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, May 28, 2009

Communiqué from Amsterdam

Our intrepid blogger Antipo reports from the road via sext on Tuesday:

Darls, haven't felt like sexting due to nightmarish journey. We left late, traffic jams all the way, my boss stinks of BO, am crammed in t'back with boxes of stuff and am surely developing cancer of the spine. "Dinner" was a quick sanga gobbled in 5 mins in a greasy spoon. ETA is 9:45pm, go straight to expo hall to set up booth and then hotel. Only consolation was watching the sun glint off the hairs on young Cristophe's muscular arms (phwooar!) as he drove manfully from Lille to Rotterdam, and the plethora of commercial vehicles bearing the names "Donk" or "Van Dong". These have put my naughtiness radar on red alert. Much jet-setting love and envy-inspiring kisses, Antipo. xxx

And via email today:

Cara raggazza di Milano,

Get ready to BURST with pride, because I tippled to the max last night with 4, yes FOUR glasses of really good red wine at apéritif hour and then with dinner! I know!!! The lovely Mr Mac would surely be removed to remark that I am now indeed drinking like a grown up.

Amsterdam is lovely lovely lovely and we really must put it on our "To Do In a Heart Shaped Frame" list. The working ladies we saw last night in the in the windows of the Red Light district were young and extremely beautiful, contrary to the old shrivelled hags people usually claim to see. I feel rather tempted to join them, being so young and bouncy myself.

Slept okayish in the crap hotel, but with medicinal aid and am hoping for a quiet day again on the booth, having decided that being bored is actually preferable to talking about industrial catalytic extraction processes with people I don't know, don't care about and will never have to see again.

So while you have been busy being all Italian, I have been suffering quietly. The champagne we will open this afternoon may go some way to alleviate my distress. Also, for the first time ever at an expo, the fridge we have hired actually works properly and makes thing really cold. I love modern technology.

Missing you horribly and I really think you should sell up soon and move to My Quaint Village to be my paid companion, lady's maid and minder. You owe it to yourself to find some happiness and a more meaningful path in life. I'm only thinking of what's best for you.

Busy and Important love and quisses (or 'baci', as I think you would prefer me to say),


Wednesday, May 20, 2009


Dearest, Loveliest Ms. Mac in the Whole Wide World,

I have just about managed to overcome my jealousy at the thought of you escorting two (and I quote) "lovely, gorgeous Australians" around the Village of the Damned this week (hmmph! I thought "lovely, gorgeous Australians" was a contradiction in terms anyway).

And I graciously decided that I will unbend from today's frosty silence just long enough to post you these special flowers

from my very own garden, picked for you at great expense.

How will you be celebrating the special anniversary of your Twenty-First Burpday? Will the lovely Mr. Mac be doing all the cooking and opening bottles of wine? I so wish I could be there to share in the fun and dancing. And to give those "lovely, gorgeous Australians" a lesson in How To Party.

So, you are honoured to accept my fondest, most special birthday wishes to you, my first and only soulie, whose graven image shares a silver, heart-shaped frame with my own fair features.

I wish you much happiness (if you can possibly manage to have any fun at all without my sparkling presence) and many bottles of Veuve Cocquelicot to moisten the proceedings.

Fantastic love and PartyTime kisses,


Thursday, May 14, 2009

The Emperor's New Clothes

Dearest Ms. Mac,

Life is somewhat trying today… I rushed home after a stressful day at work to hear all about Crotchfuit No.1’s trial afternoon at the elegant cooking school where he hopes to be come a world famous French chef. He enjoyed his half-day mini-apprenticeship there, and Mr Grumpy Blackheart says the school seems very good. About 30 children were involved. When the parents left, the children were given aprons and taken to the kitchens where they made cookies and flambéed pears!

But, when I found out that:

(1) my son wore the crappy old sweatshirt I had expressly forbidden OVER the smart new white shirt and black trousers (which cost me 30 euros) all the children were required to wear, and

(2) that Mr Grumpy Blackheart didn’t bother to tell him to take the sweatshirt off when they arrived, I exploded in a fireball of menstrual, migraineous rage and gave them both a severe bollocking.

My display of maturity then segued seamlessly into a dramatic throwing of self onto the bed and sobbing until I lost my voice (no doubt to the relief of the whole family). The hormone replacement tablets are obviously lacking a certain vital ingredient…

I went to SO MUCH TROUBLE to enrol him on the course ten days ago. Firstly I had to fill in eleventy billions forms, attach photos, prove my son's identity and blood group, and make seventy thousand photocopies of it all before getting the dossier stamped by his current school. Next step was to anxiously retrieve his dossier from another child, because the collège mistakenly gave it to another boy by the name of Crotchfroot (I’m not making this up). Then, because of their error, I had to sprint to the Post Office in the hot sun to meet the 12 noon deadline for express post two days before the mini-apprenticeship.

Thereafter followed an expensive trip to the Smart Clothes Shop to get the correct apparel. I spend a jolly afternoon washing and ironing the lovely new clothes. Yesterday morning I expended much energy in specifically refusing his request to wear the crappy old sweatshirt (“It’s 25 degrees and humid today darling, you won’t need a sweater at all”).

I went to SO MUCH TROUBLE to ensure he would get the best chance at making a good impression. I could have killed somebody last night. I punished, punished, and punished him; no computer (even for looking up sports results), no football jersey and no TV for three days. I even told him he would have to wear the smart white shirt to school today (I know he won’t do it). I told him if he can’t obey his mother he will never succeed at school and he will end up as a lowly paid rubbish man. I hated him, I hated his father (I KNEW I should have taken the boy myself, but could not get off work), and most of all I hate myself.

Crotchfruit no.2, the female one, was crying all night because we are supposed to have her birthday treat shopping trip to Paris with her best friends Cécile and Liliane in two days time. However, Cécile was rushed to hospital last night with viral meningitis and is undergoing a spinal tap today. I have texted her mother to send love and kisses, and am anxiously awaiting news.

Am I a callous bitch? But my first thought was “Is it contagious?”

My second thought: “Should I postpone the birthday outing until Cécile is better? Of course I should!"

But there are no other free Saturdays until mid-June…and my son’s burpday is also coming up. Should I take daughter and Liliane to Paris on Saturday as planned, then do something else with Cécile when she’s recovered? My brain is melting into a viscous pile of wobby, undercooked scrambled egg.

I do hope you are having a good day for me to vicariously “enjoy”.
Keep me posted.

Red-eyed love and hoarse-voiced kisses served up from a bottomless pit of self-loathing,