Not wishing to leave you all abandoned while I look after my sick mother in Marbella, I thought I'd regale you with a little traveller's tale.
My flight from Gatwick to Malaga was delayed by four hours. Not a great start but ever the opportunist, I made the most of it. Sitting at the next table in the cafe near the departure gate was a young chap, not handsome as such, but well built and fit - a personal trainer as it turned out. When the announcement of the delay came up on the screen, we caught each other's eyes and threw a look heavenwards. Five minutes later he was sitting at my table pouring me a vodka and tonic. Peasy! You just have to make a connection...
We spent the next three hours deep in conversation during which I told him about The Toyboy Diaries in which he was mightily intrigued. So much so that he dashed the three miles back to the Departure Lounge to pick up a copy from WHSmith which he returned brandishing like a trophy for me to sign for him. I don't know who was more pleased! Me for having made another sale and earned the 60p royalty, or him for having met an author and actually got her to autograph a copy of her oeuvre. Not only that, when he went to pay, the girl at the till commented that she was reading it and loving it! Another fan! Yay!
Eventually we boarded. I was in the sharp end and he was in seat 31D. The plane then sat on the tarmac for a further hour having missed its slot, during which time he texted to invite me to slum it down the back and I thought why not? The last five rows were empty so we spread ourselves out and continued our verbal intercourse.
I never ever drink alcohol on planes for but some reason, I made an exception and by the time we landed, we were like old friends with a promise of being new lovers.
It won't happen. I have in the past allowed Mr. Smirnoff to make important decisions for me but once he's exited my blood stream, good sense and propriety usually prevail. He's just along the coast and we may meet up over the weekend if time and geography allow.
The looking-after-Mother thing is a trial and a tribulation as I don't do Nursie Nursie very well, unless I'm decked out in Ann Summers' little white suspenders and minidress for a very special occasion.
Some light relief would be most welcome, and not beyond the realms of possibility but for now I'm playing The Good Daughter, a role which suits me Not At All.
My first toyboy Ricky (Chapter One) lives up the road and although he's married now, we are still in touch...
I'll keep you posted!