Mrs. Fry's Diary

It's always pleased me that my wife has had a hobby. I thought it was stitch-work she was doing. I had no idea she had written a book. That she did so using needle and thread rather than keyboard and computer, just to keep up the pretence, shows her commitment and force of character. I can't pretend I'm pleased, but nor can I deny that I am proud. Damned proud. If she makes a habit of it or starts to embark on whistlestop publicity tours, I fear for the household and the children's meals. But yes, I am proud. How much I enjoy or bemoan seeing my life delineated in such pitiless detail I shall leave you all to guess. But proud, yes, I am proud of the little woman. Bless her.

Stephen Fry

January

1 Saturday

Every January 1st is exactly the same - a cold grey afternoon, nothing on the telly and Stephen with his head down the toilet, belching the theme to
Dr Zhivago
. Must be Groundhogmanay. Apparently he spent the night unconscious in the S & M club car park. This morning I had to pay PS50 to have his nipples unclamped.

Made our New Year's resolutions. Mine is to be even more patient and understanding than I already am and Stephen's is to give up swearing. And kebabs. And karaoke. And tequila. And her at number 38. Now all I have to do is get him to sign it while he's still only semi-conscious. Thank goodness for Citizens Advice. Who knew there was such a thing as a post-nup?

2 Sunday

Felching & Sons' sale started today. Managed to get a few post-Christmas presents. A Tickle-Me-Kylie for Stephen Junior and a Nintendo Puu for little Brangelina - apparently it's like a Wii, only you play it sitting down.

3 Monday

At last, the children are back at school. Or amusement arcade. Or wherever it is they go from Monday to Friday. And her at number 38's husband's away again, so Stephen's shot out on his window-cleaning round.

Enjoyed a nice cuppa this morning with a HobNob and Jeremy Kyle. There was a woman on there who'd been married 16 years without realising her husband was gay. Extraordinary! Which reminds me, it's our 16th anniversary in a few weeks. What a coincidence. Personally, I think the key to a successful marriage is maintaining separate interests. I have my cooking, my pottery and my love of 19th-century literature and Stephen has his
Razzle
magazines.

4 Tuesday

Coffee this morning with Mrs Norton and Mrs Winton in the Cuppa Cabana. They do an excellent special Colombian blend - apparently the owner imports it herself from Bogota. She gets a fresh delivery every week by courier. I have to say it's a little too pungent for my tastes, although it certainly gives you a buzz. I prefer to go for the decaf, which, oddly, has the same effect.

Popped into Foodland afterwards to pick up a few things. It really is the little woman's paradise, just like they say on the commercials. They boast the lowest prices in the area and the widest range of artificial additives and chemicals of any supermarket chain. It certainly helps when you're trying to stretch your meagre housekeeping, plus I have to get our food there anyway, as Stephen's Waitrose intolerant.

SHOPPING LIST:

Spam - multipack

Cup-a-Fruit

I Can't Believe It's Not Lager

It Ain't Necessarily Soap

Bedroom ceiling mirror polish

5 Wednesday

Twelfth Night. We took the Christmas decorations down today. I say we - I took the decorations down. If I waited for Stephen to do it, the house would still be looking like an elves' lap-dancing club in July. It took him three years just to put that bookshelf up. It'll probably be another three before he buys a book.

6 Thursday

Goodness, what a day for a power cut! Stephen and I were freezing this morning. Our bedroom was like an ice box. Fortunately, the kids were fine. We never switch on the heater in their bedroom anyway, otherwise they won't feel the benefit when they go outside. It was so cold, Stephen had no choice but to go to work and I was forced to spend the afternoon with Mrs Winton in her maisonette. She told me all about this new Reiki fortune teller she's just started seeing. First she gives you an intense scalp massage, then she reads your dandruff. I'd love to have my scalp massaged some time, but apparently they can't do it without removing your hat.

7 Friday

Topless Tequila Karaoke at Sombrero's tonight. I never go with Stephen. I always get so nervous when he performs. Besides, it's impossible to get babysitters, especially since the ASBOs. It's the regional quarter finals tonight. No doubt, if Stephen nails Lady Gaga on the mechanical bull, I'll have a semi to deal with . . .

Past midnight now. No sign of Stephen. Knowing him, he'll have gone on to a club to celebrate or drown his sorrows. I do hope he doesn't come back in one of his kinky moods again. Last week he insisted we try a bit of bondage. Can't say it did anything for me. I bruised my knee on the sideboard and he ended up in Halfords. Perhaps next time only one of us should wear a blindfold.

8 Saturday

Oh dear. Stephen smeared his you-know-what with superglue again last night. I'd love to tell someone about it but my lips are sealed.

9 Sunday

Typical Sunday morning. Stephen was in his Rudolph Valentino mood this week - he insisted I join him in his 'tent of love'. Of course, it was just a bed sheet before he got excited. I do wish he'd give up this roleplay malarkey. If it's not doctor and receptionist, it's gladiator and slave girl or aerobics instructor and regional head of town planning. The other week he wanted us to play amusement arcade manager and naughty schoolgirl. Well, I thought. In for a penny . . .

Managed to persuade Stephen to drive me to Ikea in the afternoon - I told him it was the new Apple gadget. Unfortunately, he had one of his panic attacks in the store. I'd forgotten all about his claustrophobia. And fear of anything Swedish. It all stems, apparently, from the time he was stuck in a lift with ABBA.

In the end, it took two puffs on his inhaler and half my Valium to calm him down. Thank goodness we didn't go in my sister's Volvo. Still, it gave me time to get the tea cosy I was looking for (or, as they call it, SchlurpWully) and I found a lovely new bedside lamp (LiteFondl). Ironically, next to the futon Stephen fell asleep on (NobEd).

10 Monday

We told Stephen Junior that he's adopted this evening. He isn't, but there was nothing on TV.

11 Tuesday

Read an article about how some frustrated women use cooking to compensate for the lack of . . . well . . . marital shenanigans. How ridiculous!

Cooking one of my favourite dishes today. Here's the recipe:

Spam Rumpy Pumpy