The Full Picture, or, I am going to splurge on you now...

Hello to all you devourers of dysfunction, you connoiseurs of calamity, lovers of car-crash TV, and readers of blogs of excruciation. I bid thee welcome.

I must apologise for these few days of silence, the internet in my household is not working, and Courtney has yet to fix it. But with his boyish good looks, and loveable manner, I have yet to shout at him.

So, what has happened?

As you know, we arrived back from the cottage early on Sunday evening. Many, many people were in the house. Of Her entourage, we had Kit, Timmy, Sally, and a close friend of Alistair's, Mistress Max. Max was back from a stint abroad, and it was a shame he could not give her the attention she deserved. And of course, Ben was there... Can you hear the alarm bells yet? I was already apprehensive, but very tired, only having had five hours sleep. I tried to snooze in the bed upstairs, but the feeling of impending doom kept me awake. I wandered downstairs, glass of red in hand, (yes, I took a glass of red up to bed, and yes I know that this was a bit sad. It should have been gin). Kit asked me to snuggle on his lap and be stroked, and as you may have read in earlier blogs, Kit is very pretty, much too young, and will be a fine thing in a couple of years. I snuggled down. Meanwhile, Alistair scampered underfoot of the ex in the kitchen, and I focused on the stroking, so as not to feel neglected. Alistair and the ex were quarrelling, so we all carried on awkwardly in the lounge.

Eventually, I became aware that Ben, Alistair and the ex had disappeared. This was at about the same time that I felt the cloud of impending doom actually erupt. I went to investigate. Upstairs, I found poor Ben sitting alone in the office, in the dark. I sat down and ask him to tell me what had happened. It transpired that Alistair had approached him and told him that if he wanted the ex, he could have her. Much trauma. The two of them were now upstairs engaged in their regular dramas that go no where. I comforted Ben, who is a well adjusted, good, sweet boy. He should never have been caught up in this mess in the first place.

I took him downstairs. All the while my already breaking heart was shedding further fragments. Alistair's love for the ex moves him to such acts of passion. These are acts that I shall never see. Again, I began to question this love he says he has for me. How can he love me and be so consumed with his love for the ex, especially as she clearly never reciprocates? But then my thoughts became more concerned with the fact that we were all about to crowd around the dinner table for a lovely pork roast. It was particularly special, because some of us new what had just occurred, and some of us were totally unaware. How interesting it was to watch the uncomfortable glances of those who could clearly detect a certain something in the air, but could not quite put there finger on it, and those who knew very well what was afoot and either tried to avoid eye contact, or deliberately make it in the most pathetic pleading ways possible. You could tell how on edge I was. I leant towards Max, who was sitting next to me, and asked her to take me down to the dungeon and give me a good therapeutic beating. I have to be severely stressed to ask a woman to fix me, but at that point it is not sexual, so I suppose it makes sense.

We never got to the dungeon. I had some more private time with Ben, and he confided in me that the ex had made it clear to him that she did not want Alistair, that she is having good sex with Ben (not the "I only do it to please them but I am not into it" kind that she always harps on about). At this point I had had enough. I thought that if I did not march right on upstairs and tell Alistair it was over and that we could not go on, I would never do it. Up I went. All the while, the voices in my head were telling me how selfish I was being, and that I should not kick him while he was down. But then something else told me how selfless I usually am, and how much I was suffering, so on I went.

He was about to go to bed, so I went upstairs and told him. This was a bad thing to do. He was very displeased at the moment I chose. When he calmed down, I put him into bed, and kept telling him how sorry I was. I also told him that I knew that she had said she did not want him. I did it because I believed that it was the right thing to do. It was a pointless exercise, because I am inclined to think that even if she were a homicidal maniac whose soul purpose in life was to rip out Alistair's toe-nails, dip them in Tobasco, then make him eat them, shortly before cutting off his dick with a rusty knife and watching him bleed to death over his expensive lilac carpet, he would still be scuttling around her.

Anyway, he said he loved me, I said I loved him. I left. On the way out, he sent a text telling me he never meant for me to get hurt like this when we first started seeing each other. I said that the situation is destructive, but I'd like to think there was still hope, and he should call me the next day. He said he didn't know what he thought. Blah blah.

And then I did something foolish. After I arrived home, I was consumed with a fit of romance and passion. You know, the kind I wish I could ignite in him, but which he reserves only for the ex. I spoke to Courtney. He did a rubbish job of sitting on me. I flew back out the door and ran all the way to Alistair's. Granted, I can practically see his house from mine, but I did it in flip-flops. I bounded up the stairs, and there are a lot of stairs up to the top, tip-toed into his room, knelt down next to the bed, and whispered: "You must be feeling like nobody cares right now," (the ex had gone off with Ben to drop him home), "But I want you to know that I love you, and I don't regret any of the things we have done". He said he loved me, but had already fallen half asleep, and was slightly crabby. You could offer him a million quid at that point, and he'd grinch at you. I went home crying at my silliness, he texted me again, saying that he did not regret anything either, but that the situation is hurting me, and that he'd call tomorrow.

Courtney, and the woman I live with, Violet, poured me gin.

The next installment, i.e. Tuesday's events, are absolutely wrong and bizarre on so many levels, and make this look like a night in with the Waltons.