Sometimes I hate my imagination
1550 My popularity has reached an all time low. I have informed the cadets that there will be no last minute reprieve and given them instructions to spend their weekend focusing on the homework that they have so far failed to do.
It’s taken a good 20 minutes to get them all out of my office – it’s tragic the number of relatives they have in London who are virtually on their deathbeds…
However, I feel sorrier for the teachers who have to take them for their last lesson.
1615 I decide I’ve had enough for the day (and the week) plus, if I leave now I’ll avoid the accusing and reproachful looks of the condemned 5 as they come out of their classrooms.
I’ve already put my overnight gear into the car (see I do learn). Nelson is making it blatantly obvious he’s not keen on moving (the clue being his total refusal to get off the chair) so I bribe him with a dog biscuit, put on his lead and start the trek to the car park.
1630 There is a God.
I bumped in to Rob on the way to the car; he was just heading off for the weekend.
He seemed really pleased to see me and we stood chatting for a while. Turns out he’s not going to his girlfriend’s; he’s actually going to spend the weekend with his son Jack.
Apparently his girlfriend is not keen on the three of them spending time together…
Which is a really good reason why he might prefer a 46 year old divorcee as opposed to a 23 year old bimbo.
Think it’s definitely a sign…
Saturday 19 September
0930 The weather outside is pants so I’ve decided to indulge in a well earned lie in. Have taken Nelson for a wee and we’re now snuggled up sharing some toast and marmite and listening to the rain.
Think I might need to bath him later…
2300 Bit of an embarrassing evening really. Been raining all day so decided to go to the cinema with sister Jackie plus best friends Sally and Debbie.
Of course this involved a drink first (who goes to the pics without having a drink first…?)
Unfortunately this meant we missed the start (including preview time – my favourite bit). Naturally due to the crappy weather everyone else and his dog also decided to head to the cinema which meant we got split up. I sat with Sally while Jackie sat with Debbie on the row in front.
I thought they were directly in front of us, so for a bit of a laugh (always a mistake when you’ve had a couple of glasses of wine) I leant forward and patted my sister on the shoulder. “You’ve got a big head” I said in a loud stage whisper giggling, just before noticing that Jackie was actually sitting two seats down.
“What did that woman say?”
“She said I’ve got a big head.”
I was mortified. Shrinking down in my seat, I spent the next 2 hours trying to gauge how tall the woman I’d insulted would be when she stood up; what possible excuse I could give for my rude comments concerning the size of her head and whether she had a leaning towards casual violence.
The other three spent the time sniggering…
Sunday 20 September
Today has been a complete write off – have spent the whole day at work.
I was just getting ready to walk down to the Boathouse to meet Jackie when I received a message from John that HRH was refusing to return to BRNC after informing his Embassy that he had contracted ‘Ham’ flu at the College.
A flurry of panicked phone calls from said Embassy (and HRH’s mother) followed this announcement and it took four bloody hours of repeated assurances that there were currently no cases of ‘Swine’ Flu at BRNC to persuade his royalness that it was safe to return to such a breeding ground of insidious germs!
Finally, at 5pm it was decided that HRH would spend the night in a private (and very expensive) Harley Street clinic (under observation!) and return to BRNC in the morning.
Not quite sure when ‘incognito’ went out of the window.
Bring on Week 3…
Chapter Three: It’s A Dog’s Life
Week 3
Monday 21 September
1230 HRH has not yet arrived back in the College but we’re assured that he has been discharged from his private clinic and will be chauffeur driven back to BRNC sometime this afternoon…
Beginning to get the feeling he might just be intending to milk this for all it’s worth.
Still, I have more important things to think about than our incognito royal because I found out in the Wardroom during stand easy this morning that we have one of our own royals coming! Apparently we’re getting a visit from Prince Andrew – The Duke of York no less – in just a couple of weeks; and, even more exciting, I’ve been asked if I’d like to meet him.
“Hell, yes,” was of course my answer.
So now I’m on a strict diet. I’ve got 15 days to get to Drop Dead Gorgeous.
Which is why I’m about to put my trainers on (this really is serious) and drag Nelson round the perimeter of the College grounds (at least a mile and a half I’m sure) (you didn’t actually think I was going to the gym did you? Don’t be silly – I really don’t do red, hot and sweaty – well, maybe in certain circumstances but definitely not on a running machine…)
1315 Actually beginning to think that the gym might have been preferable to dragging a 62Ib Irish terrier (think he’s put on weight) on what felt like a 10 mile hike. Nelson does sniffing, peeing and standing really well. He doesn’t do brisk walking.
That said, I’m sure my arms must have benefitted from the extra pulling – bit like doing press ups.
So now I’m sitting in my office (looking a little red and sweaty it has to be said) contemplating a packet of ‘Italian’ salad which to the uninitiated looks like something out of Gardeners Weekly.
It tastes disgusting. I really don’t mind salad but usually prefer something with it such as pizza.
Still, it’s in a good cause – I mustn’t lose sight of the objective.
Mind you, I read somewhere that lettuce is poisonous – think maybe tomorrow I’ll opt for a Weight Watchers Ready Meal – I think I’ve got one lurking in the freezer somewhere.
1600 HRH has finally arrived back in the College in a chauffeured limousine along with his Ambassador – not sure if the latter was there to ensure that the prince had no momentary lapses or to make sure that he didn’t try to do a runner..
Still the poor love did look a bit pale while we were serving tea and biscuits in my office (not that it stopped him wolfing down the rest of my custard creams, though I made sure that he didn’t get a chance at my secret stash of ginger nuts).
Unfortunately my office is fairly small so it was pretty cramped; particularly since Nelson (completely exhausted from his earlier marathon) was comatose in the middle of the floor and totally unresponsive to either custard cream (must have been knackered) or a hefty kick.
Luckily our little tea party was cut short as the Ambassador was due to call on the Commodore.
John took HRH back to his cabin and the Ambassador promised to check up on him before leaving (definitely making sure his royalness not intending to do a runner).
It was made perfectly clear that he will be expected in class tomorrow morning (HRH, not the Ambassador…)
1705 I’ve got a great book so quite happy to sit in the ferry queue today (it also helps me to avoid thinking about food).
I’ve always been a keen reader, honing my skills during my younger years on the myriad of ‘bodice rippers’ that were so popular (and still are). I remember giving Rosie (my eldest) and Frankie a particularly lurid romance in an effort to get them reading when they were in their teens. It got them reading alright but I then had to explain that love making does not necessarily include multiple orgasms involving Adonis like men with 6 packs and tackle the size of a donkey.
Better to let them down gently…
Luckily they loved reading and have since graduated to the likes of John Grisham.
And I’ve graduated to Harry Potter.
> Although mustn’t forget that very occasionally I actually read books that are reviewed by the Daily Telegraph…
Mind you, literary aspirations aside, maybe I should just re-read a couple of the juicier books, so I don’t forget how it’s done when the time comes.
…Nah, think I’ll stick with The Deathly Hallows and trust that my libido can find its way out of the deep dark hole it’s currently residing in when the appropriate moment come – which my gut tells me is going to be this year – yey.
Well, under normal circumstances it would – at the moment it’s just telling me my throat‘s been cut…
1850 Feeling very virtuous after eating steamed chicken and brown rice and now just relaxing with a glass of wine. (Did think I’d try giving up alcohol on this diet but on the other hand it’s important to drink plenty of fluids.)
2300 Finally found the solitary Weight Watchers meal in the back of the freezer. Not sure how long it’s been there but it was definitely frozen solid (actually frozen to the back of the freezer drawer but I managed to pry it off – never let it be said that I have no willpower).
And (bonus) it’s a lasagne so I can have it with the rest of the salad tomorrow.
Tuesday 22 September
0900 I don’t think I’m ever going to come out of my office again. They’ll probably find me here mummified in 50 years time sitting on top of a bag of canine bones covered in faded ginger fur with my hands around what had once been its throat…
I look over at Nelson who is actually having the good grace to look sheepish – as well he should after what he did to me this morning.
I can hardly bring myself to put this down on paper – I am so mortified.
So what happened?
Well, I decided to come into the College a different way this morning (no idea why but for the record – thank you God!) My route took me along a back corridor which leads onto the Poopdeck balcony overlooking the Quarterdeck.
Nelson and I had had a quick jaunt to give him chance to do his business (wasn’t that quick actually – he’s a man and the never ending stopping, starting and sniffing is the equivalent to him reading the paper while he thinks about it).
Well, eventually he performed, I picked up the offending pile (with a doggy bag obviously) and popped it into the nearest dog bin.
Ok (I thought) we can head to the office now.
So there we were, doing a fairly good pace along the corridor, just about to go through the glass doors leading onto the Poopdeck when suddenly the mutt from hell starts slowing down.
And sniffing.
And then, horror of horrors, he actually started squatting. He never does that inside…
I didn’t know whether to keep dragging him in the hope that it would put him off or to shove a bag under his backside in the hope that what he produced would land inside it.
While all this was running through my mind, I was chanting ‘Oh my God; Oh my God; Oh my God…
Helplessly I watched as a big lump of dog doo landed on the polished floor.
This could not be happening. I started frantically digging in my bag while checking that no one was coming.
And as if things couldn’t possibly get any worse, I realised at that moment that I HAD NO MORE BAGS…
What in God’s name was I going to do now? I felt sick (if I’d got as far as the Poopdeck, I’d have shoved Nelson off it!) I glanced through the glass doors and could see someone coming towards me.
Shit, shit, shit (pardon the pun).
All I could find in my bag was a screwed up paper tissue.
I had no choice.
Taking a deep breath, I bent down and (using the tissue) picked up the offending lump and plonked it into my handbag….
….On top of the Weight Watchers lasagne…
…Just as the doors to the Poopdeck swung open to reveal Sam the new TXO (on this occasion Execution would definitely have been the better title).
“Just keep walking, please just keep walking,” I chanted to myself while using my elbow to cover the open top of the bag as well as the offending smell emanating from it…
No such luck.
“Hi Bev, hi Nelson,” He smiled coming over to stroke the evil hound – who actually had the temerity to wag his tail.
“Hi Sam.” I actually yelled it, causing him to pause his patting and glance up slightly startled.
The disgusting smell was beginning to waft its way into the air.
I could see Sam beginning to frown as the odour reached him.
“Gotta go,” I continued loudly, dragging Nelson towards the Poopdeck doors which I pushed open so hard that they swung back and hit the traitorous mutt on the nose just as he was about to come through.
Gritting my teeth, I pulled at the door and dragged him through. “Serves you right,” I hissed marching him along the Poopdeck. Looking behind I could see Sam still standing looking a little bewildered through the glass doors.
Great, he probably thinks I’m a complete nutcase with a particularly unpleasant strain of body odour.
Luckily I didn’t bump in to anyone else before reaching the language school (although I’m sure the hideous miasma must have followed in my wake for some time).
Once there I was able to tip the offending lump in to the toilet and flush, not to mention scrubbing my hands within an inch of their lives…
My lasagne went into the bin.
1030 I can’t face Stand Easy.
I picture Sam telling everyone about my ‘BO’ problem: “My God it was disgusting, do you think we should tell her…?”
I groan into my hands and toy with idea of resigning.
Maybe it’ll be possible to just do my job from in here – it’s not really necessary to mix with people…
1230 It’s no good, I’ve got to come out. Not only am I bloody starving but I need a wee and I’m absolutely not eating the wilting salad I’ve got left over from yesterday – I’m too traumatised.
I toy with the idea of getting something to eat from the Naafi and spend the next 10 minutes devising a route to get there avoiding all human contact.
Oh God, what if Sam tells Rob that he thinks I’ve got a problem…?
Any potential romance could be over before it’s even begun.
I simply have to brave the Wardroom.
Taking a deep breath I stand up determinedly, startling Nelson who’s busy trying to make himself inconspicuous under the radiator. He wags his tail a little uncertainly – a reconciliatory gesture that I completely ignore (petty – who me?)
First things first – a liberal spray of my most expensive perfume focusing particularly on the armpits… (I know Nelson hates the smell – fitting punishment for getting me into this predicament.)
Secondly, a revamp of the make-up (using reading glasses to put on thus ensuring a seam free, ultra professional look – in a crisis like this I have no choice but to bring out the big guns…)
Ok, I’m ready.
I feel sick (but to be fair that could just be because I’m famished).
The Language School is quiet as I come out of the office and before I lose my nerve, I head down the stairs until I reach The Corridor. Then, taking a deep breath I begin walking nonchalantly towards the Wardroom, saying a casual ‘hi’ to everyone I pass (while waving my arm in the air at the same time to make certain that each person gets a blast of my perfume as they go by – this is no time for subtlety).
5 minutes later (not nearly long enough) I take a deep breath and push open the Wardroom doors.
It’s now nearly 1 o’clock (ok 1300) so the bar is busy with people who’ve finished their lunch.
I can see Sam – damn it, he’s sitting with Rob.
I just want a hole to swallow me up. This is the first time I’ve seen Rob this week.
I’m just about to leg it into the dining room when Rob looks over, sees me and waves.
What the hell do I do now? Should I simply wave back and make a run for it – or is it better to hear the wor
st sooner rather than later…?
Would he have waved at all if he thought I had body odour issues?
I’ve hesitated too long and now have no choice but to face the music. Plucking up the courage, I walk over to their table with a casual ‘hi guys’.
Rob looks up and smiles. “You smell nice,” He says
“Bit better than this morning, hey Bev.”
I completely freeze at Sam’s comment and seriously consider simply throwing myself out the window to end the humiliation (even if the drop is only about 6 feet).
“Nelson was making some pretty horrendous smells when I saw you earlier – I was just telling Rob about it…”
He didn’t think it was me.
Thank you, thank you, thank you God
I make a tolerable effort at a tinkling laugh and try to think of some witty response.
“I know, he’s terrible sometimes – but then of course he’s a man.” (I even manage a chuckle at this point – bloody hell I’m good.)
My parting shot? “Please don’t tell the whole College will you; they might just think it was me…”
They both laugh. And just like that, the matter’s dropped.
1345 I return to the office feeling lighter than air. Life is good again. I am back on track to becoming both superwoman and gorgeous babe of the year. (I resolutely ignore the voice inside asking me about the steak pie I had for lunch – it was simply an understandable emotional response to a narrow escape from complete disaster.)
Of course Nelson is pathetically grateful for my forgiveness which he shows by spending the rest of the afternoon sitting with his head in my lap.
He really does hate being in the doghouse.
1615 HRH duly returned to class this morning and he actually knocked on my door before leaving the language school for the day to ask (in English no less!) if he could give Nelson a biscuit. Ok so the request involved lots of hand waving and pointing, but I also distinctly heard the word ‘give’ and ‘Nelson’.
And, it turns out he likes dogs – who’d have thought it?
Of course I said yes but encouraged him to drop the biscuit on the floor for Nelson to pick up – I was a bit concerned that if the greedy dog played his usual trick of lunging towards any outstretched hand, there would’ve been a definite risk of his royalness being off for the next month with an imagined case of rabies.
An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy Page 5
