"Facebook, I am calling time on our affair."

Facebook, I am calling time on our affair, (she looks at the unhoovered carpet) we can still be friends.

(Facebook stares at the ground, grinding his jaw)

Oh don’t come over all gummy Facebook - it’s not me, it’s you. (She runs her hands through her unkempt hair – there are dark circles beneath where her eyes used to be) Okay, it’s us.

Look, Facebook, I’ll be Frank –

(Facebook looks up at her) Oh no not Frank anyone but Frank, you know how I hate the truth – how the world – hates the truth.

I’m sorry Facebook – you’ve driven me to this.

How? I thought we were in love? (Facebook winks a red eye at her)

We were – we are – it’s just – oh why do I have to spell it out? (her arms flail about) Can’t you just accept that it’s over? Even, now, I should be with my children -

But think of all the wild late nights, the euphoria of falling –

Yes, that’s it Facebook, I lost control – you made me lose control –

But that’s what falling in love is – the euphoria of falling – we were in this together. (Facebook gleams...blue...forbidden)

And them you bump your head…(she looks at him sadly, now, he just looks like a blue strapline: faceless)

(Facebook takes her by the shoulders) Don’t leave me!

(She folds her arms) Okay I’ll visit you once a week – as long as you promise not to try and contact me when I should be working or reading or stirring the cheese sauce, or –

That’s enough, I can’t take it any more! (he turns and flees, and as he does so, she relents, but only a little).

Okay, see you on the weekend! (shouts) And only on the weekend.

(Facebook exits stage left, sobbing)

She gazes through the window at him. He trips on the front lawn, one flip-flop bends under his foot. He picks it up, the ‘y’ strap is broken. He tosses it into a ridiculous hedge in the shape of – what? – something vaguely organic - and then then lifts his head and walks off flip-flopless on the back foot. I bet he’s seeing someone else, she thinks. *******.

Camus again?

It's the second month! Feb-rue-ary - and nothing to rue yet apart from the way I look in the mornings and the fact that me and my bed are like ships that just pass, and not even in the night. Into my second 'dry' month and it hasn't been dry - it's been rather productive. Hubster and me have been toiling away laying the groundwork for our business, which has involved removing rock and rubble in the heat and the sweat of the noonday sun with eagles calling over head and jackals crying out at night - metaphorically speaking of course - the only things that cry out at night (often at length) are our three little children.

Of course I have been trying to flog "Big Men's Boots" too (not gigantic footwear, but my latest novel - pop goes the glug, I mean plug, which does require gigantic footwear, metaphorically speaking - do buy a copy, we need the cash and it may just change your life) which has been keeping me in a tizzy, I mean busy. Yes, these are exciting times for us - or does the delirium arise from the fact that we get as much sleep in a week that most good folks ('good' as in good for purpose) get in a night?

Back to not having any wine and simultaneously not having any whine, though waxing on about it of course, for the purposes of this blog. Not having any wine at home (unless it's Christmas when we make up for the year - drinking wise - or foolishly, not relationship wise!) is not too difficult, as SSS (super-slim-superman- who shows me up all the time by just existing) and me don't often drink the stuff at home. I tend to only drink my glass of wine or three at social events in London - and dahling! London is a social whirl! 

Take my book club for instance: our book club, though marvellous on so many levels, is less about books (although it is the book that brings us together) and more about eating the gastronomic delights cooked at one of the book ladies' lovely houses - and plenty to do with wine. Historically (as it's now February) I have partaken of all three events: the book, the food, the wine. At the last event in January, however, I was an Outsider, just like the hero of the book we were reading, as I did not have any wine, rather I partook of the posh fizzy pop my wonderful friend provided for me and our other, totally teed, friend.

Reader, my dry discovery of the month was that I don't need a glass of wine (topped up...) to get into the jolly spirit of book club. I am happy to be an Outsider. Let's just hope I don't get hung for saying so - metaphorically speaking of course. Camus again?

PS Book is available at all good (as in good, because they stock my book) bookshops and internationally at all major bookshops or bookstores if you are of an American bent.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_13?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=emily+barroso&sprefix=emily+barroso%2Caps%2C238&rh=n%3A266239%2Ck%3Aemily+barroso