The Red Shoes

Eeeeee Hun (my lovely teaching assistant and friend) has just smuggled a school laptop out of the School of Hard Knocks and delivered it to me here. Seriously after 48 hours with no internet access I felt I was losing my mind. I think I am addicted.

Updates. The first thing to report is that the villainous reprobates who broke into my house also sprayed some kind of chemical in Hetty's eyes. What utter cunts. So, the night of the break-in I had to rush her to the vets. She seems OK now, although she has rubbed all her lovely, Liza Minelli eyelashes off.

I rang in sick yesterday. Pompous Pilate said I should take the rest of the week off, and also asked if he could come round and sweep up or move furniture. I declined his kind offer (although I was tempted to ask him if he would trim my rampant privet. It is so overgrown that the miscreant robbers went unseen. I think my bush may be visible from space, like the Great Wall of China).

By mid afternoon yesterday, after dealing with crime prevention do-gooders, window fixers and the police I was just desperate for sleep. I was also terribly sad and anxious. When I get sad and anxious I get very cold and very achey. So, I cranked up the central heating, switched on the electric blanket and wrapped myself in some cosy clothes ( threadbare but soft leggings, fluffy bed socks and a moth-eaten, cat-hair strewn cashmere cardigan. Hetty had decided to shred the novel I was reading (I Capture the Castle) and the sitting room was festooned with literary confetti, mouldy mugs and several bras (Hetty likes to carry them around). I didn't care. I just wanted to sleep. I hadn't even brushed my hair, or applied any make-up. I felt, and looked about 78.

I had just sunk into my heavenly, feathery bed when there was a knock at the door. I decided to ignore it. Then it came again, louder and very authoratitive. I assumed it was the police again. I dragged myself downstairs. There, to my absolute horror, was Pompous Pilate, stood with a bunch of flowers. Next to him stood 'Eeeeee Hun'. Her pleading eyes seemed to say,

'Eeeeeh Hun, I am so sorry to be stood here with this red faced buffoon. He MADE me come. Will you ever forgive me?'

I saw him look down at my feet. I shifted uncomfortably. I noticed one bedsock was pink, the other was blue. I pictured the scene of Rigsby-esque skankiness that was my sitting room. I wondered if PP would be satisfied with a few words on the doorstep. Apparently not. He was already ambling into my hallway. I scurried ahead into the sitting room. I successfully swept up the bras, but the tattered bits of paper, empty tub of Hagaan Daaz and 25 mugs just had to stay.

Hetty was happily bouncing around Eeeee Hun, who she clearly remembered from her trip to my class. She was less enamoured with Pompous Pilate, and kept baring her teeth at the cove. He was wearing his usual pin stripe suit and pink shirt. He kept brushing imaginary dog hairs off his trousers. He looked at Hetty with obvious distaste. I imagine he is golden labrador through and through.

'you know, your laptop will have been sold in the VG within 5 minutes of the break in. That pub is full of scumbags' he procliamed, (the most irritating thing about the man is his arrogant belief that he knows EVERYTHING about EVERYTHING). The VG is actually a very nice, cosy and friendly pub. It was also the setting for several assignations with the swarthy rogue, so I have fond and tender memories of the place.

'They have obviously been watching the house and knew exactly what they were doing' he declared. It wasn't the most comforting thought.

He began to shift, uncomfortably on the sofa. He was looking rounder and ruddier than usual.

'By 'eck, have you got the heating on? It's like an oven in here.'

He squirmed a little more.

'I think I'm sitting on something.' he complained and began grappling underneath the seat. I held my breath, my heart in my mouth. What could it be? Dear God, not another bra. Suddenly the oaf brandished one of my Hetty-chewed, red ballet pumps.

'By 'eck, what was that doing there?'

Hetty, not happy at seeing her favourite chew-treat in the sausagey hands of a man of the male gender, lunged at the bounder and started manically snapping at the shoe. Pompous Pilate lept to his feet, started making his excuses and made his way towards the door. Gorgeous, clever Hetty!!! She saw off the ne're do well robbers and was now ridding my house of another unwanted guest!!!

Thirty minutes after they had left I had a phone call from Eeeee Hun.

'Eeeeeh Hun. I am so sorry about turning up like that with Pompy Pompy' (as she calls him). 'He forced me to come, wouldn't even let me ring you first. Can you ever forgive me?'