n' Blue Beauty,

How I wish I could be a source of soothing succour this morning, as you nurse your contusions and your wounded pride. Sadly, I can only offer this: That's what you get when you abandon me in my sloth to go and be all sporty!

I am suffering a wave the size of a tsunami this morning of Weltschmerz. My long-suppressed inner feminist has been raging all weekend about the injustices we creatures of oestrogen and valour suffer at the hands of the patriarchy. It all started when I read yet another fucking guideline from the British Government about what pregnant women in Britain are supposed to be doing now. Apparently a glass of wine or two per week won't hurt your baby in utero now, as opposed to last week when babies were at risk from presumed alcoholic mothers-to-be who dared sip a glass of champagne to celebrate their birthday while carrying their precious cargo of the establishment's next generation. Oh, you fucking think? How did the fucking human race manage to get this far without friggin' government guidelines to tell us how to live our lives? Women have been conceiving, gestating and birthing young 'uns since the dawn of time without all your rules and regulations designed to control and take every liberty with a body that is not yours, you bunch of fuckwits!


And then I kept torturing myself by looking at this:

and got angrier and angrier at every glance of the gorgeous Halle Berry posing with no trousers, bra showing and her fingers stretched over her inner thigh. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for a bit of nudity every now and then. Just don't try to fool me that Halle's image, in comparison with Bill's strength and determination is one of powerful femininity and not sheer exploitation of the female form. Fucking fuckers and cunting cunts!

And not to mention the 13 year old girl who was raped by three men and stoned to death in Somalia for having committed adultery.

Arghhhh! I'm so friggin' angry.

Dreadfully sorry to have bored you silly with my ranting and raving my love. I promise to be in a better mood when I write next.

Feminist love and kisses, Sister!


Malingering Monday

Dearest Ms. Mac,

I do hope you are well this sunny morning, and certainly not limping around, groaning in pain, and hampered in your every move by stiff, aching muscles and massive haematomas in fetching shades of yellow/purple/blue…

In fact I hope you are on form for dishing out bucket loads of tea and sympathy, for I am wounded and gravely injured from top to toe – indeed, it’s a miracle that I can actually lift a finger to type this missive.

Yesterday I was running through the forest with my son, when I tripped on an evil tree root malevolently concealed beneath piles of fallen autumn leaves and went sprawling onto my right shoulder, hip and knee. It was such a shock to find myself suddenly horizontal with no warning, breathing in leaf mulch and worm droppings! Also, my dignity was dealt a severe blow.

So I hope to receive kind, soft words of sincere sympathy from you, but knowing you, I may have to settle for some smug “I told you so”s instead.

Thank goodness I have Vivi’s new baby excitement
to cheer me up and take my mind off the pain!

Muchos invalidos besos,