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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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C H R O N I C L E

Mrs Monk’s

Would-Be Diary

Co-op Drugs

11 March 2006

It snowed today, for the north wind did blow.

I settled onto the couch after our nice lamb cutlet dinner and a glass or two of red wine.

“Put your shoes on” demanded Mrs Monk, “My doctor said I should take a walk, every evening”

“Are we out of wine?” I said.

“No” she said.

There can only be one other explanation for a an unscheduled walk to the Co-op in a blizzard. “Have you run out of cigarettes?”, I said

Mrs Monk smokes one or two cigarettes a day, secretly. Secretly, not because I  disapprove, but because she does. I would rather enjoy her company and take my chances with the secondary choke of a Marlborough lite, than sit on the couch without her, and have her banished to scullery black hole to indulge in her dark habit.

Mrs Monk’s doctor may not have approved of this form of exercise but nevertheless, we wrapped up and got ourselves ready for the north wind; the red wine prepared us for the worst.

Halfway to the High street, Mrs Monk reversed her decision and insisted we return to the house, because it was too cold to go on for cigarettes, muttered something about finally giving up, but then half way back to the house, we tacked once more in the direction of the Co-op, the drug-pushing Co-op.

The Co-op is the after hours oasis of our Saturday nights where essential commodities are conveniently dispensed: milk, eggs and news, and red and white wine, plonk that sustains the correct balance of affordability and drink-ability. And cigarettes.

More often than not, Mrs Monk is obliged to receive her drug from one of her many former students, many of whom seemed to have found themselves gainfully employed at the check-outs. All of them seem to admire her, and regard her as the best teacher they ever had.

“Sure?” I say

“No, really”, they say.

So it must be true.

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“My doctor said I should take a walk, every evening”

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