Walnut cake and Blissful Solitude

Well, Jo left this flat yesterday. She made it up with Martyn and he came and collected her, and it was very weird meeting him, when I knew so much intimate stuff. Like how annoying it is being on the pill with him – when it is hardly necessary – and how he’s more excited by a white stocking and suspender set than a black one, and how he howls like a wolf at good moments etc. Topiary told me that his problem is caused by drugs, but he’s told Jo that it is because he has issues with trust… So prostitutes are famously trustworthy, are they? Most men don’t seem to have trouble having sex with THEM.
I was all set to dislike Martyn because I’d been so angry with him all week to cheer up Jo , but he was a shy inoffensive sort. Very red cheeks, smells terribly strongly of soap, shoulders hunched. He seemed about half Jo’s size, but maybe that was just his personality.
And it is so blissful being free of Jo. She is an adorable person, but I did get tired of wiping up sugar-spills on the kitchen surfaces, of the mess of all the pillows and sheets on the sofa bed in the flat, of the way she was always in the bathroom when I wanted to be…
Mirabelle misses her, though. She got in the habit of sleeping on Jo’s trolley-suitcase And she also got keen on cake. I didn’t know cats ate cake. But they seem to like freshy-baked, still-warmVictoria sponge. There’s one good thing: I got Jo to try cooking things WITHOUT chocolate. So today she’s brought in walnut cake. With white frosting. It’s the best cake I’ve ever tried. But maybe her reconciliation with Martyn didn’t go that well, else otherwise why would she be making walnut cake at 5 a.m.?

Pink bubbles with Glenn

Hmm. Met Glenn last night in the Cadogan Arms. He was wearing a T-shirt again, under his jacket. It said:’ You Look Like I Need a Drink’. He didn’t smell of alcohol as much as before. There was a cheap aftershave in there somewhere. And chips. And he’d tied his hair back with an elastic band. So I almost didn’t feel embarrassed to be with him.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said, as we sat down. (He’d ordered a tonic water for himself.I had pink bubbles.) He propped his cheek on his hand and stared steadily at me. I got the eerie feeling J had told him exactly how to behave and he was following orders.
It was OK, but I got the feeling his attention was elsewhere. I kept catching him either staring at my tits or winking at one of the barmen. And he got annoyingly restless when I told him about Mirabelle Chanelle. But he must have listened because at the end he said he was dying to see ‘my dear little pussy’. And felt my thigh under the table. I really wasn’t sure Mirabelle would want anything to do with him. I acted on impulse., and as we came out into Sloane Square I saw a taxi and managed to stop it and leap in. He mouthed something as I drove off. It looked rude. He even ran after the taxi.
J is being offish, today, too. She pretended not to see me when I was getting coffee. Don’t know what that’s about.

Decisions, decisions

It’s very hard making decisions, especially when you get no sleep, because a kitten is biting your face all night, or burrowing under the duvet to claw at your feet.
J just will not stop telling me that I made a mistake about Glenn.
‘You’ve got him wrong,’ she said in the Ladies this morning. ‘He only drank that night because he was so stressed out about meeting you. And he thought you were great. Gorgeous, he said.’
‘Why would he wear that shirt if he wasn’t an alkie?’
‘What shirt?’
‘The one about cognac ergo sum. I drink therefore I am.’
‘Someone gave it him for Christmas. It’s a joke for Chist’s sake. And incidentally, are you OK?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Sue in Personnel wondered if you were self-harming.’
Bloody kitten. So I’ve agreed to see Glenn again. Hope I don’t regret it.