A night of nights…to remember… tonight I was informed of two things… future scriptwriters of American series should bear them in mind. Difficult to beat for dramatic effect…
No 1 – Erik’s cancer is too advanced for the Professor to worry himself with erectile nerves – they will be chopped tomorrow in the name of saving my darling man from cancers of other parts of him. Erik this evening was wondering if this news, announced to him unceremoniously, is linked to the fact that he has a low level of insurance, physically demonstrated by the fact that at the age of 47 he is enduring this ordeal in a room shared with 7 other men whose average age must be 70.
No 2 – Pierre-Pascal, my ex-husband and father of my children, has a cancer has re-surfaced – the same one of course, also announced at the age of 47. He, after the initial 6-month life expectancy of 3.5 years ago is now undergoing chemotherapy once more. Our daughter, who came to cheer me up this evening, brought me the good news.
Otherwise – phone, sms and e-mail surprisingly quiet – maybe they’re saving it for tomorrow when the deed is done – and hopefully he is rid of this horrible illness.
Wednesday 12 January 2011
Gatecrasher
Do you know the Billy Joel song “the Stranger”? I would like to propose another title for him to work on, more sinister still: the Gatecrasher.
Our Christmas was spoilt by such a gatecrasher.
He managed to persuade us to give him a lift up to the chalet.
After that, he was perfectly unreasonable. He kept on filing up my glass and making me say things so Erik’s parents now think I’m a drunkard… but, in fact, he loosened everybody’s tongue – not just mine - and he kept everyone up to the early hours talking in circles about subjects that should be banished from all decent conversation. When, in the morning, he came with us on the pistes, he laughed at our ineptitude and made sure that we were quickly tired and discouraged – after all, it was cold and the visibility was bad. His topics of conversation were money, influence and profit – not the sort of guy you’re pleased to have around when you’re on holiday.
We left early, disgusted by such an ambience in festive times of sickness, but he hid somewhere in our luggage – certainly in the dirty washing bag – and when we found ourselves in the saner city once more he was there, Mr Frisky, ready to cause more trouble and upset.
Our Christmas was spoilt by such a gatecrasher.
He managed to persuade us to give him a lift up to the chalet.
After that, he was perfectly unreasonable. He kept on filing up my glass and making me say things so Erik’s parents now think I’m a drunkard… but, in fact, he loosened everybody’s tongue – not just mine - and he kept everyone up to the early hours talking in circles about subjects that should be banished from all decent conversation. When, in the morning, he came with us on the pistes, he laughed at our ineptitude and made sure that we were quickly tired and discouraged – after all, it was cold and the visibility was bad. His topics of conversation were money, influence and profit – not the sort of guy you’re pleased to have around when you’re on holiday.
We left early, disgusted by such an ambience in festive times of sickness, but he hid somewhere in our luggage – certainly in the dirty washing bag – and when we found ourselves in the saner city once more he was there, Mr Frisky, ready to cause more trouble and upset.
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