Anne Dickens | The Day After Yesterday

As you have probably noticed, I have been a little tardy of late when it has come to blogging. I have more frequently been missing the odd day or two .... here and there. And to be frank, I miss sitting down at my computer in the evening and spewing out utter crap ....... it's what I do best.

'So what the blazes have you been doing if you haven't been blogging?' I hear you cry.

The answer is - I've been working. It's awful, I feel like a peasant (except that I've not yet succumbed to wearing sackcloth) and to make matters worse, I broke a nail on the keyboard yesterday. But if I don't do working, how else am I going to keep myself in Bollinger and Fois Gras dahlink?

I need a bloody Sugar Daddy I do. So that I can revert to being a lady of leisure, reclining on a chaise longue, being fanned and hand-fed grapes by porcupines. 


So, if you think you would make a good Sugar Daddy, apply to me, Lady M. Please note that I like Range Rover Sports with the HSE specification and 22" alloys. Berrrr........ ling!

Anyway, I digress; as if working incredibly hard wasn't bad enough, the last two and a half months have been a total wash-out in terms of the weather. It's pants that what it is. And then I made the mistake of checking next week's forecast to see if things were going to get any better ......................... and nope they aren't. This must be the only godforsaken country where it is possible to get Seasonal Affective Disorder in summer.


The forecast was the final straw: Hard work, bad weather and no social life for two weeks finally killed the wombat.

So last night, I decided to take radical action. I Skyped my bessie mate (Clare, from the blog: Yes, his name is Gary) who lives in America.

She answered the video-call; "Hi, are you alright ug?" she asked.

"No I'm bloody not," I replied.

"Christ, what's wrong with you, you miserable git?" she queried.

"It's England, I can't stand the weather any longer," I wailed, "and I have had to do some hard work. It's like a slow death sentence here, but not quite as deadly."

On the video, I saw Clare recoil as I mentioned the words 'work' and 'rain'; "Shit mate, you've got it bad," she said shaking her head with sympathy, "do you want to come to America?"

"Yes," I whimpered, "and can we go to the Bahamas or Jamaica whilst I am there?" I sniffed.

"Of course," nodded Clare, "I'll sort you some flights out now."

Twenty minutes later, Clare had booked all my flights and sorted out my visa. She is ruthlessly efficient like that. I bet she could crack open a walnut with her butt-cheeks too.

So dahlink, in a couple of weeks, I am fleeing the country again. Marvellous, what ho! I can't remember exactly when I am going, but Clare will sort all that side of things out. She is very particular about reminding me of my schedule since I missed my flight to America last year.

What about you then? Have you any summer holidays planned?



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