Oh Ye Of Little Faith

It has come to my attention that there may be some of you who doubt the veracity of some of my reports and musings. Indeed, on one social media network there was even doubt as to the very existence of such an entity as the ex-Lady M! 

All I can say is that refusing to believe in the ex-Lady M is a very courageous decision.

Every time the existence of the ex-Lady M is doubted, a marigold covered hand reaches menacingly for a jay cloth; the squeak of a cleaning spray can be heard; and your pint mysteriously disappears.

Neither of these people is the ex-Lady M

The ex-Lady M is the mother of the Charleesi, a being of such dry wit as to be positively arid (I’m so proud), and has silenced whole pubs with a single sneeze. We’ve worked bloody hard to get to where we are from how things were, and #Tuesday is as much part if that process as a celebration of it. 

Admittedly, my ex wife doing the cleaning in our flat is a bit of an outlier when it comes to post-divorce relationships, but to not believe it? Well there’s a disservice right there to all of us involved in continuing to make the world a stranger place.

And besides, would I lie to you about such weird and wonderful things? Embellish for comedic effect, yes. Obscure to provide plausible deniability for people, yes. Lie? Nope, it’s far too much fun telling the truth and watching people tie themselves up in knots.

All I promise is that I will try not to be mean, or unfair, and that I will try not to spare my own blushes in the process. Anyone can pretend to be normal. Admitting to being myself though? That continues to be hard work, and I’m forever grateful to those who believe in me, even if they don’t believe in the ex-Lady M.

Drowned Rat Mode: Engage

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Keep Calm and Use the Konami Code

So who ordered a whole month’s rain and forgot to space it out over more than one day? I knew I was going to have a busy day, but didn’t anticipate that I’d be spending most of it doing a reasonable impression of a water fowl.

In theory it’s been a day off, but I was up with the larks – or at least Lady M – to get down to the GP for a blood pressure test. Then it was a grind of renewing prescriptions (how is it I can fill a rucksack with my 3 month meds supply?), refuelling the car, and then heading out to get a birthday present for the ex-Lady M.

Now that part was easy, although the expression on the shopkeeper’s face was carefully neutral when I engaged him to ask for advice. The real difficulty was finding a suitable birthday card. I imagine it isn’t something that many people have contemplated, but look at the messages and humour and imagery available on your next pass through a card shop or aisle in the local supermarket.

I was looking for something tasteful but not twee, and a message inside that was either a blank, or generic, rather than a protestation of eternal fluffy gooeyness, or a straight up insult, or accusation of alcoholism. Jokes about old age aren’t my thing either, so that eliminated a whole host of options. As I looked at each option I had a voice in my head going “nope, nope, way inappropriate, nope, hmmm nope”. You get the idea.

Basically there seems to be a default assumption that cards are bought by family members, ardent suitors, or work colleagues with a suspect sense of humour. There’s not really anything for the “We used to think the world of each other, then it went wrong, and now after a few years hard work and tears we can be friendly again but never forget” crowd.

At least, with Charleesi having finished school, I was able to pick her up early for the weekend. It was just as well, because we both made the observation that the heavier the rainfall, the more other drivers’ IQ seems to drop. It was raining very, very hard. Did I mention that?