On the domestic front Mitzi has taken command of the bunker. I am not sure when I ceded control or if I ever had it in fact. It is my house and my life Mitzi has come to visit, but that doesn’t seem to carry any weight when it comes to making decisions. The spare room – formerly repository to my lifetime’s memorabilia – is now a gym stroke ‘sex parlour’ where Mitzi spends a lot of time with the door shut. The lounge ceiling gives frequent testimony to the industrial activities often in train – but whether these are all occupational or recreational I couldn’t say.
On the professional front – money and more particularly rent – haven’t been discussed and inquiries on the subject in her direction are met with a curt ‘we’ll see’ which in my experience of the fairer sex means: No.
I have been given instructions on various aspects of my domestic affairs concerning: sleeping arrangements (I’m on the sofa); cooking (I’m on KP); cleaning (I’ve been instructed to find mother’s old hoover), sanitary habits (regular showers & sitting down for a pee); Storage (de-cluttering the aforementioned spare room) and Television preferences (whatever Mitzi wants to watch).
I consider myself an easy-going sort generally, but I have to say the Greek Mrs Bucket is stretching my patience somewhat thin… I have thought about throwing her out, but apart from the fact that wouldn’t be the act of a Gentleman, I would have to say she has probably 20 years on me and as well as being a disciple of daily exercise is also in possession of a mean streak I wouldn’t want to voluntarily cross.
So I am in effect a prisoner in my own home – albeit with all my home comforts and enough booze to sink the Duke of Edinburgh, a gilded cage – even if I don’t want to voluntarily share it. Who knows – if Mitzi isn’t inclined to pay any rent maybe she will settle her bill in kind? We’ll see…
Bulk and The Devil 