Raves. ruin and cockroaches

Dearest Reader,

What a tumultuous time it has been recently; not only have I failed to meet the man of my dreams but, I had to endure one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Yes, dearest reader, that is right – I, the distinguished and elegant lady of Richmond Upon Thames, had to endure an out door dance event, complete with  music that pierced my laseth-troxlers-guide-to-dance-music-festivals-clubbing-and-not-being-a-terrible-human-1422361228858dylike eardrums like a samurai sword to an acorn. Now, I know what you are thinking, you are thinking, how on earth did I, with my beauty and grace, end up at such a despicable event that I believe some may describe as a ‘rave?’

It was a normal enough day – I had visited Plump Susan (you know the one, the one who is to marry, immanently) in her grossly oversized house in Richmond Upon Thames. We  had sat in her floral kitchen, sipping on Jasemine tea, which Plump Susan had gleefully informed me, had been farmed in the forests of some unpronounceable Chinese town and costed  a mere £20 per cup. Despite Plump Susan’s obvious bragging, which is simply not becoming, I was having a terrific time with her and she was actually helping with suggestions of how I might meet the man of my dreams.

‘Oh darling, you simply must attend this party I have heard about..’ The dribble of Jasemine tea on her chin distracted me some what.

‘Party? You know how I like to have a jive!’ I threw my body around in a mock jive.

Plump Susan had just looked at me.

‘It is tomorrow night, in a place called Brixton – I have not heard of this town but I am sure it will be simply divine. There will be men folk a plenty… I guarantee it.’ Plump Susan’s upper gum exposed itself as she smiled.

And that was that. How was I to know that the event was not a swing party, but indeed a dance event in a less than desirable location?

I had picked out an outfit that would be fitting for such a presumably glamorous event- I went for a beige pencil lined dress that had intricate sequinned details in the shapes of butterflies and roses. My footwear was daring – high patent heels that were not too high as to make me look like a lady of the night but just the right height to extenuate my taught calves.

The minute my  taxis had pulled up to the location, I knew this was all a terrible mistake. I glided out of the taxis, wafting my hair around in the afternoon breeze whilst forming a soft pout with my lips. The exit from the taxis instantly got me some male attention; I was greeted by a man, smiling like the Cheshire cat, who did indeed compliment me, however one cannot even begin to repeat what he wanted me to do to him and where he tired to put his hand. I was begginning to realise that perpahs with was not the party I thought it was.

After fending off the unwanted male attention, my ears had then suddenly pricked up and took in the music, where was the beautiful Swing or Jive music? All I could hear was a robotic rhythmic thud and some keyboard like jingles. And, the sight. Oh dearest reader, I cannot begin to describe the sight before me. I could see the little white stage on the horizon which was surrounded by the cockroach patrons of the dance festival who threw their bodies around like they were possessed. It was devastating. My hopes of meeting Mr Right were dashed and I was trapped in this terrible borough of London. Needless to say, I did my best to escape as quickly as I could.

The experience has left me somewhat resentful towards Plump Susan.

I hope my times improve over the coming weeks,

With Love,

The Boston Wife x

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Cornwall, the outdoors and boots.

Dearest Reader,

It was that time of year again where it is forced upon me to visit my far away family in the South West of the country. For I am not one to moan, however, I am not a fan of travel, nor the greenery of the South West. I therefore loWalking_bootsoked towards the trip with peril. I begged Plump Susan (you know the one, the one that is to marry later this year) to attend with me; she politely declined informing me that she ‘would rather watch paint dry.’ After all of the kind things I have done for Plump Susan this is how she repays me. I inwardly knocked £5 off the price of the wedding gift I would purchase for her.

The journey to my parents was an ongoing nightmare – whilst perching on the rough train seat I wondered if a broody, yet handsome fellow would sit next to me and would catch my eye and smile.

No. Not me.

Of all the people that could possibly sit next to me I got the talker. Jenette was her name and I believe I could tell you every darn thing about her life history – the marriages (yes, I too was shocked that a lady of her age had dared to remarry), the family feuds and even her medial aliments. Including; chest infections; reconstructed hips and vaginitus. I had no idea what the third aliment was and I was not about to ask her any details. The journey dragged on forever and my new found best friend continued to jibber jabber for the whole journey. My ears burned.

On arrival at my destination, I was greeted by my mother and father who were both on splendid form and everything was wonderful…until…. my mother announced she would like to go on a hike. Not just any old hike. A hike for 8 miles. For I am not one to moan however I am not the sort of lady who packs, yet alone owns, a pair of hiking boots and an 8 mile hike was out of the question. My suitcase was laden with pretty evening gowns and princess like kitten heels, I was not equipped for such an adventure. Despite my frantic explanations of lack of equipment and suitable attire, my parents continued insisting on the excursion and managed to equip me with some hidious hiking boots and a black raincoat. I felt sick. Every time I looked down at the monstrous hunks of shoe that imprisoned my ladylike feet, I felt that a part of me died. I could not understand why they would do this to their favourite and most successful daughter. I whimpered all the way around the 8 mile hike, only managing to find a little bit of joy when I beat all of the pensioners to the end of the path and celebrated with a worthy air grab.

I am writing this to you, dearest reader, as I drape myself over the guest bed in my parent’s cottage, for it is only my hands I can move freely – my poor legs and feet have seized up after so much walking. I fear that this feeling will never go.

I will update you on the rest of my break next time, for now, I must lay my weary head on the E.T. themed pillow that is now not age appropriate.

Much Love,

The Boston Wife

xx

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Children, animals and the great outdoors

Dearest Reader,

SAN FRANCISCO - MAY 9:  A dog leaps into a pool during the qualifying round of the dog diving competition May 9, 2003 at the Purina Dog Chow Incredible Dog Challenge in San Francisco. Dozens of dogs compete in several events including dog diving, high jump, freestyle flying disc competition and agility course.  (Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images)

What a thought provoking week it has been. I cannot begin to explain to you how my emotions have been blown around, from pole to pole, like a petal in the wind. You will remember that Sister Lucy invited me to the Essex County show? Naturally I accepted her esteemed and kind offer, despite a few reservations; namely, my dislike for children, pets and the great outdoors. I maintained my positivity about the event in the hope that perhaps a handsome fellow might spy me out and sweep me off my feet. Well, dearest reader, I should like to tell you now, this was certainly not the case.

I had picked out a suitable outfit for the occasion; a flowing, floral summer dress, matched with a gentle heeled, simple sandal which gave my calves an extra, womanly, stretch. I arrived at Sister Lucy’s and I  was immediately greeted by her commenting on my ‘inappropriate’ foot wear for the day and motioned outside to the grey and rainy Essex weather. For I am not one to moan however, one would expect one’s sister to lavish their beautiful sister with complements not derogatory remarks about footwear.

After my disappointed at Sister Lucy’s obvious lack of understanding of fashion, we managed to arrive in stony silence at the show. I did my best to ignore the children; one of whom had the cheek to suggest my hair was messy – I informed, said child, that it had taken hours to construct such a marvellous tussled look and she should shut her mouth. My brother in law swooped his dagger eyes upon me, which I promptly ignored. Children must learn.

The show was a disappointment to say the least; The male folk were either grossly over weight and old or, with their wives and children. I did not spy one eligible man without a woman attached to his arm. I therefore had to endure the whole day without a whiff of a chance of meeting my man. The lowest point was watching an array of dogs jumping into a swimming pool of water. My less than clever nephew somehow persuaded me to stand too close to the water and I was splashed, head to toe, with grotty dog swimming pool water. My light summer dress could no longer protect my modesty and I had to therefore borrow my brother in law’s oversized and under fashioned wax jacket. If I had had, before this disastrous accident, any chance of meeting a man, I certainly possessed now (dressed like a dowdy farmers wife) not one morsel of a chance.

The final insult came when my glorious summer sandal got stuck in the country show mud when I walked back to the car, swamped with misery. I had the humiliation of walking, with only one sandal in tact, back to the car. I heard one of my nieces laughing heartily at my misfortune – I was not sure if she saw the look I gave her, but if looks could kill….

The only points of good news this week have been that Sister Mary (not a nun but my actual Sister Mary) has agreed to a night out at a singles event together, back in the respected borough of Richmond upon Thames (and thankfully not Essex).

Finally, I am proud to see the conservative government has once again prospered. I look forward to this with glee and hope that they cut more taxes so I can buy myself more fabulous, unnecessary items.

Much Love,

The Boston Wife x

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Parks, Compliments and Misery

Scud_obtDearest Reader,

What a disappointing week it has been. As I sit here, gazing out of my kitchen window in Richmond Upon Thames, I feel a salty tear slither down my cheek. Will I ever meet Mr Right, or will I end up the spinster that Plump Susan so aptly called me last week?

You will remember that I had a new plan? Yes, that is right, the plan to meet a man in my local area – I had visions of meeting a handsome man in the park. We would bump into one another; gaze into each others’ eyes and fall instantly in love. All to the backdrop of a Celine Dion song. With this vision in mind, I awoke early on Saturday morning to head to the park to meet the man of my dreams. I selected an outfit that would both woo a man but also would retain my womanly dignity. It was an all white two piece number; complete with pink silk scarf. I looked, and felt, like an English rose ready to be picked. I remembered to keep in mind the tip I had learned from Edward Podolsky’s book ‘Sex Today in Wedded Life’ (1943)  ‘Remember your most important job is to build up his ego.’ Therefore, I planned swathes of compliments I could awash over any man, whilst I glided through the gold gates of Richmond Park.

Oh, the quantity of man was simply unbelievable in Richmond Park. I  perched demurely on the edge of the nearest wooden bench I could find. My eyes scoured the park for signs of man and potential husband. I was slightly disappointed that a great number of quality men kept whizzing past my shouted compliments on their shiny and expensive looking bicycles. One man, with a fine head of black hair, clad head to toe in a lycra outfit akin to Superman’s, flew past me as I shouted, ‘beautiful lycra!’ at him. He definitely caught my eye and smiled, however, due to the fact I was wearing my sequinned kitten heel, I could only half run, half canter after him, up Richmond hill. I grew breathless very quickly and had to abort the chase. I will describe him as the one that got away.

Hours. Hours I stayed there trying to inflate as many male ego’s as I could. Despite my many compliments I was getting nothing in return, apart from some funny looks. I felt that this mission was becoming fruitless.  I did have someone sit next to me on the bench. I peered at him and tried to estimate his age. For I was in desperate times however a man of nearing eighty, with no teeth, would simply not do. As he edged closer to me, I slid off the bench and walked down the path, feeling little pebbles graze my toes. How I hated the outdoors and my life today.

So, as I sit here, with a little salty tear on my cheek, mourning yet another failed attempt at meeting a man, I wonder, when will this ever change? The only thing that has managed to make me feel like my usual positive self was Sister Lucy (you know the one, the one off Essex) inviting me to a Dog and Country show in Essex. Unfortunately, as you well know, I do deplore a) the outdoors, and, b) dogs, and, c) her children. However, one can only image the handsome, rich males that would attend such a glorious show.

I shall keep you updated,

Much love,

The Boston Wife xxxx

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Parks, Spinster and Wedded Life

Dearest Reader,

download (2)What a time it has been recently; you;ll be pleased to know I have managed to recover from my disastrous date with Richard (you know the the one, the one who was so aged he could hardly muster the energy to kiss me on the cheek) and I am on the look out for another suitor. Perhaps a younger model that can do stairs. Plump Susan’s wedding is fast approaching and I am determined that I shall have a ring upon my own finger, and a handsome man on my arm for the occasion. I have decided that computer dating is simply distasteful and my experiences, thus far, have delivered me only repugnant men with whom I would have no use for as husbands. I have therefore taken it upon myself to meet a man in my local area. This is the new plan.

I popped over to Plump Susan’s house to tell her about my plans of meeting a man in the local area (I quickly glossed over the unfortunate meeting with Richard and deemed him as simply, ‘unsuitable’.) Plump Susan, whilst peering over her Cath Kidson mug, pulled her best sincere face  and informed me that it was a ‘super idea’ and that, ‘other spinsters like me, should all have my get up and go.’ I nearly spat my (clearly Tesco’s own) coffee all over her floor. Spinster? For I am not one to speak unkindly of someone or to use profundities, however, Plump Susan is an absolute god damn witch. I made my excuses to leave soon after that, next time Plump Susan asked me if she is looking a bit too plump in one of her outfits I would tell her the truth. Spilling Saddlebags.

Not to be deterred with my unsuccessful dating conference with Plump Susan, I made a brief visit to Sister Mary (Not a nun, but my actual sister Mary) for some sisterly advice and support. Sister Mary -who was once the voice of the West End having played a plethora of small parts in mediocre musicals- had unfortunately found the Malibu and coke, quite early for a Saturday. She was singing the tunes of Oliver, whilst still in her kimono, splayed on her settee with her favourite brown drink slopping everywhere, ‘I could have been a star,’ She had wailed at me, without even greeting me good day. She continued to sing ‘who will buy my sweet red roses’ at the top of her powerful lungs. I hoped her neighbours were fans of the show.

It was obvious from the day, I would have to plan alone. I did however consult with, ‘Edward Podolsky’s Sex Today in Wedded Life (1943) book in order to gain some ideas of how to woo a man in my local area. Podolsky’s advice was to,

‘Remember your most important job is to build up his ego.’

What a poignant point; I would use this treasure of information and woo as many men as I could by inflating their egos. After all the researching and planning I had noticed the light was fading gently outside. I feared to head to the wooded park, by night; Sister Mary had told me some atrocious stories about the park and the men she used to work with in the Musicals. The man hunt would continue at dawn. I could not wait.

With Love,

The Boston Wife xxx

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Faded, dissapointed and tiddly.

Dearest Reader,download (1)

I cannot even begin to inform you of what an eventful time I have had recently. You remember Richard? The eligible bachelor I met on ‘Sugar Daddies.com?’ Well, I went and did it…(not ‘it’ that would simply be inappropriate and unladylike before marriage, let alone on first meeting)… I had a date with him! Yes, yes, I know how forward of me to meet a man from the computer and let him take me for dinner but it seemed like a dream opportunity to meet the man of my dreams.

In preparation for meeting Richard I spent hours in front of the mirror adorning various glittering gowns, frantically trying to decide on the perfect one. I finally found it! Although quite a showy number (I will have you know that not just any lady can pull off pink sequins), I really felt, not only could I pull off the pink sequins, but I looked darn well beautiful and classy.

I arrived at the restaurant of Richard’s choosing; it was the exclusive one in Richmond Upon Thames – When I told Plump Susan about the venue I heard her take a sharp intake of breath; I interpreted that as a jealous intake of breath). I was sixty five minutes early. Dripping with anticipation, I perched on a stool in the bar area. My dress created a pink glow around me like a flamingo halo. I was receiving longing gazes from many of the male patrons present in the bar which were coupled with jealous death stares from the female patrons. I felt like a million dollas. Sipping gently on my glass of port I waited eagerly for Richard’s arrival.

He arrived. My stomach sank. I felt my sequins loose their twinkle. I tried desperately to take on board the ‘Donts for Wives’ advice (printed in 1913) – ‘Don’t be troubled because your husband is not an Adonis. Beauty is only skin deep and the cleverist men are rarely the most handsomest.’  For I could handle Richard being no Adonis, but the shrivelled man standing before me who could barely muster the strength to reach up his cheek and kiss me, had not a molecule of Adonis about him. There was no way in hell (please excuse my cursing) that Richard would cut it as my husband-to-be –  I was not convinced he would live long enough to actually attend Plump Susan’s wedding, let alone our own. To be fair to Richard he was a charming man and the perfect gentleman (despite his shortness of breath and tendency to fall asleep at inopportune moments during dinner.)

After consuming a few too many ports to help me through the evening I bid my farewell to Richard and  stumbled back to my apartment, faded, disappointed and tiddly. I laid down on my bed, pink sequinned dress and matching shoes still on and fell into a restless sleep. Would I ever find the man of my dreams? I dreamt of Plump Susan’s wedding and her smug face.

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Richard, Sugar Daddies and messages

Dearest Reader,

downloadThree months. Three months until Plump Susan, my best friend, is to marry the oh so perfect man (who I deem to be on the wrong side of averageness). I am determined to have met a suitable man before she walks down that grotesque and crassly decorated aisle. My search for a man, thus far, is going slowly. I have tried, singles nights, dating my Sister Mary’s (not a nun but my actual Sister Mary) friend and I have used flirting techniques taught by the ‘Don’ts for Wives’ C1932. None of these attempts have bagged me a husband. This lack of husbandry forced me this week into drastic measures…

…I know it is considered a little unnatural using Information Computering Technology to meet a man. When the thought first entered my mind, I brushed it off like a silk dress, as crass and less than romantic endeavour. However, after stumbling across the website ‘Sugardaddy.com’, I could not believe my luck; all these delectable (rich) men in one computering area was too good to be true. I set up my profile carefully. I chose an elegant photograph of myself, taken ten years previously, in soft focus, with my favourite red feather boa draped around me like an emu. How I love this photograph and, as it turns out, so do Sugar Daddies.

My eyes poured over the mountains of messages I was receiving. Every ‘beeb’ the computer made was another man wanting to meet me. I did, to my surprise, receive some strange requests – one was to ‘teach him a lesson’ – I was not sure what this meant and I did not feel comfortable promising to be a teacher, seeing as I am not at all trained. Instead of meeting this gentleman, I chose a man called ‘Richard’. His photo (although slightly grainy) is devastatingly handsome. I have printed it out, slipped it into my heart shaped frame and placed it on my bedside table. I am counting down the day until I get to meet my new husband to be.

Sandra (You know the one – the one that likes cats and has short hair) has been calling me incessantly this week, leaving me answer-phone messages, after answer-phone messages, demanding I respond. For I am not one to moan, however I have been busy with my Sugar Daddies and simply have not had time to be a friend to her. She should understand this, as, after all, my happiness should be at the forefront of her mind. I did return her call, explaining the exciting news of Richard. She did not reply anything at all. A minute and twelve second long (I counted it on my kitchen clock) silence ensued. Lest to say I ended the phone call soon after that, what on earth could be Sandra’s problem?

I cannot wait to update you soon on the events with Richard next week.

Yours,

The Boston Wife x

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