The Importance of Lovely Bras

Went out yesterday and bought really beautiful underwear, as I thought: if times get tough I won’t be able to afford this. And, like lipstick and chocolate, it’s a luxury you can’t do without. I mean, suppose I lost my job etc and was living on turnips, and then I fell in love… well, I would definitely need this crushed-raspberry set then. I was OFFERED A STORE CARD when I bought them. Also, earlier that morning MBNA sent me a letter asking me if I was feeling hard-pressed by the current crisis, and suggesting that all my troubles could be solved if I TOOK OUT ANOTHER CREDIT CARD.
I spent a lot of time yesterday telling myself that, as Miggins kindly suggests, tarots only mean something if you believe they do. This would have worked, maybe, if I hadn’t chatted to Jo about it. She immediately told me about her aunt, who kept getting towers, and skeletons with reaping tools etc, whenever she did her tarots, and eventually got so concerned about it she went to a range of fortune-tellers, who all, one after the other told her she was going to die early. And she did die early etc…
Jo had this secretive, pleased look on her face while she told me this. I hate it when female friends look like that when you’re in trouble. Although I have to say that I occasionally find it quite hard to keep a similar look off my face. When Jo told me a while ago that her wedding was being delayed as Martyn had decided (and more important, his mother had decided), it should happen in the spring, when some wonderful wedding place he knows about will be free to book, I had to try desperately hard to look truly sad for Jo. I was sorry she was having to wait. But also, deep in my heart there was a tiny malevolent – totally wrong - bit of me that was cackling with glee.

Pink Cocktails and Bad News

I’m feeling a bit woozy and depressed today as Rache came over last night and we drank too many champagne cocktails.(A credit-squeeze version, using pink Cava from Tesco.) (Also, some of them with cranberry juice in, as Rache has cystitis. Or maybe some worse, Greek variant.) She was so sad about Vasilius going. He is the best thing that has ever happened to her, such a fantastic lover, such a superb man in every way etc etc.
The thing I was most interested in is that she told me that Oskar, the demon cat, who was making Rache’s life a misery by, for instance, peeing in her fruit bowl, has completely changed as a result of these two grumpy middle-aged Greek men occupying his quarters for a week. Rache explained that Oskar now looks apologetic all the time, is pathetically grateful even to be allowed into the place, and doesn’t even miaow when he needs feeding. He just looks at her pleadingly, with a winsome look on his scroffy face. I don’t know what those Greeks did to him, but it sounds amazing. Maybe Vas and Dimi ought to have their own TV series, ruthlessly sorting out troublesome cats all over the UK.(Only, maybe their methods are best kept secret.)
Oh, and just before Rache passed out on my sofa, mascara smeared all over her face, she confided that Pym was really worried about me. My tarots were really diabolically terrible, and he was just making them sound better to be kind. He’s never seen worse ones, and was shocked when they came out almost exactly the same the second time…
Great.