The Darker Side of Mummy Misfit #2 Read Online Free PDF

and I knew that it was definitely one event we wouldn’t be taking on, but we’ve volunteered ourselves for various tasks leading up to the day and for the event itself.
     
    SO … it was a rather large meeting with a lot of rather large egos.  I almost choked on the liberal splashes of designer perfume - a cocktail of everything from Prada to Chanel.  All for Mr Rooney’s benefit of course - and most definitely not for Letchy.
     
    The pungent cloud didn’t do Fenella much good either and she kept having to excuse herself to go and chuck.  Bloody drama queen, she can’t possibly still be that sick.
     
    So that meant, without ‘Gob Almighty’ by my side, I had to try to keep the meeting in order.
     
    Impossible!   After listening to Barbie droning on about her imminent boob job, watching Letchy drool and Shergar and Dress-up Mummy competing over the size of their conservatories, I finally snapped.
     
    Fenella came back from her fifth trip to the loo to hear me in full rant.
     
    “For God’s sake,” (I think that’s how I started) “Will you all shut the fuck up so that we can get on with this and go home.  WE DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR TITS OR YOUR BOTOX OR YOUR BLOODY POLISH BUILDERS.  We just want to get on with the important stuff and raise some sodding money.  What’s wrong with you all?”
     
    I vaguely remember Mr Rooney shuffling uncomfortably in his chair and Letchy clearing his throat to speak.
     
    Knowing he’d had nothing worthwhile to contribute in the past, I decided I didn’t want to stick around to hear what he had to say, picked up my files and my semi-designer bag and left them to it.
     
    Great start to my position of power!
     
    I even tripped as I left - clumsy cow.
     
    Thursday 9 th October
     
    OK, OK I’m not proud of myself and I just know I’m going to be the ‘goss on the gates’ for a while but what can I do?
     
    I also feel really mean for calling Fenella ‘Gob Almighty’ (even if I didn’t do it to her face) cos she’s not.  I’m just mean and bitter and twisted right now.
     
    Ned just gave me a slightly bemused look when I told him about my blow-up.
     
    “Well, there’s not much you can do about it now, is there Lib?  Everyone must know you’ve been under a bit of strain at the moment - it’ll soon blow over.”
     
    That was our baby we lost - not “a bit of strain”.
     
    Oh, I hate everyone at the moment but most of all I hate myself and my body for letting me down.
     
    Friday 10 th October
     
    Popped in to Mrs S for a cup of tea and a chat this afternoon.  Bloody Gestapo was there with Pritesh.  Still finding it hard to get my head around the fact that they’re together - such an odd mix - but he looks like the cat who got the cream and at least he’ll leave me alone now.
     
    Mrs S was a little less confused and happy to have company.  She says she’s teaching Desmond, her new canary, to whistle ‘Copacabana’ but I don’t think she’s having much success.  She still talks fondly of Bazzer, her beloved (deceased) budgie, but always whispers if in Desmond’s earshot.
     
    “I am very much thinking that Desmond is not quite as bright in the head as my dear Bazzer but it was so kind of Skunk to be buying him for me that I will do my best to teach him to be a clever birdie.”
     
    Gestapo piped up with, “Oh Mrs S, you’re such a hoot, darling.  It’s a frickin’ bird in a cage.  What do you imagine you’re going to train him to do?  Roll out your tasteless chapatis or chop a chilli or two?”
     
    I was about to rush to Mrs S’s rescue with a particularly barbed comment (the upside of my black mood is that I don’t give a flying toss) but Mrs S was in like a shot.
     
    “My dear, you are only welcome in this house because my son is foolish enough to let you be putting your fake claws into him but, if you are finding it too difficult to be treating an old lady and her birdie with respect, you can be sticking your plastic