Sunday Lunch

Next day Gay John is coming up to Oxford to see house as I feel the need to prove to him that Oxford is not a ‘small village’ and that I have not moved to a backwater swamp. I get up early to go and get food to make in gorgeous kitchen overlooking the river. I decide to make a courgette and Boursin soup that I saw Nigella had recommended to start and then delicious wintery carby pie with mash and peas.

I still have no money cards however. This is a concern as can not buy pastry for pie or ingredients for delicious buttery mash. I go into the main bedroom where Jake sleeps. It smells like booze and fags and I curl nose in disgust even though this is probably what my own room smells like of a morning. I ask him if I can please borrow some money. ‘No’ he says, ‘you have to learn a lesson about gallivanting around and being hopeless’. I tell him hysterically that ‘I learned that lesson when I was outside in the rain with more than I could carry and no freaking HELP’ I say. ‘I don’t have any cash’ he says. ‘Fine I will take your card’ I say. ‘You cant use another persons card’ he says. He is stuck in ancient England where he thinks that a money card is like a cheque and its forgery if you use someone elses. ‘I will just take some cash out’ I say. ‘I can’t give you my pin number!’ he says in horror. I decide yelling in anger all the time is negative so instead I have decided to be passive aggressive and annoy him in other ways. I go downstairs and make tiny rips with my fingernails in all his tea bags subtly so they ruin his cups of tea. This is actually quite a time consuming activity but I persevere.

I find old outdated chequebook in my room and decide to shop at dodgy backstreet greengrocers where they accept cheques. I ring Gay John on my way back from the greengrocers. ‘Bring with you some cash for me’ I say. ‘I left my cards behind the bar a few nights ago’. ‘Why cant your country backwater boyfriend help you out?’ he asks. ‘Because he is a tight English cunt’ I say. Am very aggressive towards the English at the moment.

Spend LOVELY morning making a chicken and mushroom pie. Make a delicious white sauce with herbs and spices and mix in onions and sautéed mushrooms of various types. It is cold and bright outside and inside the kitchen windows are all steamy. I sip wine and stir things with glee. I put the pie in the oven, blend the courgettes for the soup and leave it simmering and make a delicious mash with mustard and butter and lots of cracked pepper.

Gay John arrives and he has bought beautiful creamy lemon cheesecake for desert. He says its horribly rainy out here in the ‘middle of nowhere’ so he has not had a chance to stop and get me cash. I leave him and Jake to have a drinky and I finish the lunch. Jake of course is happy to eat the delicious food, just not happy to put any money towards it or pick up a fork and help make it.

While I yell from the kitchen about how I lost my cards and have no cash Gay john says he will pop out now while I finish up lunch and get me some cash. Jake asks him to get him some cigarettes while he is out. Gay John says ‘no, cigarettes are disgusting and how about while YOU are out getting fags YOU get some cash for your girlfriend?’ Gay John can be quite direct. Jake does not agree to this but they discuss it and they both end up going out for a walk. I stay in the kitchen with the lovely pie and let it sit, while I spoon the creamy courgette soup into bowls. Then I have a lovely glass of red wine and gaze out at the river waiting for them. I have moment of wondering why they are taking so long and think perhaps Gay John has converted Jake to gayness and they are having lovely gay bum sex somewhere. Oooo totally hope so. This would solve all my problems.

They arrive back and Gay John comes in and hisses that Jake just ‘stood there completely nonchalant while I got cash out for you - it is like Carrie says on sex in the city - I kept waiting for the great moment of shame that never came’.

We sit down for the delicious carby lunch of carbyness. I bitch at Jake all through lunch as he eats it, doesn’t compliment it and doesn’t help dish up. Gay john says we are like Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor and that our living situation is a car crash.

After lunch to negate the fullness I walk gay john to the station and wave him off. ‘Off you go back to your cold loveless home now’ he says, laughing manically. Then I do indeed go back to the cold loveless home, and set up the spare room to be my separate room. I am still full from lunch so have no dinner but have had over a million calories today so hardly a saving.