Separation... divorce ... the break-up of a family. It's never as 'amicable' as some people would like you to think.
I don't wish to rehearse the circumstances that led to the breakdown of my marriage to Mrs Blunt. It isn't really of any interest to my readers to know that, after almost three decades with a woman who (single-handedly) helped Scottish & Newcastle Breweries to achieve one of the healthiest profit ratios of any UK listed company, our relationship foundered (or should that be floundered?) on the rocks when she fell into the arms of an erstwhile fishmonger from Ipswich. That's too much information for anyone to have to digest. Even with a side helping of chips.
I thought I had put all this behind me. Then, my eldest son (Justin) furnished me with the latest 'stats' from my blog. I was expecting them to make grim reading - after all, why would anyone bother checking in on a blog that seems to be updated only when the moon's blue? But I wasn't prepared for his findings.
'Pa!' he exclaimed. 'Take a look at this!' Did I detect a note of relish in his voice, as he showed me how my site had been 'chanced upon' via Google searches - courtesy of Statcounter.com? 
As you can see - quite clearly - someone, somewhere, is trying to get in touch with Enid! I know it can't be the fishmonger - he's supposed to be with her now, as they enjoy their place (or should that be 'plaice'?) in Norfolk. So, what's going on?
Take a look at that entry for 29 November - mid-morning.
Call me an investigative journalist if you must, but I can't help feeling that a search via Google for a divorce club in Ipswich, so swiftly followed two days later by a hunt for Mrs Blunt's e-mail address tells a story all of its own. What if Mrs B and the fishmonger have fallen apart? I always thought that mackerel and Mackesons weren't the best table-mates.
Just as I thought I had got over her, her spectre comes back to haunt me. If you're out there, Enid... I'm still here for you! Whatever you've heard, or read about my life since you left, it isn't true. You know where I am, if you ever want to come back. And I promise you - faithfully - I will NEVER make disparaging comments about your size ever again.
4 comments:
Ah bless, Bill. It's clear that your love for Mrs B goes much deeper than that of the man she netted after only the briefest trawl.
I only hope she comes to realise that you're worth more than your weight in cold fish; and doesn't think your heartfelt outpouring is all pollacks!
Oh Bill, I will pray your Enid returns to you before Christmastime.
Festoon your table with sprats Bill and hope that they lure your mackeral back.
Oh. Ah. Oh dear. Yes, sprats are the answer. If in doubt, my experience tells me that small fish are the answer.
Keep your gurnard up!
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