Recap of Today’s Correspondatory Highlights

Dearest Ms. Mac,

I am miserable because you are not here. Please can you come and stay wiv me in April? Sell your children if you have to, in order to finance the trip. My life is meaningless if you don't come.

Your joke (see below) is most excellent. I visited a friend in hospital yesterday and told her an equally classy Lancashire joke:

What do you say to a man with no arms and no legs when you are running late for an appointment?

"'Ave yer got the time on yer, Cock?"

I think it cheered her up and cured all her ills at the same time. A miracle!

The hostable was bursting at the seams (with sick people), and my friend’s roommate is a 60 year old woman dying from multiple cancers. As I sat whispering dirty jokes to my captive audience friend, the nurses came in to perform all sorts of intrusive medical acts upon the poor dying woman, not four feet from me. That experience has made me all meek and thankful: glad to be healthy and sleeping in my own bed every night, even if I have do have to put up with a snoring spouse, and the occasional elbow tumor and twitchy facial neurological disorder.

I also met up in the pouring rain with The Lovely Vivi Dispatches and we dined on the finest kebabs in Troyes. I don’t want to make you jealous or anything, but she laughs at my jokes extremely heartily is sooooo lovely, that if you don’t come and visit me soon, I will have to consider grooming her to be my New Soulie.

Just so’s you know!

Naughty love and emotional blackmaily kisses,
Antipo

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Two women were walking down the street together...

...when they come across two drunken men- their husbands- coming towards them. One of them is holding a bunch of flowers. One woman says to the other, "Oh Jesus! He's bought me flowers! Now I'm going to have to lie on my back all week with my legs in the air..."

The other woman says, "Why? Don't you have a vase?"

Boom boom!

Six Word Memoir meme

Here is Antipo's life, summed up in six words:

I loved, laughed, cooked, reproduced, entertained.

I was bullied into doing it tagged by The Lovely Forest Green.



The rules are simple:

1. Write a six word memoir and post it on your blog.
2. Add a picture if you wish.
3. Link to the person who tagged you.
4. Tag 4 or 5 others, with links, to keep it going.
5. Leave a comment for the ones you tag with an invitation to play.
6. And link to the original post about the Six Word Memoir meme.


But I am a true rebel and don't follow yucky old rules!

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Frowny, Frumpy Friday

Dearest Light of My Life,

Excuse me, but is today International Feel Sorry For Oneself Day? Good. Here’s my Grump List:

- One snoring and nose-blowing (at mega-decibels) spouse at 4 am

- All muscles excruciatingly stiff from ludicrous and ill-advised attempts to recapture youth at ballet class

- One dead canary at bottom of cage (unnoticed by offspring as yet, will have to prep them tonight)

- Countless selfish French drivers failing to stop for me or my offspring at pedestrian crossings

- Total and utter absence of coffee at work

- Vast layers of filth in office kitchen due to cleaning lady gone AWOL

- Three hairy bum-crack-displaying workmen hammering, banging and whistling in office today, all day.



Oh well. Things can only get better, can’t they?

Pouty Love and Needy Kisses,

Antipo

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Important Notice

Dearest Partner In Crime,

I have changed our header to the following:

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.


I trust this meets with your approval?


Business-like hugs and manly handshakes all round,

Antipo
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Odd Kiwi News

Dear Kiwi Queen,

I read a very strange article in the paper today. the headline reads:

NZ man sentenced after claiming to have been raped by a wombat

It goes on to explain how one of your lot, a Kiwi from Nelson District, called police on a number of occasions to complain of being raped by a wombat. He soon called the police again to tell them,

"I'll retract the rape complaint from the wombat, because he's pulled out.... Apart from speaking Australian now, I'm pretty all right you know, I didn't hurt my bum at all."

Do they have wombats in New Zealand, then? What on earth does he mean by speaking Australian since the wombat raped him? What on earth are they putting in the water in your mother country? Vodka? Gin? Both?

Befuddled kisses,

MM
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Salma's a BABE!

Dearest Love Struck,

Firstly many, many apologies for lack of contact yesterday. I lost all the bones in my legs and was unable to move from the lounge where I was forced to have cups of tea brought to me by my book-end offspring and read my fantabulous book, Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. You know, it was just one of those days. Luckily, I managed to grew a new set of leg-bones in time for dinner when I cooked a sublime dish of Fisch Knusperli with pasta salad and green salad. With laziness, reading, Knusperli and dessert of half-price Easter Bunny, I declare yesterday an utter success.

I know what it's like with Salma Hayek. I have such a girl crush on her that I sat through that dreadful thing she did with Matthew Perry and I've been obsessed with Frida Kahlo ever since I saw the lovely Salma's monobrow. I looked up your new crush, Dwight, on YouTube singing Suspicious Minds. I shouldn't have because I've only just managed to drag myself out of the YouTube vortex of Elvis. There's no-one, no-one who does Suspicious Minds like the King.

Nothing much more to report from Chateau Mac today. Mr Mac returns home later today which means I shall have to do some boring housework before he gets here, casts his super-critical eye over the dust and wonders just what I've been up to in his absence. Oh wait, that was Patrick gergen in Sleeping with the Enemy. Mr Mac will come through the door, kiss me and ask what's for dinner before hopefully, dragging me into the bedroom and having his wicked way with me. Sigh.... a girl can dream, can't she?

With dreamy love and quisses,

S
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T'ursday Goodness

Dearest Far-Away Soulie,

How lost and melancholy I felt without your comforting presence yesterday… Also, I am ovulating, so that may also have something to do with it. I do hope your day was sunny, bright, fun-filled, and free of housework.

I can’t believe I forgot to tell you that I was able to visit your dream home/secondary residence in my Quaint Village last Sunday. You remember, that pictureskew dwelling built ON the river just by the lovely old bridge? You took a photo of it on your first visit to me.

Antipo's Village
Originally uploaded by ms. mac

It apparently no longer belongs to the Big International University, but was bought by our local town council a year or so ago. So it is no longer inhabited by rowdy foreign students, hosting their beer-swilling, uncouth parties. It is currently used for exhibitions and it is so spacious (3 stories) that they are planning to convert the top floors into a very classy B&B or hotel. I hope I can show you round on your next visit. The rooms are truly beautiful and the sound of rushing water is all-pervasive (and very soothing). There is a massive marble terrace at the back, facing the sun and completely hidden from the nasty enquiring eyes of tourists.

A View From Ms. Mac's Dream House
Originally uploaded by ms. mac

The weeping willows which surround the house are all all coming into leaf, and a mama duck has built her nest on a wee stone plinthy thingie sticking out from the side. It is perfect!

From our Medical Matters news desk today, this report just in. I am currently suffering a horribly swollen and sore tongue, which makes me talk like a mentally subnormal person. This is due to a nightmare I had, in which I was being attacked by a frightening thug. I bit down hard on his arm (in my dream), but in real life chomped down on my own tongue. I’m amazed at my astounding stupidity. I should win medals for it, shouldn’t I?

I am also suffering from a new, hopeless crush. I had previously only vaguely heard of American country singer Dwight Yoakam, and have decided he shares an uncanny resemblance to a young Tom Petty, especially about the mouth and nose. OMG! I am smitten again!

And I discovered Dwight in a most embarrassing and very uncool way. I watched a dreadful movie called Bandidas, starring Penelope Cruz and Selma Hayak. It was truly dire. I knew it would be bad, but Selma Hayak has such magnificent bosoms, that I couldn't help myself, and watched it to the bitter end.

Lo! An unknown (to me) actor was playing the bad guy, with stringy, greasy hair, cold blue eyes and a sadistic sneer which thrilled me to the very core. I thought he looked familiar, but had to wait until the credits to discover his name. Dwight Yoakam? I vaguely knew the name as a country singer, but apparently he acts as well. So I looked him up on the good old Innernet and listened to him singing Suspicious Minds on YouTube. Swoon! He does a swivelling leg thing which made me all googly-eyed. And his rabbitty teeth and sexy overbite do strange and wonderful things to my insides.

So please write soon and tell me all about your latest Swiss adventures, extra-marital flings, possible homicides in the Village of the Damned, exciting new cleaning products (remember CLLIT BANG?), or tasty and exotic recipes you may have discovered. I can’t wait!

Anticipatory love and eager kisses,
Antipo

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Tuesday Catch Up

Dearest Snowy Maiden,

How was your Chocolate Bunny Orgy Weekend? Mine is now only a blur of chocolatey sloth.

My MIL was really too ill to receive us on Easter Sunday, so I did the roast-leg-of-lamb-stuffed-with-garlic-&-rosemary-and-slathered-with-mustard thing in my own oven and it was FABULOUS.

The weekend also involved lots of lying around, reading, knitting, watching movies and playing board games with offspring in between snow showers and short walks in the brief sunny spells. I was in one of my Luddite moods and did not go near the computer all weekend, which was very refreshing.

I am however now chained to my desk and will remain at your electronic beck and call all day, should you require medical assistance, sex tips, calorific recipes, dirty jokes, or personal hygiene advice.

Much lazy love and wobbly-bottomed kisses,

Antipo

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All Is Forgiven!

Dearest Snowy Soulie,

Your creative excuse is hereby accepted. Please tell The Lovely Mr. Mac, that clever fixer-upper of computers, that I am also broken. He is welcome to come and rebuild me from my bottom up.

I seem to have lost my blogging mojo. Oh dear. Not that I’m blaming you and your appalling neglect of me, or anything. No no, don’t mind me. I’ll just sit quietly here in this corner and nurse my deflated ego.

I’ve actually done a lot of w*rk today and my brain hurts now. The neurones are all swollen and inflamed after having fought their way through a thick layer of rust, dust and cobwebs.

Please do storm the Bastille in the Nude. That would totally make my day! I’ll be on hand to video and subsequently YouTube it.

Rest assured re: my children and their possible Easter Egg deprivation due to callous parenting. My guilt and shock horror propelled me last night into the arms of my Quaint Village’s exclusive and expensive chocolatier, where I laid out an obscene amount of cold hard cash for a modest supply of hand-made and very tasty bunnies en chocolat. Happily the chocolatier is very young and handsome (and he smells of warm, melted, oozy chocolate), so it was dosh well spent.

My cruel and thoughtless MIL has gone and got sick, thereby imperilling our annual Easter pilgrimage to her house for barbecued leg of lamb (with garlic and rosemary) on Sunday. I told her (in crisp tones) to get to a doctor and pronto! A last minute decision will be made tomorrow when she will see how she is feeling. I may find myself trotting down t’supermarket on Saturday evening in a mercy dash for provisions in order to cook our own Easter lunch. Gah.

Much overworked love and self-important kisses,

Antipo

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White Easter

Dearest Working Girl,

How barbaric is it of Mr Modelizer and his government of cheese eating surrender monkeys* to make the French work on Good Friday? I feel I should storm the bastille in the nude or something equally as horrific dramatic in protest at not having a friend to play with on this holiest of holy days. God would be rolling in his grave if he knew!** You might wonder about the title of this missive. It's true. Overnight, after yesterday's show of snow flurries interspersed with blue skies and sunshine, we had a big dump of snow. All is quiet in the Village of the Damned today. The only sound one hears is the gentle falling of snowflakes on windowsills. With the exception of the muffled church bells, of course.

Anyway, my official (and true) excuse for having no contact yesterday was that my lovely little laptop was being rebuilt from the bottom up my Mr Mac in order for me to enjoy a more fulfilling technological experience every time I open up its pretty little lid. He said it would only take a couple of hours. Instead it ended up taking most of the day. By the time I got it back from him, I'd lost all interest in the internet for the rest of the day.

I'm concerned that your poor children will be Easter Egg-less on Sunday, since you've only just realised what time of year it is. Have you been out Egg shopping for them yet? I haven't but the Coop will be open tomorrow and I will be able to pick up some chocolate bunnies and jelly beans or something for my offspring then. Ewan will be standing in the snow outside the Coop tomorrow for a couple of hours, selling painted eggs and home-made cakes in a fundraising effort for his sport club. Hah! I hope it's stopped snowing by then or he'll be very cold. Oh well, that might learn him to volunteer for anything. Of course, he's volunteered himself to stand and sell stuff and he's volunteered me to make a cake for him to sell. So that's my main task for the day. Mr Mac also wants a lemon cake. Everyone wants a piece of me. Best you get your piece first, otherwise it'll be leftover Stella for you, young lady!

Just quietly, by the way, the best thing about the Coop's Easter goodies is that on Tuesday, they'll all be half price! Half-price chocolate bunnies. It's my favourite time of year!

With irreverent Good Friday love and kisses,

MM
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Disclaimers

* I actually love the French. Because they're not Swiss, probably.***
** I love God too. Honest, God.
*** I love the Swiss too, really. You know me, it's all for comedic effect.

Good Good Froiday

Dearest Easter StellaBunny,

I just found out yesterday that it's Easter this weekend already. We poor deprived workers in France do not get the day off work today, so I thought it was a normal working week, like any other. Thank God that Easter Monday is considered sacred and I'll be able to lie in and snooze to my heart's content, while my liver digests the surely overgenerous portions of chocolate which will hopefully be bestowed upon my person on Sunday.....

In other Bodily Functions news: this morning I opened my mouth to speak to the children and a tiny, fine jet of saliva was ejected from the glands under my tongue, decorating the breakfast table with a glittering spray of microscopically tiny globules. Is it weird that I was greatly pleased? And said "Hey! That hasn't happened to me for ages!" in a delighted tone of voice?

Yeah, I thought so.

Oh well.

I hope to hear all about your wildly exciting Domestic Goddess life VERY SOON.

I miss you!

Frustrated Love and Pining Kisses,

Antipo
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Dearest Ms. Underling,

It has not escaped my notice that you failed to clock in at all yesterday.

I presume you have a doctor's note?

Or a frightfully creative and hilariously funny excuse, at the very least?

Love & Kisses,
The Boss

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Dearest Intimate Soulie,

Am so glad my crabs arrived safely upon your person, and that they brought you so much joy.

I forgot to explain the goaty soap in my letter: I actually petted the goats who gave the milk, which was then turned into your soap! Those goats are close personal friends of mine. Or they were, until the farmer made them into goat salami (not kidding, and it was delish).

I hope you appreciate the epic journey my crabs made for you. Two weeks ago I dragged those crabs from my office to La Poste, but there were 15 people in the queue, so I turned back in despair.

The crabs then journeyed home in my handbag, thence to the Haute Savoie by car. Two days later I slogged two and a half kilometres on foot through snow and ice to Habère-Poche Post Office only to learn they had no bubble pack posting bags. I resolutely legged it to the local bookshop, and discovered they had just sold their last bubble pack posting bag.

Gritting my teeth and whimpering slightly, I crawled back on hands and knees through a dangerous blizzard with zero visibility to our prison holiday camp. The next day my dear spouse drove us to Chamonix, which has a Post Office! Help was at hand!

Upon parking the car, we had to sprint to catch the last train of the afternoon up the Mont Blanc and its famous glacier La Mer de Glace. I cradled those precious crabs close to my heart (well, in my back pack) until we arrived back in town at 5.05 pm, i.e. just AFTER the Chamonix post office closed.

My entire holiday was spent with one obsession: to post the fucking parcel to The Lovely Ms. Mac before the crabs went whiffy.

They travelled all the way across France back to My Quaint Village before I was finally able to buy a bubble bag and sodding post them. May they bring you much happiness.

Martyred Love and Self-Sacrificing Kisses,
Antipo

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Dearest PR Officer,

Sheesh! Why don’t you just tell the world that my pajamas are red and white with little pagoda designs and Chinese toggle buttons, while you’re at it?

And that I sleep in the foetal position, but with one leg hooked over the edge of the mattress.

Love & kisses,

The Boss
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Attention Antipo Fans!

I can exclusively reveal that today, on Antipo's day off, after seeing her beloved offspring off to school, she has gone back to bed! To read! A book!

My work here is done.

You Gave Me Crabs

Dearest Antipo,

Well, my dear, I never thought that we could be quite so intimate as to share crabs but on Tuesday all my dreams came true and your crabs arrived upon my person. Of course, I am writing of the most bizarre parcel which was lying in my Milchkasten and which, upon opening, revealed itself to be two exquisitely wrapped tins of Nautilus brand crab meat. The crab meat, as you know because you sent it, was accompanied by an exceptionally fragrant letter addressed, "Surprise!!!". I soon discovered the letter had been perfumed by- as if two tins of crab meat weren't quite enough of a treat- a bar of sweet smelling soap made from goat's milk. How spoiled am I?

Am I to believe that the bar of soap was made from the milk of the very goats you patted while on your recent snowy adventure? I find myself involuntarily singing, High on a hill was a lonely goat-turd..... at the very thought. I really am the most spoiled soulie in the world, layee ohdlayee ohdlayhee hoo......

Anyway, I look forward to using the crabmeat in one of my new Celebrity Chef Boyfriend, Giorgio Locatelli's recipes. Oooh, he so lovely. Not classically handsome but rugged with a sexy Italian accent and you can just imagine, a very high degree of naughtiness where it counts. I found him on BBC Crime Prime on an old, old show called Tony & Giorgio where he does lots of lovely cooking and laughing and smiling and running his hands through his alarmingly oily hair. I lurve him. If only you could live next door to me and we could sit and watch cooking shows all day long while sipping champagne and eating your lovingly prepared nibblies. In fact, we should just move in together. You could cook and I could be your official food critic. No, wait! We could make our own cooking show! I see it now- Nigella Lawson meets Kath & Kim. How could we fail? Sigh..... dream big, baby!

Any plans for today my dear? Nothing much happening here, I'm afraid. I might have to venture out of the house in order to have something of interest to tell you!

With ordinary (for it's an ordinary day) love and quisses,

MM
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It's Okay Ms. Mac,

we can be naughty again now!

Sad Monday

Dearest Ms. Mac,

Today I am stunned by the news of the death of Karyn, a childhood friend. Look closely at the three little girls on the right of the front row of our school photo, 1974.


We look like mini Charlie’s Angels, don’t we? We were nine years old.

Karyn is the pretty, laughing blonde girl, sitting between my best friend Sonia and myself. She is also the cool one, as she is wearing trainers, whereas Sonia and I are wearing socks with sandals - AAARGH! (At least my socks were pulled up straight!)



Sonia, Karyn, Helen. We even lived in that order in the same street. Sonia at number 78, Karyn at 101 and myself at 161. Karyn’s Mum was our teacher, one of the best at our primary school. I always wondered how strange it must be to have your mum as your teacher! My favourite topic we studied that year was The Middle Ages. She taught us all about serfs, the feudal system, lords and ladies, crop rotation, mulled wine and the bubonic plague. Great stuff!

Karyn’s house was a pretty wooden two-storied bungalow, painted yellow, with a beautiful flower garden. There were three large windows across the top façade: the three bedrooms for herself and her older sisters. She was the baby of the family.

Karyn’s garden had a lemon tree and she introduced us to the craze of eating the thick, waxy peel of young, fresh lemons! It was surprisingly tasty. We placed skipping ropes around our necks and under our arms to make reins for the game of Horsie at playtime. We walked together down the road to school and back, with bare feet skipping and sticking in the pungent melting tar on hot days, and blowing on our fingers to keep them warm on frosty days.

I will write to her mother tonight to tell her I especially remember Karyn’s incredibly smiley smile, musical voice and sense of fun. It won't be easy.

Sad kisses,

Antipo
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Non-PJ Friday

DarlyWarls,

Nothing exciting to report, but I was up early to get kids to school and now must blitz through grocery shopping & pretend housework before getting my pre-costume sale organisational skills in order this arvo. There is talk of us making and selling crêpes tomorrow too!

You're going to have to face the blogosphere without me today. Will you survive?

Be brave, stray strong, and my force will be with you.

Bear hugs and steely kisses,

Antipo
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I Thought We Kissed Doggy-Style...

... it was a bit slobbery, wasn't it?!


Antipo
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Dearest Ballet School Saviour,

I do indeed remember how we met. I even remember what I was wearing at the time I read your Fucking Umbrella post. I shall treasure the ensuing emails that followed our first tentative greetings and that lead up to our very first in-the-flesh meeting in Dijon. The day, nearly three years ago, I saw your sweet smile for the very first time and we kissed hello, both of unsure of whether to go for two kisses, French style (you), three kisses, Swiss style or what the hell- four kisses, Parisian style, that day will remain etched in my noggin as a day to be remembered and celebrated for ever and ever, amen. Also, it was the first time I ever tasted asparagus and I haven't looked back!

Eurk! I hate to think of how busy you will be between now and the day of the Great Ballet School Sale. Will they have any tutu in my size that I could put a bid on? I always wanted a ballet tutu. Or a brownie uniform. Or a majorettes uniform. But alas!, I had such a depraved childhood and my mother would never let me do these things. I still think that I could have been a prima ballerina, or at least national finalist in baton twirling but now we'll never know, will we?

I am home for the afternoon after a very busy morning of walking, shopping and surfing the internet. The rest of the day stretches ahead of me like a big, long, stretchy thing. I do hope I can keep you entertained in some way. And you me. How empty my life would be without you..... Sigh.....

With nearly 3 year love and quisses!

MM

GOOD MORNING MS. MAC!!! WAKEY WAKEY!!!

Dearest Sweetie Soulie,

Do you remember how we first met? I was thinking fondly of that this morning, in a fit of nostalgia. I had heard all about you from a bazillion other bloggers, and noticed your witty comments all over the place (you certainly knew how to get around in those days! You were even a wee bit of a slag, which I mean in the nicest possible way).

‘How can I make Ms. Mac notice me?’ I thought sadly to myself. One day you handed me a gift: a blog post about longed-for Christmas presents from childhood. I was able to offer you my Fucking Umbrella story on a silver platter, and I think from that day forth you finally noticed me and our chemistry made dramatic sparks! A meeting of two minds (and encyclopaedic capacities for fab recipes) ensued.

So anyway, I have been a very bizzy bee this morning: I took my migraine out early for a wee walk around the willage before work. The wind has dropped and I was gobsmacked (but very poetically of course) at all the yellow and pink spring blossom that burst forth during my absence last week. The wittle birdies in the trees were belting out their Top Twenty Spring Hits at full throttle, and it was just perfect.

In fact there was an ulterior motive to my zeal and zest. I haven’t gone all granola crunchy and early-morning-yoga-deep-breathing-zen on your ass! You may remember I was recently involved with the sorting out of old costumes for the ballet school. We were planning to sell some of them off at the end of March, just in time for the children’s annual spring fancy dress parade through the village. It will hopefully raise some funds to put towards the cost of the dance recital in June.

But on Tuesday night we discovered the sodding local council and Tourist Office had brought forward the date of the parade by one week, so with very little notice whatsoever, we now have to organise the sale for this coming Saturday. I hastily printed out some coloured posters and flyers in my lunchbreak yesterday and this morning we started pinning them up around the village. There’s lots of stuff to do before Saturday morning. Wish me luck!

Love and kisses,
Antipo

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Toerag Wednesday

Dearest Poor Prostated Princess,

Day started badly with explosive migraine at 5 am. Decided to make the most of early start, took lots hard drugs and got ready to be early in for work, as urgent publishing deadline today. Hoped to bunk off early afternoon.

Upon leaving house, Toerag Husband says “But what shall I give offspring for lunch?” He had only had FOUR days’ notice that I was not available today, poor lamb.

Fridge empty; freezer full of meals too complicated for a Mere Male, so I ran to bakery and bought offspring lovely (read: expensive) Swedish bread gourmet sandwiches, ran home.

Son crying ‘cos he had diligently done his special maths project over the hols, it’s due in today, he had LOST it. We turned bedroom upside down. Homework mysteriously vapourised. I wrote a grovelly note to teacher asking for 1 day’s grace. Am now running very late.

Arrive sweaty and wind-blown at work, chaos reigns, printer on the blink, major stress, go for soothing cup of tea, toerag colleagues have finished MY bottle of milk…

Am determined to find silver lining to this crappy cloud of a day…..

Found it! The violent spring winds, which normally would destroy my movie-star hair and irritate the tits off me, in fact enabled me to dry off the sweat circles under my arms. So that’s nice!!

Clenched jaw love and gritted teeth kisses,

Antipo

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Welcome Home

Dearest Busy and Important and Entirely Loved and Adored Gorgeousness,

Firstly, let me heave a sigh of relief that last night's lithe and virile young hot ballet boyz were wearing tight tights. There's nothing worse than seeing a young lad of the good-looking persuasion running about in a pair of grey, baggy tights, it ruins the entire fantasy, believe me!

You may have realised that while you were gone I was simply prostated with grief and was unable to compose anything of substance for our witty and glamorous epistolary epic. I spent the entire week clutching my mobile phone, waiting for your sexts (which were few and far between, by the way) and wondering if you would ever return home from your 5 star luxury holiday camp. Hi-de-hi! Luckily for me, word came through eventually that you were on your way home which perked me up no end I showered and shaved, ready for your Monday Missive.

Pahh! Apparently, you were too bloody busy and important to write to me, all day. Apparently answering emails and proof-reading took precedence over my mental health. It's a good job I am so forgiving. You are forgiven for abandoning me in such an abrupt manner (I'm sorry but 12 weeks notice just doesn't cut it) and for so bloody long. Aren't I magnanimous?

I have been running about like a blue-arsed flea today which has involved me buying ready made lasagnes from Coop for the men's dinner, having coffee with the Trolley Dolley, marching through the mountains in four different kinds of weather and having a bit of a snooze over lunchtime. I failed once again to appear at Besuchsmorgen in Ewan's class because I could simply not be arsed. Ewan forgave me as soon as I promised him a can of Dr Pepper. I am so pleased to have such easily bribed placated children.

I wish I had lots of lovely news to tell you of the happenings at Chateau Mac but it's been as quiet as the grave round my way. Not like you and your snow adventures; the skiing adventure set off me funny bone something shocking. Any more funny tales to tell? I hope so.

I hope this reaches you before you head back off home from your day down the salt mines. Have I told you how pleased I am that you're home?

With much welcome home love and quisses,

MM
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PS. Peters & Lee said it best

Culture Vulture

Dearest Pining For Me Ms. Mac,

I’m back from me ‘ols, and you may have noticed that I have not yet fawned all over you, nor composed a glittering Ode to Ms. Mac, as is my wont of a Monday evening. Yes, I cruelly abandoned you yet again, but for a very important reason: Last night I took my daughter to A Night At The Ballet.

I had tickets to see the Kiev Ballet of the National Opera of Ukraine, performing Swan Lake. It was absolutely enchanting and I am still humming and pointing my toes this morning. Every movement of my hands is graceful today, and my neck still hurts from inclining my head to and fro as I unconsciously mimicked the dancers’ movements.

I will tell all on my other blog, you know, the private one, access to which is granted only to those readers who suck up to me and leave me lots of flattering comments.

But let me say just this: I so wish you could have come with me! The the sight of those virile young men in their tight, tight tights, would have left you (and your bits) in a state of quivering, wanton abandon. Oh yes.

Love & prodigal kisses,

Antipo

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Dearest Ms Mac,

I do hope you have not been pining too sadly for me. I cruelly abandoned you for a week's holiday in the French Alps with hub and kids, although you know I would much rather be sitting in my office exchanging bitchy e-mails with you and dispensing advice for your various medical complaints. But, here there are mountains to be climbed, gourmet food to be eaten, a heated pool to be swum in, stunning snowy landscapes to be photographed and cool alpine beer to be drunk beside a roaring fire. It's a tough life but someone's got to do it.

And how are you, Lovey? Not idle in my absence, I'm sure. I can't wait to get home and read all your blog posts about how much you miss me. And I'm sure your Flickr albums are full of sad self portraits entitled Missing Antipo I, II, III etc. Poor old sausage, you really should get a life. But never mind, I'll be home soon!

Smug love and graciously patronising kisses,

Antipo
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