Wednesday, April 06, 2011


Dear Inner Circle,


We can sigh in relief that the Paragon is not my neighbour.  Just as he was about to put his signature to the paper, he panicked.  That’s what he called it.  I’d say it was common sense kicking in.  What lunacy was it that said we could live right next door to each other and not get caught shagging?  Or perhaps it was the thought that I would probably throw some scene if I saw him entering the building with another woman.  I’m not the scene making type of woman.  I am the more poison in the milk type of woman. 

To celebrate my ‘near’ escape I took my kids to a children’s party at the Russian Consulate.  How I get invited to these consular events I cannot tell you but suffice it to say that I have made an art out of freeloading.

There I met a Moldavian Prince.

OK he wasn't a Prince but shit he looked like one and who's to say he didn't have a white horse parked in the multi story car park not too far away.  This Prince picked me.  Why I have no idea, but he found me sitting alone and chooses to chat with me
about such great writers as Tolstoy, Chekov and Jackie Collins. He had read all the classics including my favorites (not Jackie Collins but Somerset Maugham, Daphne Du Maurier and Moliere).

‘Ah but that is the past reading.  What are you currently reading?’ He asked me. 
‘Er..well…er… 'The Mr Men Children Series' I found myself admitting to. Which woman, who has children, has time to read.  This wit went above him, not just because he is just emerging from a communist regime steeped so much in angst and struggle but mostly because he doesn't have children nor is likely to have them for some time. Yes....he was and is only just past puberty himself. I dare not ask his age but am guessing he just scraped in at 20 since he is here studying at the English University.

I am very unsure what he wanted from me as he would not leave me alone and I did try to excuse myself several times.   I managed not to offer my number to him (although I felt he was waiting for it) as we 'shook' or rather it was more like 'held' hands.

I waved goodbye to him and sighed.  I really did wish this fine young Moldavian with the shock of chestnut wavy hair could be lying between my thighs this night but I guess I’ll have to read a book instead.

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