Lonely are the days

I miss him, you know - I never thought I would. But I am not going to see him; not in that place. I mean I know madness is not contaginous but it is bound to affect you isn't it? Visiting in the loony bin.
Wifey has been. I ask her: how is old George then?
Mind your own Swedish business - she responses.

Hectare is arriving this morning. She has put him a bed in the attic room. I say to her: whyfore are you making work for yourself with the extra bedding? I have the queen-sized and would be happy to accomodate him - and yourself, I added, hoping to bury the chopper.
But she just snorted, causing something unpleasant to come down her conk. I did not tell her since she is being so rude to me.
They ask me at the ASDA supermarket if I will wear something a bit less revalatory on the checkout. Some customers are making the complaints: the women, not the men, who are enjoying the view somewhat.
I will have to comply otherwise I get the sacking.
What a narrow minded country. If I was here legal I would complain to the Race Relations Board.

I must go now sisters, Georgina is wanting to use telephone and we don't got the broadband.

Hi guys

A little update from your old friend Anna.

I had a txt message from George’s brother, Hectare (why would anyone name a child after an area of land?) – yes that’s the one I took into the potting-shed when he visited with George a few months ago. Evidentially Georgina has told him of his brother being in the loony bin and he is coming to see him.

Of course he wants to stay here, and the purpose of the txt to me was are we on for a bit of the potting-shed again. But I say Not on your Nellie – what a quaint old English phrase – I have moved on, Hectare old chap (do you see how I am learning well the language now – all the idiosyncrasies and stuff). You left me to go back to that old baggage of a wife, I tell him – so up yours, sunshine.

But I am digressing. Cecil the vicar came round to see Georgina, but she wasn’t in, so he had the pleasure of me instead. He ask me if I think it ok for him to go to see George – on account of he is vicar as well as friend. I said, fine by me, cookie boy, maybe you are the one to straighten out his head. Maybe he need a shot of the good old fashioned religion.

But then we got to talking about Mrs Cecil. She has been under a strain lately. Well, ever since the gossiping about the choirboys outing. And the poor man poured out his heart to me – so lonely he is. But he perked up after I had given him the large whiskies from George’s special stock and he asked me if I would like to help an old man make a fool of himself.

Luckily – or unlucky depending on which side you are standing – Georgina came in. ‘Cecil, you are drunk’ she hollered, ‘You are a disgrace to the cloth’.
True he had spilt a bit whisky on the tablecloth but I thought she was a bit hard.

I felt sorry for him, so I passed him my mobile number as we helped him into the car.