I've written about virtually every aspect of my private life over the last nine years or so, so why stop now?The truth of the matter is that the former Fragrant Mrs Duck are no longer an item. After twenty years of marriage, where I might not have been the ideal partner, the whole shooting match is off.
No need to send commiserations or anything like that - for I shall hunt you down like a dog if you dare - as this end has been perfectly obvious for some time now.
Nothing much else to say except:
A) form an orderly queue, please
B) A short story on how I won my ex-wife in a raffle:
A short story on how I won my ex-wife in a raffle
Easter 1987. I had been talked by workmates (the kind that blackmail you with "Come on it's for CHARITY") into taking part in a treasure hunt followed by a barbecue, all for charidee.
Grudgingly, I went along, and drove people around the Berkshire countryside, following clues, and trrying desperately to come in last.
We came in last.
And then: The Charidee Raffle.
"And the first prize - two West End theatre tickets - goes to... the young Mr Scary Duck!"
Woo Hoo.
I was single and a complete Billy No-Mates. But that was no problem for my boss.
"Hey! Scary - you can take V!"
V was the young lady in our office at the Ministry of Cow Counting who had stolen my desk by the window while I had been away for a week. We had a particularly healthy hate-hate relationship. She'd do.
I asked her to the theatre.
She said "Yes"
We got married.
Twenty-something years on, we are getting divorced.
And that is how I won my ex-wife in a raffle.
THE END, Happy Ever After
15 comments:
Guessed as much. After all, who flat-shares in Reading instead of prancing about in snooty Weymouth unless they've been kicked out?
and I guess the superinjunction sbout the FMSD not being mentioned is also off now?
and...does this mean you are available?
Bar Mitzvahs, parties and comedy one night stands*, yes.
* Not what you think
tis the "evil eye" wot done it, I kept telling yer, "don't mess wiv the rock apes" dinni?
:(
Regardless. I'm sad for you.
All good stories have a beginning, middle and end. And sometimes the sequel is pretty good, too.
Perhaps you should ask for a refund of your raffle ticket?
Does this mean that you are no longer related to Ricky Gervais?
We could tell by the sad introspective Saturday Music Videos. You think the whole 'Bin Laden threat to Royal Honeymoon' thing caused chatter on the interwebs. The Gnomes and I used up all of our download limits trying to interpret your musical choices.
The music vids don't play on my iPhone.
When me an' Rodders are millionaires, sometime next year, I'll get a proper computer.
One that doesn't keep changing my spelling.
Wot, no Leonard Cohen?
Mind you, it was probably that god-awful wig that drover her over the edge.
That or the clock-up cat.
Some call it divorce. I call it home improvement.
Moral of the story: Never marry someone who steals your desk by the window.
Alternative moral: Never marry someone who allows you to steal their desk by the window.
Custody of the poo-shed goes to?
That's the problem with raffles... no receipt.
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