Chick-Lit By Any Other Name 2

By Maureen Reil

Six degrees of separation just got a whole lot smaller in this humorous collection of eighteen, amusing short stories. As we return to Tanglewood town and reconnect with the ladies whose daily lives we glimpsed into last time. Where funny, intertwining tales follow on from our previous visit, but take place a couple of months down the line.

We start with Jane, who's got herself a new boyfriend. But will Leo turn out to be one dog too many to handle? And we end it with the 'Cougar' who opens up her own dating club. But will she find a cub to keep her warm at night?

Love, laughter and life are what it's all about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maureen Reil
• Release date: Jul 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476078915

Maureen Reil

Maureen Reil writes comic commercial fiction and has had over 35 books published, so far, but she's always working on a new manuscript so she wishes to add to that tally with lots of new titles before she's done and dusted. She was born in the city of Liverpool and resides in semi-rural Lancashire UK, but longs to live by the sea. It was always a dream of hers to become a novelist and thanks to her readers, she has fulfilled that ambition, so she couldn't be more grateful if she tried. And Maureen hopes you enjoying reading her books as much as she enjoys writing them.

Book preview

Chick-Lit By Any Other Name

2

By Maureen Reil

Copyright ©2012 Maureen Reil

Updated Edition 2021

This book is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Maureen Reil asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Also by the author Maureen Reil

Chick-Lit By Any Other Name (Chick-Lit Collection)

Lily Loves To Love

Sleepyhead Shares A Secret

I Hate Me, Who Do You Hate?

I Did Write What I Know

Chick-Lit Saved My Life (Chick-Lit Trilogy book 1)

Chick-Lit Stole My Life (Chick-Lit Trilogy book 2)

Chick-Lit Staged My Life (Chick-Lit Trilogy book 3)

Chick-Lit Collection

Chick-Lit Trilogy

Mistletoe And Wine (Christmas Comedy Trilogy)

Mistletoe And Wine 2 (Christmas Comedy Trilogy)

Mistletoe And Wine 3 (Christmas Comedy Trilogy)

Christmas Comedy Trilogy

Let’s Get Married (Let’s Get Funny Fiction)

Let’s Get Together (Let’s Get Funny Fiction)

Let’s Get It Started (Let’s Get Funny Fiction)

Let’s Get Serious (Let’s Get Funny Fiction)

Let’s Get Ready To Rumble (Let’s Get Funny Fiction)

Let’s Get Physical (Let’s Get Funny Fiction)

The Finch Family Short Break (Comical Vacations Book 0)

The Finch Family Holiday 1 (Comical Vacations)

The Finch Family Holiday 2 (Comical Vacations)

The Finch Family Holiday 3 (Comical Vacations)

The Finch Family Holiday 4 (Comical Vacations)

The Finch Family Holiday 5 (Comical Vacations)

The Finch Family Easter Holiday 6 (Comical Vacations)

The Finch Family Bank Holiday 7 (Comical Vacations)

The Finch Family Christmas Holiday 8 (Comical Vacations)

A Granny Is For Life, Not Just Christmas

Let’s Get Funny Fiction 1 (Three-Book Bundle)

Let’s Get Funny Fiction 2 (Three-Book Bundle)

Let’s Get Funny Fiction (Six-Book Box Set)

Comical Vacations 1 (Three-Book Bundle)

Comical Vacations 2 (Three-Book Bundle)

Comical Vacations 3 (Three-Book Bundle)

Christmas Crackers

Wed To The Wrong Wayne

The Desperate Dater’s Intervention

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

Things Can Only Get Better

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Luck Had Nothing To Do With It

Dedicated to my nieces and nephews

Stuart, Nikki, Lyndsay, Samantha, Scott,

Suzanne, Daniel and all their families

CONTENTS

Who Let The Dogs Out?

Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman?

Can I Kick It?

Didn’t We Almost Have It All?

Where Did Our Love Go?

Who Do You Think You Are?

Why Does It Always Rain On Me?

Don’t You Want Me?

What’s Going On?

Wouldn’t It Be Nice?

How Am I Supposed To Live Without You?

When Will I Be Famous?

What’s New Pussycat?

How ‘Bout Us?

Could It Be I’m Falling In Love?

Who’s Sorry Now?

Could It Be Magic?

Are You Lonesome Tonight?

Who Let The Dogs Out?

Leo relentlessly chases my tan coloured dog called Junior around the grass in Tanglewood Park with much enthusiasm, but fails miserably to catch him and make the disobedient animal drop the ball. I don’t know who was enjoying it more, my boyfriend or the mutt. It was making me feel quite dizzy just watching them as they go in circles – never mind joining in but I’d thought it was the dog – who was supposed to fetch the ball and not the person throwing it. I wish that I could control Leo half as much as the dog seems to, when it gets him to play some more instead of sitting down. That hound is spoiled rotten and I’m to blame for trying to make-up for the type of life that he’d had before I got him from the rescue centre. I’m still waiting for someone to rescue me by the way and spoil me rotten. Will it ever happen? I won’t hold my breath.

‘Leo, come and eat something before the bloody ants take over everything,’ I shout, whilst checking my ankle again because I’ve already squashed a few that’d actually crawled onto me and now, it’s making me itch all over as I think I’m starting to come out in hives.

‘Yeah, yeah, in a minute . . . the dog’s not even tired yet,’ he replies and continues to run ragged with his new ‘pal for life’.

The dog may not be tired but I am, of sharing what little time we have together seeing as we’d ended up cutting our picnic today from a whole afternoon to a mere lunch hour. And after which, we ‘were’ supposed to be going to an exhibition of everlasting love at the Tanglewood town museum seeing as I’d bought two tickets to see the travelling, Antony & Cleopatra Egyptian showcase. It was a romantic surprise for Leo but now that he can’t go, who will have the other ticket since I can’t very well bring the dog along instead. Can I? I hate going to these types of things alone and maybe if I donned some shades, I could pass Junior off as a guide dog. But then again, why would I be going along in the first place if I couldn’t see it?

The reason for Leo having to get back to work so soon was something to do with his boss turning up in the office earlier on. The foreigner from the eastern bloc known as ‘The Silver Fox’ was scheduled to be away at a conference, but it got abandoned because of a bomb scare. And this in turn, turned not only their plans into turmoil but ours too. This then forced Leo to cancel his pre-booked time off in order to cover for the assistant to the boss seeing as she’s laid up and resting. (I wish I was in bed as well, with Leo of course.) Marci – who’s about mid thirties – has a bad back. It’s never been the same since that day at the team building event when she’d landed funny, after trying her hand at some acrobatics on the flying trapeze. And who’d have thought that a soft net, along with the added bonus of a safety robe would hurt so much. Well, Marci didn’t think it dangerous that’s for sure or she wouldn’t have tried it. And as a result, her back has become very weak and the discs slip out of line easier than clay pigeons leaving that trap machine.

Poor Leo feels responsible – for it was him who’d encouraged her to have a go – seeing as the boss was impressed with all the others who’d bravely tried it. It seems they were more scared of the bossy boss than the dizzy heights. And it might have impressed him enough to move Marci up the ladder, but instead she came down one at the event when they’d had to place a back board on her. As they then dragged Marci off the bouncing surface in order to whisk her away to hospital. She’s never been the same since and here’s the rub, it means more work for Leo which also means the less I’ll see of him.

I’ve never said – I love you to anyone and I don’t think I ever will at this stage in my dating history – the rate it’s going. These days, I daren’t even look at a wedding dress for fear of it jinking my chances of ever wearing one. And it’s funny how your priorities change when you get a pet because I was never one for the fairytale before but lately, it’s like I need to provide a stable home for my dog. It’s almost as if I’ve become the alpha female and at the moment, Junior thinks that he’s my alpha male. He sleeps on my bed most days and follows me around like a lap dog and I wish Leo felt the same. (I always have to push Junior on top of the duvet, despite his repeated attempts at crawling under it in a bid to snuggle up next to me and I only beg that my boyfriend was as keen to do this, but he’s not.)

The strange thing is, I’ve been thinking of settling down a lot recently and what’s that all about? I’ll want kids next and I never did before. Is this that age thing which people talk about, the ticking time bomb of a woman’s womb? It can’t possibly be that – because I’m hardly at the menopausal zone yet – having not even reached anywhere nearing thirty. So it must be the other thing that greatly affects women through no fault of their own and of which, they have absolutely no guard against whatsoever. It must be love. Oh my God! No, it can’t be. Leo doesn’t feel that deeply and it has to be a two way thing, right? Well saying that, Leo does express that he ‘loves’ me but he’s not ‘in love’ with me. And here’s me, thinking that they were one and the same thing. I’m confused, I guess.

The next thing I notice happening here, is that a group of ants are carting their ill-gotten gains away and if we get many more of these pesky insects, then I might not even be here by the time my boyfriend finally decides to come on over. No, I wasn’t implying that I’d be carried off like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter by the tiny critters. I mean, I know the little buggers are strong but come on; I must weigh a ton where they’re concerned. And if I hear anybody snigger then I will cry – seeing as it’s a bit of a sore point – because my last boyfriend Jason called me ‘a fat bitch’ when I’d left him and that was one of the nicer names. But no matter how I try to turn it into a term of endearment, I can’t and it sticks in my gut like a knife. (Be it a slightly bigger gut than I’d prefer to have and perhaps, I should lay off the cupcakes.)

Christ, we’ll have to pack up soon since Leo has to get back to work and we’ve hardly even spoken, never mind anything else. And then he bounds towards me – out of breath and panting hard with his tongue hanging out for extra breathing space in his mouth – before plonking down on the green, tartan picnic blanket. (I mean Leo by the way and not the dog.) The animal soon follows suit and drops the saliva ridden ball right into my lap, all because he’s ready and waiting to go again and Junior obviously thinks it’s my turn to play with him. I wish my new boyfriend thought the same but he’s insisting that we take it ‘slow’ since it’ll mean more when we do indeed, do the deed. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to get your body taken out of your control by someone else. I don’t mind admitting that I miss it and I miss the intimacy that it brings about between two people who aren’t missing out.

Leo meanwhile is looking the worse for wear – so I don’t think he’ll be getting up this side of Christmas by the way his body has gone completely limp as he collapses back onto the blanket – with all his limbs stretched out and frankly digging into mine. A steady stream of ants makes his acquaintance and he doesn’t even flinch when they crawl across his hand and up his exposed forearm where his sleeve was rolled up. The patterned tie is also loosened and the top buttons are open. He’d left his jacket with me, to mind, like I don’t have enough to do already because I’m supposed to be relaxing too and not worrying about his clothing. I wondered if he was scared of the ants getting it but it’s too late, for I think they already have. Leo should shake it well down before he puts it back on. I want to cuddle up to him but not the ants, so I don’t bother.

‘Oh great . . . look what he’s done. I was planning to wear these trousers to the exhibition and now I look like I’ve had an accident.’

‘You’re still going along then . . . without me?’

‘Of course I am. I’ve nothing better to do and I don’t want to waste the tickets,’ I reply and then realise that maybe, I should have said that I didn’t want to go without him but would that make me needy?

‘Right you are and don’t worry, it’ll dry . . . given time,’ Leo replied but wasn’t even looking, having turned over on his side and being thoroughly distracted by the ants that are now crawling over the crusts which I’d carelessly dropped earlier on to the grass beside us.

‘I could always, not go . . . if you really want me to.’

‘No, no you go . . . enjoy yourself as you think of me busy slaving away at my desk at work,’ he replies. I hope he’s not miffed about it.

‘I’ll try,’ I stress with a frown, because I really wanted us to go together. I then wriggle about in a hopeless effort to get the damn ball off my legs, but it only makes for more marks on my pale summer trousers while I try not to touch it with my fingers. I’m about to eat one of the scotch eggs and I think that Junior thinks it’s just another ball that he can play with.

‘You’ve gone quiet . . . God you’re always so miserable lately. What’s wrong with you?’ Leo asks, but still doesn’t look my way as a couple of people walking past then take his attention from me.

‘I’m not miserable and there’s nothing wrong with me that a rock on my finger won’t fix . . .’ I blurted out, but didn’t mean to.

But thinking about it – perhaps it’s better that he knows the whole truth about how upset I am – that he probably won’t ever marry me in the long run and I’m surely wasting my time with him. We’ve been together for a few months now and I know that doesn’t sound like a lot and it’s not, but we were together for years before Jason came on the scene. Leo is my ‘new’ boyfriend, but also my ex-boyfriend and we thought that we’d give it another shot. I hope it works out this time. I’m definitely over his drunken one night stand. I found it easy to forgive him; since I don’t think he’ll do it again unlike some I could mention here (meaning Jason). It was far simpler for me to hook-up with someone I already knew, as opposed to trying my luck with a newbie. I’m not that confident with my taste in men anymore and besides, it feels very familiar to be in his arms once more. (Not that I’m in them at present but you get the gist of what I’m on about.)

‘You know my position . . . it’s not that I don’t want to get married one day. But I want to make something of myself first. And then, I promise that I’ll make an honest woman of you, if we’re still together.’ The words are coming out of his mouth and not tape recorded from our last encounter on the subject all those years ago. But as he still doesn’t look at me, I can’t tell whether he really means it. I’m just not sure about him, about me, about us.

‘How do I know, you’re not just fobbing me off with more romantic intentions just so that I’ll stop going on about it?’

‘You have to trust me that’s all,’ he replies and pats my hand. He pats the dog even more and I think Junior has got more chance of marrying him at this stage in our relationship, than I have.

‘We’ve been invited to another wedding and I’ve got to wear lavender. All our friends and family are getting married, but we’re no further along than we were last time. Sometimes, I think you want a mate and not a wife.’ It’s my turn to look away. But this gives him the chance to change the subject since I took the pressure off with my eyes and made it less intense, therefore, less important.

‘Lavender, that’ll clash with your red hair. Do they have one of those annoying gift lists that they want us to buy a present from?’

‘Yeah, they do and I agree. It was more fun if not practical according to my mother when you got seventeen toasters and thirteen coffee pots and two dozen, handmade cushions from Granny. And didn’t have a clue what to do with the ghastly, china ornament of the woman with her dog.’ I recalled that my mother had to pretend that she liked it enough to proudly show it off, so as not to offend anyone. But what about offending our taste in object d’art?

‘She could have given it to you. You’re dog mad these days, aren’t you?’ he jokes and I have to agree with the last bit of that statement but jeez, I don’t want it and Leo smiles to make me smile (despite myself trying my hardest not to). And I know that there is no point in trying to discuss it any further, so I don’t. Talk about a rollover, because I’ve done more than the European lottery.

‘Huh, I remember a time when I didn’t want dogs or kids or marriage, come to that . . .’ I trailed off since I wasn’t going to mention it anymore. I didn’t last long. Did I?

‘Yeah, I recall that you said that you’d rather be boiled alive then wear a meringue looking dress just to end up being a man’s slave.’ I notice that the couple (who are sadly dressed in the exact same colours) across the way stop walking to have a smooch; they have rings on their fingers and don’t look like they’re feeling the strain of those shackles. In fact the opposite, they are clearly bonded by love.

I wish Leo would just shut up and kiss me too – right out of the blue and I know it wouldn’t be a surprise – since I willed it to happen. But on the other hand, it would be because I don’t really believe it will take place. But he doesn’t pucker up. So many missed opportunities, so many missed cases of making it all right and so many missed chances of making me fall for him again. I do love him, of course but I want to feel that feeling of being smitten with someone. I used to feel it for Leo and him for me, but I think it got lost somewhere along the way.

Only, I’m convinced that we could get it back, if we made everything official. We’d get caught up in all the romance of an engagement and have to be ‘in love’ then – in order to make it realistic – even for us. Wouldn’t we? Oh I don’t know anything anymore. I’m just down in the dumps and wanting my stagnant life to take another change in direction, just to move things on a bit and make it more interesting I suppose. Perhaps, I should face facts and Leo probably isn’t my fairytale prince after all. Never mind being on different planets, we’re on different pages of different books here.

These bloody scotch eggs were Leo’s only contribution to our little picnic, since we’d agreed to both bring something to eat and drink (which he’d completely forgotten about and we’d get mighty thirsty if I did too). He must have grabbed these stale things from the garage shop whilst filling up with petrol on the way here. I give it to Junior in the end – the dog sniffs it first and then gobbles it up in the blink of an eye – just in case I change my mind and suddenly want it back. I don’t. I didn’t even really want it in the first place but thought it would be polite to at least try them, since Leo had made the effort and I wanted to encourage him to make more in future.

‘Dude . . . what are you doing?’ I ask my boyfriend as he sticks his finger in his mouth to wet it and then Leo holds it up to the sky and points upwards at nothing in particular. I did look, just in case. Well you do, don’t you? It could have been a meteorite that was about to land on my head. Only I’d want more of a shout out if it were, for I’m not ready to die. I can’t be outlived by my dog, it’s not right and it’s not right for the mutt to mourn me and not the other way around. Indeed, I should make out a will and leave everything to Junior. Note to self, how ‘sad’ do I have to be to do that?

‘I’m seeing if the wind has picked up. It has . . . I wish I had time to fly a kite but I’ve got to get back,’ replies Leo and the wind isn’t the only thing to pick up, since my boyfriend has also got his second one by the looks of it. As Leo tosses the ball and races after it one last time. Why couldn’t he have said that he’d like to spend the excess of energy on me instead of a kite, if only, he’d had the time?

I usually love his endless, boyish charms and lust for life – which always sees to it that he has to fill up every free minute with doing the fun stuff in life – if ever he gets the chance. But not today for some reason, since it’s getting right on my nerves. I just wish that he’d sit quietly with me or spend time talking to me and paying attention to me, for once. Oh all right, it’s all about me, me, me I know. But I feel like I really need a bit of ‘TLC’ at the moment and Leo doesn’t seem to see the signs. I am further down in that pit of doom and gloom than I thought. Aren’t I? Come on girl, buck up for Christ’s sake or you’ll lose him altogether, especially, if you insist on playing the miserable cow to the bitter end. I tell myself this as a bit of a pep talk and whether it works or not is another story.

Having arrived at the museum, I’m standing in line behind a couple of people and the tasty bloke at the front seems to have lost his ticket. He’s trying to buy another one by the looks of it, but they’re sold out according to the sign at the entrance and they won’t let him in without one. I see this as an opportunity with added bonus points to 1) me jumping the queue and 2) me making the acquaintance of said hunk as well as 3) me getting to the toilet, since I’m itching more than my dog does in his downstairs area when covered in pollen. And I can but pray it’s only pollen, but how did it get into my knickers?

And I get to do my good and generous deed for the day in the process, so that Karma will look favourably on me in the future. Thereby I race to the front and casually drop the two tickets on the desk, like I do this kind of thing all the time. I nod at the guy and he smiles to show me that he’s grateful and it’s only then that my heart truly notices him. He’s really hot – not the pretty boy looks of Leo or the muscle-bound macho Jason but the sheer manly looks of a worldly man – who knows a thing or two about how to treat a lady. And believe me; we could all do with some of that now and again.

Leo and I are not really committed to anything serious, despite the ‘wedding talk’ since we’re ‘just-seeing-how-things-go’. But surely this guy standing before me, wouldn’t be interested in my curves and limited resources and intellect. I bet he likes them thin, rich and knowing the full family tree of this Egyptian dynasty. Was Cleo, King Tut’s mother? Christ, I don’t tick any of these boxes but I did do some research before I turned up. I’m not that thick when it comes to impressing the blokes, mainly for Leo’s sake. But since he’s not here, I totally wasted my time watching that old movie. Perhaps – if I add some well known British wit to the list then maybe he’ll get my sense of humour and I could literally laugh him into bed – only he could be foreign and then I’m snookered by all accounts. So he simply won’t ‘get’ me and think me barking mad instead.

In the meantime, I can’t hang about and wait for him to thank me. I’ve got to find a toilet pronto and luckily, there is one handily by the entrance so I dash in there. I don’t care if it’s a disabled one; I’ll just put on a limp like I often do when I park in the disabled zones if in a dash to pick up one measly item. (I know, even that’s bad but I am human and I am flawed, so what else can I say in my defence?) And besides, I prefer a roomy loo seeing as it’s so much better than the usual coffin restraints of a public toilet cubicle. Only – as I limp towards the door and scratching my derriere for all I’m worth – then it’s probably not going to win me any hearts and minds from the opposite sex at this direct moment. Shame really because I quite fancied that bloke. Oh well, I shouldn’t be looking really since I do have a boyfriend and it could go somewhere. Given time, right?

Oh my God, there are ants in my pants and after flicking them on the tiled floor and killing the little buggers with my shoe. I need to wash myself down below just to feel fresh again. But this place doesn’t have a bidet, so I have to improvise as I squat over the basin. Good job it’s slightly lower for wheelchair users, so I can easily do this. Only, it was the turning on of the taps and trying to douse oneself in soapy water that started the problem. And I didn’t mean to grab hold of the emergency pull cord switch – but I was making something of a wet mess – which made me slip and slide. And being perched precariously on top of the basin, well put it this way, I nearly ended up impaled on the lever chrome taps with the easy push on/off handles for arthritic hands.

The light in the spacious room began to flicker a red colour and I wondered what the hell I’d done, seeing as a buzzer also rang out and I didn’t have time to either a) get off the damn sink or b) pull my pants back up before the man on reception rushed in through the door with his pass key and the aim of coming to my rescue. Now I know that I said earlier on that I wanted to be rescued but come on, not like this. It’s totally embarrassing to say the least. The wide door remains wide open and the wide queue of wide people outside are looking in with wide eyes, because they don’t quite understand what I’m doing. And I want to give the whole incident a wide berth.

‘I had ants in my pants . . . I’d been on a picnic . . .’ I say out loud by way of explanation.

‘What . . . and you’re trying to drown them?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, they can probably swim.’

‘Are you asking me to get them out for you?’ he enquires and I know the staff here, claim to be the really helpful kind but surely that’s beyond the call of duty.

‘What? No, of course not . . . I just grabbed the pull switch by accident. But I don’t need any help. I’m fine, really I am so if you’ll be so kind as to close the door then I can get off this thing, in private.’

‘OK, if you’re sure that you don’t need me to guide you off it then I’ll get back to reception.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure. Now go, leave me alone thanks. I’ll manage,’ I reply and smile to show that I’m genuinely all right, a little bit red in the cheeks perhaps but otherwise perfectly fine.

I leave that room in a rush and in my haste; I completely forget to limp out of there until that is, I then spot the guy on reception and he’s looking at me funny. Oh great, he’s our tour guide too. Now, I’ll have to keep this up throughout my time here. As I promptly fall into line behind the hunk (who I gave a ticket to) as we gather around the family tree which is depicted on a screen and it’s all computerized. This isn’t very Egyptian if you ask me, I mean I know they were an advanced nation but really, they didn’t invent the computer. Did they? The list is huge and I haven’t heard of most of them, bar five or six. A lot of them were repeated and they kept the same names down through the generations, just to confuse us all. And here’s me thinking that they wanted immortally, if not originality. I think the music stars have more chances nowadays of being remembered long after they’ve gone. We do have the ‘Hall Of Fame’ for a very good reason you know.

And it turns out that Cleo isn’t King Tut’s mother after all because there was a hell of a lot of time between them being alive, since he came a long way before her. She was the last pharaoh by the way, so I have learned something already. And it’s not even that other famous one – the one that I can’t remember the name of and I should have worn my glasses if we’re going to be reading things at a distance – because I’m squinting like I’m looking at a solar eclipse. (Don’t try this at home folks because you’ll go blind. I mean looking at the sun obviously and not the pharaoh chart, mind you, the print is quite small so I’ll give you that for nothing).

‘Good afternoon everyone, gather round . . . don’t be shy. I’m Richard and I’m your volunteer guide for this event so if you have any questions, then please feel free to ask me anything.’

‘Excuse me, what was the name of that famous one with the bust?’ I ask whilst holding my hand up at the back and it feels like being in class, only we’re standing instead of sitting down (more’s the pity).

‘Are we talking Egyptian pharaohs, or country singers?’ he enquires with a small chuckle in a bid to lighten the serious mood.

‘I don’t mean boobs. I mean that beautiful, figurehead statue thingy,’ I explain and I am taking this seriously, so that I can report back to Leo and sound smart for once in my life.

‘Oh you mean, Nefertiti.’

‘Yeah, that’s the one . . . was she, King Tut’s mum?’

‘No, no . . . she was married to his father and King Tutankhamun married her daughter, being his half-sister.’

‘What, he married his own sister?’

‘Yes, his half-sister but incest was considered the done thing in those days since they’d believed that they were descended from the gods and the royal bloodline was sacred, only to be shared with others bearing the same prestige and privilege.’

‘Well that’s no excuse,’ I retorted and sniggered since I never knew that.

‘It helped to contribute in part to their undoing, since it presented them with all kinds of health problems as a result. But of course they didn’t know better in those days,’ replies Richard, looking around to see if anyone else had any more questions. They don’t, just me then.

‘So, Richard . . . let me get this straight. Was Antony related to Cleopatra then?’

‘No, no . . . Antony was Roman, not Egyptian. I was just about to explain where he came into it. If you’ll follow me, then I will also show you what the couple actually looked like . . . on some coins that we have over here,’ says Richard. I stick behind that hunky guy, because I don’t want him to see me limping.

‘My god, they’re ugly . . . they look nothing like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton,’ I say loudly. It just slipped out before I could stop it.

‘Yes, most people are shocked when they see that they were no beauties. But they were very powerful and they were very charming and they were very much in love,’ states Richard and then, going on to tell us about the painting which is hanging on the wall beside him.

And that’s when it started again, the incessant itching I mean. Christ, I must have more of those bloody ants on me as my back and arms and legs suddenly feel rather irritated by this bodily invasion. I try my hardest to ignore it of course – but you can only put up with it for so long and before you know it – you’re doing so much jerking about and sudden hand movements that’s it not long before you draw severe attention to yourself, whether you want it or not.

‘Are you all right at the back?’ asks Richard and I didn’t want the hunky guy to see me struggling with this but he turns around anyway, so he does. Well, he’d