After just over two months of marriage Mr Jones has abandoned me for the wilds of Kent. He's been gone for what seems like weeks but is actually only 24 hours, leaving his forlorn wife and two cats to fend for themselves. It is a true tragedy - made worse by the fact that he is incapable of having a telephone conversation.
It is a truth universally acknowledged between members of the fairer sex that gentlemen these days are to be found lacking in the conversational arts - especially over the telephone.
Face to face you can hardly shut them up - especially if their vocal cords have been recently lubricated with something alcoholic. But wave a phone in front of their face and their talent for idle chit chat miraculously disappears into the ether. The same thing happens if you try to engage them in a tete a tete while Top Gear, The Grand Prix or Deadliest Catch are on the television. (Put Neighbours on however and they don't shut up - clearly unaware that it is vital that you establish just what Lynn thinks she's doing try to bribe Paul yet again!)
He promises to be home at some point tomorrow evening to give me his undivided attention (until he heads out to play football - lucky me!) - until then I shall have to make do with a brief and distracted telephone call. Clearly Kent holds many distraction - or perhaps they watch a lot of Top Gear.
Mrs Jones is a far from yummy mummy with a penchant for M&S fudge bars and a mojito on a Friday night. She became Mrs Jones in 2009 and a mummy in 2010. In 2011 she is attempting to remember her own name and not put washing powder in the dishwasher....