On the worst kept secret in the world, ever
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!"
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