Bloody hell! Sitting here working on my book, aren't I. Guess who storms in! Husband. Said the Ideal Home Exhibition was crap (well, I could have told him that one) and he was bored and came home.
Never mind the disruption to my bloody work! No, that doesn't matter, does it! Then he demanded the shopping list for a nearby supermarket to be done then and there!
Can't you go later? , I disinterestly suggest.
Well, I won't tell you exactly what he said, but the answer was no.
He's passionate about supermarket shopping (don't ask...)
Its like having a third bloody child! How many more people round here are going to hold me back? And it's no good telling him, either! I've let him have it straight. He'll still do exactly the same thing tomorrow! Worse than his bloody son!
Listened to that Woman's Hour drama, The Paris Wife. Hemmingway's first wife Hadley and their lives together in Paris (obviously). Well, she was a stupid mare, wasn't she! Lost all his manuscripts on the train journey there, and get's pregnant! Hemmingway would certainly understand about being held back, him being in the same boat too. Despite his work being inferior to mine, we would still be brothers. Suffering and smoking together.
No wonder the poor sap shot himself. Mind you, that was some years later, but still..... Fancied F Scott Fitzgerald out of all his mates. He seemed the best bet!