A Breakfast to Forget (As soon as Poss)

Had a bit of a fright on Sunday. I was lying in bed with Mirabelle, eating a bit of cheesecake that got unaccountably left over, and reading Heat, when the doorbell rang. So I got up. (In my best silk negligee. I think you ALWAYS have to wear gorgeous underwear etc, even if you are alone, otherwise what is the point of living? Also it has to colour-coordinate with the other stuff you wear.This is not extravagance, just common sense.)
Anyway, I was glad I have this rule as it was Glenn. He pushed his way in before I could slam the door. He looked quite clean - no earth on neck, hair tied back, T-shirt reading ‘I’m not a gynaecologist, but I’ll have a look’ – and he had a Tesco bag in his hand. He said he’d brough me some breakfast, and asked where the kitchen was.
I thought the best thing to do was humour him, so I said I had to change, and rushed into my room where I rang J and asked her to come over at once. Then I put on a frumpy long-sleeved top, trousers and no make-up, and went to see what Glenn was doing.
He’s transformed my kitchen: found the tablecloth and spread it out, and put some (slightly droopy )coloured tulips in a vase, and poured out a strawberry smoothie, and was just fiddling with my coffee machine. The place smelled of bacon and buttered pasrty: he’d grilled some bacon, made scrambled eggs and heated up four almond croissants (my favourite). I was really touched, especially as he didn’t appear to be mad, or drunk, or angry. He just made a huge fuss of Mirabelle (who was purring loudly, the slutty thing) and asked me if I minded being told I was the most beautiful, sexy woman he’d ever seen?
We’d almost finished when J turned up, looking cross and red-faced and out-if-breath, having sped across London. She shouted at Glenn, telling him not to bother me etc. I felt awful, and really sorry for Glenn. And then she looked at the breakfast and said; ‘Where did you get the money for all this? Did you steal it?’
Glenn looked pleased. ‘No.’ he said,
‘Well how did you get it, then?
And Glenn explained that he’d gone round the back of Tesco’s at 5 a.m. and PULLED IT ALL OUT OF THEIR RUBBISH SKIP.

Chocolate Tranquillizer

I’m feeling a bit calmer now, largely because I bought a large slice of chocolate fudge cake and a pot of fromage frais to act as a sort of tranquilliser.
I got hold of J today and asked her what she thought she was doing, giving Glenn my address, which I had SPECIFICALLY withheld from him. (Despite him asking every time I’ve seen him.) She said she didn’t give it to him: he must have found it in her Filofax. And she said she was pretty angry herself to come back and find her flat stinky from another of his fish stews and then not even HAVE the fish stew to eat because he’d left it outside my door. (So that was what it was: Glenn’s signature dish. All I can say is that it looked like snot. Hate to think what his non-signature dishes are like.)
She said not to worry, she’ll tick him off and tell him never to bother me again. It’s just (she thinks) that he was so disappointed when the picnic was cancelled.
She says there’s another thing Michael is going to be at soon, did I want to go, as a sort of consolation prize for Glenn calling round? I said yes, of course, though the rate I’m going I soon won’t be able to fit into ANY of my clothes.