Darling Benedict
So very, very sorry that I'n not been in touch this week, but I've been recovering from last Saturday night's date.
And not in the totally-dreamy-post-shagging-my-God-will-I-ever-walk-again way in which I dearly wish to recover from a date with you.
Or indeed in which I fantasise about you recovering from a date with me.
I have in fact been drowning my sorrows with Chris The Totally Camp Barman. I hasten to add that there is no need for you to feel in the tiniest bit jealous about this as (a) Chris the TCB is as TC as a boy scout's jamboree and (b) was introduced to me by Primus. Having met my eldest, I am sure that you are well aware that an introuction by him to anybody is hardly a recommendation.
The date with superficiously-interesting-but-oh-my-God-what-a-total-sodding-pratt excuse for the male of the species might have been somewhat better if he had not spent most of the evening intimating that (a) I was very lucky that he deigned to take me out (oh yes, sunbeam?) and (b) I was desperate to get him into bed (fat chance, matey).
You will appreciate that the phrase 'most of the evening' refers to the 45 minutes I spent in his company wishing that I was at home attempting to strike up a conversation with Minimus.
The as-good-as-ex OH informs me that he is prepared to move back in but only while Minimus is Not There. We had an interesting conversation in which I feel that he may well have learned several new phrases.
Most of which end in "off".
Benedict, sweetheart, I realise now what a fool I've been. How could I get involved with such pillocks when you are out there and gagging for me if you but knew it and available?
Come on, lad, you've met me - you must admit I scrub up well. The key is in it's usual place and I have a fresh bottle of Chateau Neuf De Addict's Allotment on ice. Granted, it doubles as an effective paint-stripper, but it hasn't half got a kick.
How about it?
TheAddict