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.

Two Sinister Males

Got back very late last night because Rachel wanted me to go over to hers and help with some Oskar-training. But Oskar didn't turn up. At all. We saw where he'd been: dirty patch on the sofa cushions where he'd slept; small pile of vomit in corner of kitchen. But though we heard cat yowls out in the gardens and saw dark cat-shapes flitting about, he remained obstinately absent.
And then I got home and found someone had left some strange rubbish on my doorstep: a scuffed Tesco bag with, inside it, a dirty old ice-cream carton. I took it indoors and Mirabelle was VERY interested. The carton contained a grey jellified thing with lumps in it that smelled bad. I put it in the rubbish, but during the night Mirabelle got it out and ate most of it.
And then this morning as I was leaving for work one of the Japanese students that lives upstairs - she's called something like 'Teg' said: 'Your boyfriend gave you a nice present? He waited a long long time for you!'
'Boyfriend?'
'Long hair man?'
Glenn!
I got back early this evening and i've just been sitting here, clutching Mirabelle and thinking: 'What do I do if he comes back?'

Oskar

While Rachel was here she told me something disturbing. She said that five years ago, when she moved in with her ex, he bought a kitten. Oskar. She never much liked Oskar (something about his expression, and the way he looked at her). Anyhoo, they installed a catflap in their garden flat and Oskar settled in, and she got the feeling that he was aware she wasn’t sure about her because whenever she was a little unfriendly or rowed with Jason (her ex) Oskar’d poo on the duvet. When Jase left, he went to America, so there was no chance of him taking Oskar, and she says it’s like being in a sinister marriage with an abusive man now. Oskar actually pees on the fruit in the fruit bowl. He jumps on her bed suddenly in the night…he stares at her through the windows when she’s watching TV…he tears rats apart on the sofa… he winds round her legs when she goes down into the basement, like he’s thinking of tripping her up. She says she couldn’t take him to the RSPCA, that would be too unkind. She’s just very uncomfortable in his company, and does everything she can to spend time away from the flat.
It made me look at Mirabelle Chanelle differently, when Rachel had left…

Moping, Cheesecake and Old Trousers

Feeling a bit flat, because the picnic with Glenn was rained off (sigh of relief) and I've found it strange coming down from the excitement of Saturday. Michael didn't seem that interested in me. He said Hello and then very quickly was whisked away by some pin-thin woman. Not that I was that interested in him, mind, but I always find it really unsettling seeing that wealthy world - I want to be part of it and know I can't. Ate some cheesecake, just out of general gloom.

Luckily Rachel dropped in to see me at lunchtime, and insisted we toddled off through the rain to watch Indiana Jones. What is it with elderly guy's trousers? They always do this weird thing at the front. You could just show me a guy's trousers and I could tell you whether he was 70+ or not.

Does Money Make All the Difference?

Wow! Went off to Michael’s house last night with J. He was hosting a Eurovision party in his London house. It’s one of those Chelsea houses that looks like a beautifully iced wedding-cake. J had been invited because she met Michael through some thing the firm organised.
Anyhoo, we got there, and the place was incredible. Waiters handing round Cristal champagne and delicious nibbles, three vast flatscreens showing the contest, place stuffed with rich men and the sort of thin women that make you want to run to the toilet and slit your throat. And I hadn’t been able to wear my favouritest dress because I couldn’t get the zip up. So it was a black Prada standby. But I did have some terrific shoes.
Really peculiar watching Eurovision as there’s something strangely SEXY about the entries, isn’t there? Even though they are nearly all so silly and naff. It’s like going on holiday and getting this thing for one of the waiters…
I really wanted to see Michael, because I was so so impressed by his house, and his friends. I kept saying to J, where IS he? (Eurovision party a very good idea if you don’t know anyone as you can just smile knowingly at the screen while drinking bubbles and you don’t look like a no-friend loser.) And then, around 9, she dug me in the ribs.
She’s right about the peculiar-shaped head. And he’s bald. And at least three inches shorter than me (but I was wearing Laboutins). And he’s one of those fat, sweatyish men that makes you think of cheese. Damp Caerphilly. He hadn’t got a jacket on, and you could see wet patches. And when I took his hand it was damp, too. But he had a nice smile.
You know, he’s the sort of man I’d never even look at. But his being so rich makes a scary difference…

Battenburg - Not

Just can't stand Battenburg. Not even a tablespoonful of it. Will have to be coleslaw instead. With kiwi fruit (which I also hate) for vitamins. And minerals etc. Actually, that seems quite a good diet. Another reason for not having Battenburg: everyone here at work has been giggling about it.

Battenburgs and Glenn

I was eating my potato salad and rye bread sandwich at my desk yesterday when J came up and said she wanted to talk. (Oh, by the way, I am so fed up with potato salad now. The Woo said you shouldn’t have stuff you like to eat at home, and I’ve always hated Batteburg cake – too sugary, fake almond taste – so I’m going to substitute Battenburg for potato salad from now on.)
J sat on the edge of my desk and said that she really wanted me to give Glenn another chance. She said he was her cousin and had been going through a really serious depression since he split up from his girlfriend. (It wasn’t a marriage – just a long relationship. She said, surely it was good, that he was capable of a long relationship?) He normally lives in the country, in Cornwall, but he came to stay with J because he was so desperate and her family were worried about him, and he’s been in her flat for two weeks now. She says he’s so depressed he sleeps all day, and she comes back to find he’s boiled up smelly fish stews and ponged the place up. Anyhoo, turns out he was so excited about meeting me that he washed his hair for the first time in about three months and went to lots of trouble, and he’s sort of in decline, now. Oh, and he used up all his money on the pink champagne so it would have to be a cheap date, like a picnic in the park.
I really wasn’t at all sure about this, but she said if I agree to see him over the bank holiday she’ll set up for me to meet Michael on Saturday, when he’s giving a party at his house in Chelsea. And after all, it’s not like I have to REALLY go out with Glenn, just sort of be friendly and let him down gently.