Divorced and Deadly
Finally Free!
Josephine Cox
With much gratitude to everyone who has ever made me laugh out loud, or told me a funny story that would not go away.
The original idea for this story came when I went to pick my sister up one day. As I turned into her cul-de-sac, I was amazed to see the corner house smothered from top to bottom in huge banners of every colour and description—complete with a massive photograph of a woman in the centre, her fist triumphantly in the air, and a caption saying:
Newly Divorced And Up For Anything!
It got me thinking about all the people I know who’ve been divorced, where there might be a stalker who can’t let go, or one of the party demands everything but the kitchen sink. When new relationships start and jealousy rears its ugly head, the ensuing bitterness can often create unforeseen circumstances, some tragic, some unbelievably funny. My own life, and my set of friends and family were a powerful inspiration for Ben’s uproarious account of life after divorce.
I have drawn on the hilarious incidents that happen in real life, to real people, in real situations. At first I put snippets on the website as a temporary relief from life’s hardships, a laugh a day to keep the doctor away. But, people loved it! They were signing up in great numbers, and so the publishers in their wisdom decided it must be lengthened into a book, and here it is!
In Divorced and Deadly, you’ll meet a bunch of characters; some you want to strangle, others you want as your best friend, and some will make you laugh out loud in a crowd, on a train, or just walking along the street.
Divorced and Deadly comes straight out of life; mine included, because anyone who knows me will tell you, I’m a poor diva who causes chaos and destruction wherever I go! I’ve also got a wicked and vivid imagination, which produced my two crazy, hopeless characters: Ben Buskin, who writes the diary, and his hapless friend, Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants.
Many thanks to my unsuspecting friends and my wonderful, crazy family; not forgetting all the poor innocents I’ve sat opposite on a train or a bus. I’ve been the fly on the wall, recording every hilarious minute.
So enjoy! I’ve got files of laughter and details of amazing antics that will make you cry with frustration and laugh ‘til you ache. So never fear, because there’s more to come! And who knows you might even recognise yourself in there!
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Bedford October, Monday
Bedford October, Thursday
Bedford October, Friday
Bedford October, Monday
Bedford October, Saturday
Bedford October, Sunday
Bedford October, Saturday
Bedford November, Sunday
Bedford November, Saturday
Bedford December, Tuesday
Bedford January, Thursday
Bedford March, Saturday
Bedford April, Tuesday
Bedford April, Monday
Bedford June, Wednesday
Bedford June, Saturday
Bedford July, Thursday
Bedford August, Saturday
Bedford September, Friday
On The Road September, Saturday
Blackpool Spetember, Sunday
Blackpool September, Sunday Night
Bedford September, The Following Saturday
Also by Josephine Cox
Copyright
About the Publisher
BEN’S DIARY
BEDFORD
OCTOBER, MONDAY
I’m 36 years old; handsome and fit, with a shock of rich, dark hair and a pair of kissing lips to die for. I’m not as tall as I’d like to be, nor am I rippling with chest muscles. But I reckon I’m a dead-ringer for Hugh Grant, (only I do believe I’m a far better actor than he is, on account of I played a hippo in All Creatures Great and Small in the school play. Anyone with brains knows how difficult it is to play a demanding role!).
So, having explained what a real catch I am—will someone please tell me why it is that today my divorce became absolute and I’m out in the cold?
The dreaded Laura doesn’t want me any more, but doesn’t want anyone else to have me, so now the women who are aching to make a play for me are all too nervous to make the first move, in case Laura rips out their eyes. The plain truth is (though it rankles me to say this) I have been well and truly dumped! And to be honest I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or starve the cat for a day…actually no, scrub that last one. (Like all felines, she can be vicious. The last thing I need right now, is for her to leap on me claws out, from a great height.)
I’m so humiliated. I feel that everybody’s laughing at me. You know when you walk past somebody and they pretend not to have seen you? Or you walk away and the sniggering starts? I’m feeling paranoid!
Huh! Call themselves friends, I don’t think so!
Somehow or other I have to regain my confidence. So, with that in mind, I made a list of things I had to do:
1. I will not sign on at the gym. (Firstly, because I’m a bit short of the old readies, and secondly, I was told that too much exercise can ruin your love life.) Mind you, what does Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants know about anything?
2. I will smoke cigars instead of cigarettes. I’ve seen that old film with Jimmy Cagney; smoke curling up and away, one eye half shut like he’s winking. (Truth is, I reckon he can’t see a damned thing through that smoke!) No matter, because does he look the cool dude or what?
3. When the opposite sex look at me in that certain way… (you know, when they’re eyeing you up!) I shall cunningly avert my gaze and play hard to get. (The real reason being that I’m a bit short-sighted, so I need to look where I’m going.)
4. I will take two vitamins a day: one evening primrose, because apparently it makes your skin smooth and your eyes bright. Oh, and one large ginko biloba tablet. (Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants said he sprouted hairs on his chest after only one course.) I’m not worried about a hairy chest, but if I’m lucky, who knows what else might pop up?
5. I will avoid contact with Laura. It’s my right! After all, it wasn’t me who did the dumping!
6. Oh, and because I’m not attending a gym, I will admire myself in the mirror every morning, and do a bit of flexing and puffing, and whatever else I might need to, in order to keep up my macho image. (Yes, that an’ all!)
Right! That’s enough making lists. I have to concentrate my mind for the trauma ahead.
I know for certain that Laura is laughing behind my back. I sneaked past the house earlier on today and judging by the massive placards and banners plastered all over the front of the house, on the gate and down the street—she’s having a ball, proclaiming to all and sundry in large, colourful letters that she is:
Newly Divorced And Up For Anything
‘Up for anything’. What’s that supposed to mean, as if I didn’t know. This is her way of taking a snide jab at me, the spiteful cow! She’s never forgotten that one miserable time when I lost it…if you know what I mean? I tried to explain it to her, but she was having none of it…you know how women can whine when they want to…‘You just don’t love me any more, that’s the truth isn’t it?’
And, no, that is not the truth! The truth is, I’d been out with the boys and drunk myself under the table…well it was Trevor’s stag-night after all, and besides, I reckon Wayne spiked my drinks because his wife fancies me. (If truth be told, it’s the same old story of jealousy and spite!)
All the same, if I thought Laura still had lingering feelings for me, I might lie through my teeth and tell her I deserve everything she throws at me, and that I’ll never go anywhere without her agai
n. The thing is, I still love her you see…or I think I do. Or maybe I don’t. God, she’s right! I’m just a hopeless mess.
I’m no angel. She knew that when she married me. I’ve never claimed to be anything other than an absolute rogue, and I won’t apologise for that. In my book, women have a role to play in the home and bed, while every man on God’s earth has a God-given right to play the field if he wants to. I mean, where’s the harm, tell me that?
Would you believe, she even went so far as to suggest I might be unhinged. Well, I’ve got news for her. It’s not me who’s unhinged, it’s her!
Talk about over reacting. I mean, when she found me in our bed with another woman she threw me out! I suppose it was inevitable. Mind you, Laura didn’t even give me time to explain. Y’see, I didn’t know who the woman was. I couldn’t even recall whether I picked her up at the pub, or rescued her from the bus stop when her bus was late. Anyway, suffice to say we ended up in bed, and Laura found us. Worse luck!
There was no way she would listen to reason. She just threw all my clothes out on the street and me with them. I don’t know what happened to the girl, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she wasn’t dead and buried under our garage floor.
Honestly! Laura just went crazy. Totally and absolutely out of control, like frothing mad. It was really off-putting.
And it was the coldest night imaginable, and there I was, stark-naked except for my odd-coloured socks (that’s another thing! How she manages to put four pairs of socks into the washing machine and lose one sock from each pair, I will never know).
I kid you not! That night, I saw a side to her that I’d never seen before, and never want to see again. It was not a pleasant sight.
I mean, what’s got into her? She didn’t flare up like that the time she caught me snogging her best friend, Shelley. Instead she gave Shelley a black eye before booting her out on her ear, yet she made me suffer for months before my penalty was served! (It goes without saying, Shelley is not her best friend any more.)
In fact, Shelley is nobody’s best mate, especially now, when all the women in the street have it in for her. Mind you I’m not surprised, because they all fancied a tumble with me, and Shelley beat them to it. Lucky me, eh?
Our marriage should have ended there and then, but Laura forgave me in the end. So what made her end it, just after half an hours’ harmless frolicking with a stranger I’d only just met?
I can’t believe how Laura reacted. I mean! There was no need to go berserk. I kept telling her, it was all just a bit of fun, that’s all it was.
Well, I mean to say, I can’t help it if I’m irresistible to women, can I? We all know some men have it and some don’t. I just happen to have it.
I am no longer married. Sadly, I’ve had to move in with my parents, and yes, they did give me a hard time. ‘You’ve only yourself to blame,’ that was Dad. ‘When will you ever learn?’ that was Mum.
And as if that wasn’t enough, they’d been gossiping with the dog about their disapproval of my nocturnal goings on. So he took it upon himself to sink his canines into my leg and draw blood. (I’ll get him for that when they’re not looking!)
Mind you, I can’t really blame him, the poor sod had ’em chopped off last week, so now his days of impressing the pretty thing with his massive ego and other jangly bits are well and truly over.
Hell’s bells, I’ve just had a frightening thought…were they planning to do the same to me? Like creep up on me while I was asleep, and nip my pride in the bud! (Dad won the neatest bush competition last year, so he really knows his way around the garden shears.)
You probably think I’m paranoid, and you’d be right. I wouldn’t put it past them to rob me of my manhood. The thing is, they’re in their sixties now and have probably forgotten what joy it all is.
Anyway, I don’t plan to stay there long; although I have to admit, it’s a good gaff: no rent, hot meals provided, bed changed regularly, with clean shirts and underpants on hand.
I can’t help but wonder if Dad’s feeling put out, ‘You’ll be wiping his backside next!’ he snapped at Mum the other day, ‘And why is it he always bags the bathroom first?’
Huh! I can answer that…it’s because Dad has a nasty habit of leaving his false teeth on the sink after he’s washed them; it’s unnerving, seeing his false teeth grinning at me when I’m on the throne.
‘C’mon our Ben.’ That’s Mum again. ‘You’d best get off or you’ll be late.’ I argued a bit and wolfed down my hot crumpets oozing with butter and jam, while she hovered over me with a bag of goodies. ‘I’ve packed you some nice ham sandwiches,’ she cooed. ‘Oh, and there’s a bottle of Lucozade in there, it’ll keep your pecker up.’ (Does she know something I don’t?)
Well anyway, there I was, on my way up the street, swinging my goodies like a kid off to school. I wondered why she didn’t put me in short pants and get me a cap with a badge!
Then, as if things weren’t bad enough, I saw that twerp from number fourteen—Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants. I have to say, I’ve never seen such an unholy mess—long and limp with a sprout of hair on top and short trousers at the bottom; he’d be a real attraction at Madame Tussauds.
He ran as fast as he could to catch me up. ‘God! You walk fast, don’t you?’ he said, breathlessly running alongside, ‘I thought I’d never catch up!’
All the way to the bus stop he asked questions, ‘Where’s your car?’
‘It went in for a service and they’ve discovered it needs new brake pads. Hopefully, I should have it back tomorrow.’
‘Ah, well, if you ask me, it’s all a con.’
‘Is that so?’ If he doesn’t clear off soon, I swear I’d smack him one! Either that or I’d tell my mum and she’d give him what for.
‘Think about it.’ Like a dog with a bone, he is. ‘You’ve never noticed anything wrong with your brakes at all, have you?’
‘Not that I can remember, no.’
What the hell was I talking to him for? It only encouraged him.
‘There you are then!’
‘Where am I exactly?’
‘Well, like I say…you’ve been conned. There’s nothing wrong with your brakes at all.’
‘Isn’t there?’
‘No. You see, what they’ll do is whip ’em off. One of the blokes will have ’em away, and before you know it, there they are…’
‘Where are they?’ Talk about being a glutton for punishment.
‘On the stall at a car-boot sale o’ course!’
‘Really?’ No wonder he’s called Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants.
His tongue was still rattling ten to the dozen when the bus arrived. Pushing me aside, he climbed on, while I pretended to tie my shoe. When the bus pulled away Dickie started waving and yelling and telling them to stop because they’d left me behind. (Thick as a plank or what!)
The conductor was in no mood for his antics. I expect he was wondering why I was smiling after being left behind. Good man, that conductor! The thing is, I’d rather be late than sit next to Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants all the way to work.
After I’d thrown what was left of my little-boy’s lunch, I started to wonder…what was going to happen to me now? How will I get over Laura, especially as Shelley won’t have anything to do with me after all the goings on.
And how long will I have to stay at my parents’ house?
A long time I reckon, because Laura fleeced me good and proper, my Ford Focus is about to give up the ghost, and all I’ve got is a fiver in my back pocket and exactly four pounds and sixty pence in my bank account.
Still, I’ve got my magnetic looks, and I still know how to make a lady feel good.
Then I noticed a woman looking at me. She was tall and blonde with legs all the way up to her chin.
Now she’s started walking towards me! Keep calm, Ben. Play it cool…cool now. I said, ‘Hello…yes, did you want something?’ Realising I sounded like Dickie Manse, I gave her my best, whitest smile.
/> ‘Look…’ she pointed downwards.
I looked down and saw nothing untoward, except a slight stirring.
‘Hope you don’t mind me saying…I just thought I’d tell you that your shoelaces were undone.’ She walked straight into the open arms of a man who was running up to meet her. She gave me this bemused little smile as he walked her away.
I could hear the pair of them sniggering all the way down the street. Not that I cared a toss. I didn’t fancy her anyway.
I’ve decided to look on the positive side.
What’s the worst that can happen? I mean, I can handle Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants, a sniggering blonde, a bad divorce, stolen brake pads, clean underpants and a bottle of Lucozade to ‘keep my pecker up’.
It’ll take more than that to bring Ben Buskin to his knees.
I was determined to come out on top. Yes! Just you see if I don’t.
BEDFORD
OCTOBER, THURSDAY
Hello diary, my old friend.
Well, like I’ve always said, you never know what’s round the corner. I had a couple of surprises today; both involving women of course. One was a bit unnerving, and the other positively amazing. I still don’t quite know what to make of it all.
I reckon I must have done something very wrong in a previous life, or I wouldn’t be punished the way I’m being punished now.
I arrived at the station at nine a.m., right on time. Most times the damned train is late, and other times I find myself stranded on some scary platform in the middle of nowhere! Anyway, not this time; although the train driver must have had an argument with his wife, because he was whizzing over the rails like a demented hooligan.
‘I think I’m about to be sick, dear!’ The fat woman sitting next to me had already fallen asleep on my shoulder, but it wasn’t her fault, as she had a droopy neck; or so she told me when I shook her awake.
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