[jen_jen]

Something – The Beatles

(love that song)

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pimped

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bells

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slew

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I think those pork scratchings may have had traces of giraffe DNA…

[jen_jen]

Dear Mr Trawler,

What can I say, I am so embarrassed and owe you a huge apology, it seems I have made a terrible mistake.

If you recall, in my last correspondence I was about to meet husband 18 and fly off to warmer climes. Fortunately for me we had not yet married; we were to wed on an idyllic beach on his private island. Oh what a fool I have been! I arrived at the airstrip but my sixth sense prompted me to hold back and just as well I did. Oh dear Mr Trawler, imagine my surprise when I saw a group of men hastily masking out a word on the side of the plane that struck fear into my very soul…Interpol! I have wrongly accused you it seems and I can only beg your forgiveness (it seems I’m starting to get into the habit of begging doesn’t it?) and blame the paranoid tendencies that torment a tender soul like myself. When living your life surrounded by people having fatal accidents you can’t help but wonder whether there is an outside agency at work and when it will be your turn for an accident to befall you. I may well be paranoid, however it seems that, as much as I protest my innocence, Interpol are indeed prepared to stoop to any level to entrap me.

So here I am; I remain single but now have the added complication of having to go into hiding whilst I decide what to do next. I am quite distressed at the situation I find myself in as I simply don’t know who to trust. I had met husband 18 in the JC chatroom late at night whilst suffering insomnia. I was tired, lonely, vulnerable, and like so many women before me I fell for the smooth talking of a faceless name on the screen. Oh he told me I was so different from the others, so special, and he promised me such a wonderful life if I would only chat to him and I fell for it, hook, line and sinker! I thought I was so careful too, always checking that the gentlemen that I chatted to were not involved with other women – despite what you may think of me, I have never knowingly set my sights on another woman’s loved one no matter how much they don’t seem to understand them.

Enough about me though, I am rather concerned about you. Although the dossier that I passed to Mrs Teapot’s husband was patently concerning the husband 18 that never was (I must say the photograph that he emailed me from his hotmail account did fit the description you gave of yourself) the personal details such as name, address and so on were most definitely yours. I seem, by my foolish actions, to have placed your life in as much danger as mine, if not more so.

Let me offer a remedy that will hopefully be acceptable to us both. I have secured the use of a cabin for as long as I need it. It is in a secluded location, hidden from view but with very high tech gismos that will warn us in plenty of time of anyone approaching. There are lots of other gismos there to delight and pleasure us both and to make the confinement one that we will not want to end. My ample assets are intact but should you find me repellent after recent events and not wish to share the delights of the cabin with me then there is an adjoining annex, I think they call it a granny flat, where you could hole up until the dust settles.

Of course, assuming that you accept my offer of safe refuge, there is the matter of getting you here safely. May I ask how much you trust your JC brethren? Could they be trusted to smuggle you here and not disclose the whereabouts even if tortured by nubile wenches employed by Interpol or the whippets of the Yorkshire Mafia? I would, of course, embrace the role of your paramour wholeheartedly so that you can retain their respect and admiration.

I do so hope that you accept my apology and consider my offer of safe refuge, it distresses me to think of you in mortal danger.

Yours fondly,
Jen

P.S. I note that others are now vying for your attention; I beg you to take care, who knows what lengths the Yorkshire Mafia or Interpol will stoop to in order to find us. I shudder to think of poor innocent JC women being used so but it isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. The naughty nurse is an old one of theirs, as is the one who pretends to by shy; be wary, I implore you, a few moments of pleasure with such ladies (and I use the term loosely) can only bring untold pain afterwards (although I’m told there are some very good creams on the market these days).

I do so apologise for dragging you into this sorry mess.

[jen_jen]

Strange how the local train companies can’t run a full train service because of the weather conditions yet they can still carry out track maintenance on the line and operate a replacement bus service…

[jen_jen]

Mr Trawler.

Well what an eventful 24 hours it has been since I first replied to your appeal.

I accepted all that you said in good faith; now I realise that I should have been more circumspect in my responses but your reassurances about your communication with your friend at Interpol lulled me into a false sense of security.

Let me explain. After our first couple of exchanges I noticed that there were even more large swarthy men with a habit of speaking into their lapels around me than usual. I did begin to worry that Mrs Teapot might have spun her husband a yarn about me to see off the competition and it might be his henchmen so I hurried home – she had given up far too easily for my liking. I was immediately aware that someone had been into my penthouse apartment in my absence as the fine blonde hair from my own head that I had placed across the door frame and door had disappeared. I am so thankful to my good friend Reggie Bond for showing me that trick.

It didn’t take me long to discover the hidden microphone in the vase of flowers that had mysteriously appeared, or the tiny camera hidden in the eyes of the portrait that David Picasso had kindly painted of me.

Mr Trawler, or whatever your name is, I also have contacts in Interpol so I called in a few favours…I have rather depleted these of late so I also had to promise a few favours but a lady doesn’t discuss those. Imagine my surprise and disappointment to discover that this is all a ruse, a honey trap, set by your not so good self to entrap me. How cunning of you to claim a friend in Interpol when you yourself work for that institution! How evil of you to try to win my heart in such a calculating fashion, after all the misfortune that I have suffered in my life.

I have also been tipped off that CheekyLittleMinx is none other than your ever obliging secretary (very obliging I hear, and not just with you, she’s quite popular at most of the East European embassy parties and her party trick with Polish sausage is quite the talk of the town).

To think that our correspondence only began because I felt ever so slightly sorry for you! Your words found a way into my heart though and whilst my heart is ever so slightly broken I am so relieved to have found you out now before things have gone too far.

Please don’t try to find me, I am leaving the country within the next 5 minutes with husband number 18. It was a bit of a whirlwind romance but he has promised to look after me starting with taking me to warmer climes in his private jet. Did I mention that he is a world-renowned cosmetic surgeon? He has promised to remove all traces of Ann Widdicombe from my appearance and also to ensure I look more like the slimmer version of Dawn French than the, shall we say, more curvaceous version. Should we ever meet again I doubt that you will recognise me, and I think I might be careful to ensure that husband 18 doesn’t encounter any accidents for a while, he may well be a very useful man to have around.

So it is with some sadness (once again note the emphasis on some, i.e. I dabbed my dry eyes with a fine lace handkerchief, just for effect) that I bid you adieu.

Never to be yours,
Miss Jen aka the Black Widow

P.S. I have passed your home address and a copy of the large dossier that Interpol have on you (yes, your abuse of your position to lure unsuspecting innocent women into your boudoir, along with some of the less savoury practices that you employ there have been noted, along with photographic evidence that was quite eye opening) to Mrs Teapot’s husband. I have, of course, kept the original dossier to myself for insurance purposes. I also forwarded him the dossier that you had compiled on him and I understand he is involved with laying the foundations for a very large new retirement home that’s being built in the Yorkshire Dales so you may find yourself going on a one-way trip very soon. Bon voyage Mr Trawler.

[jen_jen]

Dearest Rusty,

I am so sorry, that last letter was much longer than I anticipated. I do hope that you managed to finish reading it before your horlicks took effect.

Yours affectionately,

Jen xx

[jen_jen]

Dearest Rusty,

I do hope that’s not too forward of me but each correspondence we exchange makes me feel increasingly close to you, almost as if I had known you for years. Your words paint a picture of you that no artist could ever hope to capture on canvas and each missive adds more features to be explored.

I do admire your attention to limiting your expenditure; I trust this means that you have sufficient funds deposited in case of a rainy day? I do think this is important when you don’t have any kith or kin to look after you in times of need. You did say that you weren’t close to your family didn’t you? I understand the loneliness that arises in such a situation as my family are no longer with us, however they did all make generous provision for me in their wills which softened the blow each time one of them had an accident. Its strange how all the family has been so accident prone apart from me, I guess that makes me the black sheep of the family. However I have now adopted the attitude that my friends are my family and I am lucky to have chosen loving and generous friends even if they all seem to be accident prone too. Unfortunately my one remaining living friend has decided to take out an injunction on me and has been spreading malicious untruths about my whereabouts when each of my much missed friends has met their end. I can only assume that she is jealous of the generosity that each showed me in their wills.

Regarding your Eau de Stilton, please elaborate; is it the Blue edition, the White edition, or the festive Fruity White edition? I have to admit that I didn’t expect to find another man with an epicurean taste in aftershaves after losing my 17th husband. Please tell me that you don’t have Eau de Marmite in your collection though as I have a large bottle left by him that is looking for an appreciative home, he only used it the once before choking to death in a manner quite unexplained.

Being the lady that I am I could not, of course, admit to knowing of the film that you allude to, indeed I must protest at such an insinuation and direct you to the Disney film of the same name. I do understand though that both films are loosely based on the same story and it may be interesting to make a comparison some time…only in the interests of broadening my knowledge you understand, not for any purposes of titillation. I cannot condone titillation outside of marriage which, of course, is conditional on a will being made that ensures that, as a loving wife, I am not left destitute should my beloved die before me.

With regards to the servicing, please don’t worry about that, I am a very capable woman with many contacts and I’ll soon have the matter in hand if you’re happy for me to take control in that area.

Did I tell you of my contacts in the art world? My sitting with Pablo Warhol is at his instigation as he has seen other paintings of me. I wonder if your playing card that reminds you of me might be based on one of those paintings? Andy Rubens captured my image so well, another man who was drawn to, and wanted to draw, my ample assets and he did so like me to dress up for him and he loved incorporating food into his art, I learnt so much about how to handle a Flake from him and he brought out my adventurous side although I did have to draw the line the day he brought a marrow into the studio. Your playing card could well have been one of his works.

Your skill in writing does entertain me, please don’t make me wait too long for you reply…oh dear, I did say I didn’t beg didn’t I? Look at the effect you’re having on my in such a short space of time. I am quite overcome!

Yours blushingly,
J xx

P.S. Don’t worry about Mrs T, I understand that since becoming a grandmother sales in gripe water have soared in her town and not much of it is taken by her grandchild. Not only that but her husband has taken to marking the sherry decanter. She did tell you about her husband didn’t she? I understand he is quite senior in the Yorkshire Mafia and may have had something to do with the recent beef burger scandal…whenever they do the horse head in the bed thing it’s his responsibility to dispose of the horse’s body. Say no more :wink:

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