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Mrs. Monk's Would-be Diary, should have been written by Mrs. Monk, since she is the "Writer" in the family.
However, since she is a writer only in the conceptual sense, I have undertaken to fill these pages on her behalf.
If not by her, these pages will certainly be about her, and other important matters of the day

Leslie Monk, the long suffering.

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12 Jan 2005
Mrs Monk was complaining today of a pain.
She has diagnosed the condition herself because she was brought up in a drug store.
She spent much of our usual Sunday journey to London shifting in her seat and agonising and groaning.
Furthermore, she continues her habit of sitting in the back seat of the car. This started before Christmas. She claims that she is uncomfortable, and indeed in pain in the front seat. Before Christmas it was a different unspecified ailment, but her current condition is an unmistakable pain in the arse.
She said that I must stop to buy some haemorrhoid cream.
I said, "Think of the embarrassment of asking"
She said, "I'll say it is for you"
In my capacity as chauffeur, I spent some time outside Selfridges waiting with the other chauffeurs reading the Sunday papers, and then outside the Hammersmith Apollo, while Mrs Monk bought tickets for Wilco in March, and then outside the Old Vic, while Mrs Monk bought tickets for a Kevin Spacey play, as yet not opened. (Possibly a turkey like his last production.)
As we stood at some traffic lights in the Holland Park / Notting Hill area, Mrs Monk pointed at a middle age man and a young skinny Caprice-like girl walking away from us. For some time as we stood there, we observed the man's hand, which remained on the young ladies butt the whole time; they were apparently unaware, or uninterested in the public spectacle that they were indulging in.
Mrs Monk complained, "Why don't you show me any attention like that anymore?"
"He is just looking for Haemorrhoids," I said.
We finally made our way to Tate Modern, where the Chauffeur was able to get out of the car for the first time.
We were in pursuit of espresso in the top floor cafe.
We got into a lift packed with strangers. I placed a hand on Mrs Monk's butt cheek, and if it weren't for Mrs Monks reaction, no one in the lift would have had any idea of what I was doing.

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