The Unbearable Stench of Witchface

Had such a brilliant night last night. I know I use the word ‘random’ a lot, but it does seem to be relevant to B and I. So there we are, just an ordinary Wednesday and we decide to have a crayfish party. If this makes no sense to you, you don’t have enough Swedes in your life and in that case I suggest you go and acquire some hurdy-gurdy friends by the time August 2015 comes rolling in. August is crayfish party season! Almost as holy to Swedes as getting hammered and dancing like frogs around a huge maypole to celebrate Midsummer (yes, we are a fascinating species), almost as important as Christmas too.

A crayfish party entails:

  1. Crayfish (shocker!) – the freshwater kind.
  2. Sucking the juice out of them – unattractive and even gross, but mandatory.
  3. Party hats – oh yes, with pictures of crayfish on them.
  4. Drinking songs – a merry little tune makes that shot of Aquavit go down easier.
  5. Ending up with a mountain of crayfish remains on your plate – having eaten ten small-ish tails at most and still hungry.

There was no Aquavit – I just don’t do strong liquour, it makes me gag – and we didn’t do any singing, despite B knowing how to sing all of ‘Helan Går’ (the title literally refers to passing the bottle of vodka around), but we had hats and the bin now stinks out the kitchen despite B sealing the crayfish shells in a separate bag in the bin. I might have to head to the Swedish shop in Marylebone and get another load, so delicious even though they’re so bloody difficult to eat and leave such a stink.

B’s working from home today, so I have company and don’t have to spend all day pining for him. The 50s housewife in me has already planned to clean and then iron all his shirts as there’s now a pile of them waiting for me. Gives me an excuse to watch some crappy reality show while I do them.

Gosh, some days I really do just write for the sake of it here. It struck me yesterday that some articles on WMW almost seemed a little that way, that there might have been more of an urge to post something than an urge to say something. Or perhaps I’m too critical. I read a whole article about Writer’s Block (yep, I will keep on capitalising it) and expected some piece of advice, yet got to the end of it and all I got was “just write”. Seemed a little pointless to me, but it was a young chick and I’m sure she’ll grow more confident and find something to say with time.

I was going to write about Witchface, B’s ex-wife. She is enough material for a whole book! Make that a trilogy. Once you take a step back from it and just observe for a bit, she is great comedy to the point where it’s farcical. My personal favourite is when she conned B out of more money (he already pays her what would be the equivalent of three times the national average salary), then when he questioned why she threatened an injunction if he dared contact her again. Absolute genius. She’s so thick it gives me a little headache, but it’s also interesting to see what she’ll come up with next. I watch with terrified fascination.

It’s gone on for a year and a half, the divorce. B’s offered to look after her for life, get her a house mortgage free and provide her with maintenance payments that are more than most people could hope for for disposable income. No way! She wants it ALL! Her legal form accounts for B’s entire income, it’s hilarious how dumb she is. If it weren’t all so ugly and tragic I’d spend most of my time laughing at this pathetic bitch, but unfortunately it’s my life too that she is poisoning. She claims she is too ill to work (she has a condition that means involuntary spasms in the face – yes, I do feel for her), couldn’t even do a couple of hours a day from home (yet spends hours every day on Facebook despite claiming she can’t be at a screen for long), yet she maintains she can live in a big house with all the up-keep this means. Oh, hang on, that’s right, she needs – as a minimum – the following: a dog walker, a pet sitter, a handyman, a cleaner, a gardener, a window cleaner and someone to do the ironing.

I’m sorry, but if you need that kind of staff force, then you need to be in a home.

Other highlights include that she can’t drive (due to her condition) yet HAS to have a car. Go figure. This woman is the most pathetic exuse for a human being that I have ever come across. Sure, I am predisposed to hating her, but I genuinely went into all of this with an open mind and was prepared and willing to try to see her side too. I just can’t. I give up. All she wants is to screw B over as much as she can, by refusing generous offers, by delaying court proceedings – anything she can to make this farce play out for as long as possible. She’s dragged their sons into it, embarrassed the older one to the point where I was cringing and ended up making shit up to make him feel better – it was awful.

So, it would seem she will keep on being a cancerous growth in our life for a few months longer – she’s the stench that never went away, crayfish doesn’t have a patch on Witchface – but I keep on hoping that she’ll be gone soon. The finish line keeps disappearing in the distance just when I think I’m about to reach it, but it can’t move forever.




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