Fantastic Mr. Turd

Well, considering I'm meant to be on a plane this time tomorrow, I'm not very organised. I haven't even got my suitcase out of the loft but this may well be because it was from a set of luggage we received as a wedding gift and I'm not too keen on using it for the first time as a "singleton" when it's never been used by us as a couple.

Things have gone from bad to worse with supertwat over the last few days. After agreeing to have no more contact with me after an e-mail request from my brother, he's as agreed to only communicate via e-mail and to reply promptly and within 48 hours to any e-mail communication with me.
You'd think that he couldn't manage to taint this little conversation with his own unique brand of passive aggresive poison but he has. He told my brother via e-mail that he was "very disappointed that no one from my family wanted to speak to him" and that he had been, "desperate to talk to them". He went on to say that every time I spoke to him I would threaten him or say that I was going to march into his office and reveal his dodgy dealings to his boss.

What he failed to mention was that I've only ever done this twice. Once when after he had only just left he refused to take any of my calls on his mobile or respond to texts so I phoned him at work to check he was still alive. The second time was the other day when he offered me that £2k minus damages. He twists everything I say and is determined to paint me as some mental screaming harridan when all that's happened is I've had to cope with the collapse of my whole life which has been compounded by his refusal to communicate. Shithead.

He also requested an exact breakdown of how the wedding budget came to 14K from my brother. This made my blood boil aswell as it implies that he doesn't trust me and my accounting so must think I'm trying to "fleece" him.
So, I spent most of yesterday making a spreadsheet that details everything from the price of the gift tags for the ushers' presents right down to samples of invitations that I paid for. I went through all of our wedding photos and noted down every last thing I could think of that I paid for and it took me flippin hours. I'm determined that grasping freeloader is not going to have my cash as well as my future.

I also worked out that if he had paid his way over the last 2 1/2 years and paid me back for the wedding, I would be 24K richer. What an expensive turd of a bloke he's turned out to be. Not so much Prince Charming as The grand old Duke of Skint. This is without the extra 2K I paid for my dress, hair, beauty treatments, shoes, tiara etc so you could say that meeting him has cost me in real terms 26K and he offers me 2!!!!! You can see why I want to shove that offer where the sun would never ever dream of shining.

Talking of turds, I had a terrible incident the other day in my mum's garden. For the first time this century it was warmer than an ice box in our village so I decided to have a bit of a sunbathe. I grabbed a rug from mum's conservatory and walked out onto their lawn to spread it out and have a bit of a nap in the sunshine. However, when I walked back into the house to grab a cushion, i could smell something terrible. I kept looking everywhere for the source of the smell until I realised that I had trodden in Europe's largest fox shit mountain. My parents have a rogue fox that roams into their garden at night and uses it as its own personal lav. I had inadvertently strolled through fantastic Mr Fox's toilet and got a huge heap of fox shit wedged inside my strappy heels. Not only was it kebabed on the heel of my new shoes but it had oozed inside and was squelching between my toes. I was nearly sick! I spent the next half an hour bleaching my foot (which ruined my pre-holiday pedicure) and scraping fox crap off a 3 inch heel into a Morrison's carrier bag.

It didn't stop there though. After cleaning my shoe and my foot, I went back into the garden to have a lie down and a read of a few mags. I couldn't settle though as I kept smelling the fox poo. I must have gone back inside at least 3 times and re-washed my foot before I decided I must just be imagining it and lay down again on my front to read about some random celebrity nonsense.

About an hour later, i was woken from a very odd dream about a vampire squirrel in my loft by my phone ringing. It was trainer boy saying he was going to pick up some stuff from the supermarket and come over to have some dinner with me. He said he was due in half an hour so I leapt up and whipped the blanket off the grass. It was then that I almost threw up.

I looked down on the grass where the blanket had been and saw a huge squashed pile of fox poo. It had been under my blanket the whole time! Not only that, but it had seeped through the blanket and was all over my semi naked torso.

Now, i'm not sure if you've ever washed yourself with a combination of bleach and dettol but it is not a cleansing product that is likely to catch on. I spent at least 20 minutes under scalding hot water at my parents', rubbing like a madwoman at my skin with a pan scourer. This was after I had to scrape fox turd off my mum's rug and put it on boil wash.
By the time i got home, i found poor old trainer boy waiting outside on my front wall, wondering why i was dripping wet, wearing a bizarre outfit and very flustered. (I'd had to put some of my mum's clothes on as the fox-poo had even seeped onto my shorts.)

I hadn't got the courage to tell him that I'd just spent the last hour sleeping in a wild mammals lavatory so said that I'd spilt dinner down my front and had had to have a shower at mum's. He then asked me if I'd been swimming as he could swear he could smell bleach or chlorine. I lied and said that I'd been washing windows. (Why???? Who on earth bleaches their windows??)
He seemed to accept this though although later, my lovely best friend, over a few bottles of wine at my brother's, regailed the entire story to almost everyone I know, including trainer boy.

This story is now even more legendary amongst my friends and family than my, "accidental shit in a flip flop" story which was as a result of a language barrier when interpreting some spanish laxative instructions. Oh, the shame...

Anyway, I'm hoping that over th next few days in Italy I can chill out a bit and not choose to sleep in any of the local wildlife's droppings. My mate seems intent on drinking Italy dry and so who am I not to accept the challenge. I'm a bit worried though as our hotel is fairly close to the Vesuvius volcano and considering my luck lately, I'm wondering if this was a good choice!

Anyway, just wanted to say cheerio for the time being. I'll be back next Friday so will probably update on the Saturday. Hopefully I'll come back tanned, refreshed and maybe with a handsome Italian millionaire in tow but knowing my luck I'll be sunburnt, skint and hungover with a dodgy stalking waiter!

Lots of love in the meantime and do keep in touch. Wish me bon voyage!


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