The Not So Secret Emails Of Coco Pinchard

TO:rosencrantzpinchard@gmai.com: Something's wrong! The house is shaking! TO:rosencrantzpinchard@gmail.com: Well can you turn down the volume on Star Trek:Voyager? I thought we were having an earthquake when the Enterprise hit Warp speed. Why did you let me sleep until nearly one?

Thursday 1st January 00:15 TO: chris@christophercheshire.com Fireworks from the London Eye are bursting above my head filling the garden with reds, yellows and blues, but I am on my own. I don’t know where Daniel is. He promised he would be home by eleven. Happy New Year x

I unzipped my boots but they wouldn’t budge. My feet had swollen in the heat. After much tugging, a queue had started to form behind us. Eventually I had no choice but to hold onto the rail with my legs in the air whilst Adam pulled. It wasn’t my finest hour.

There’s like a dude at the door, asking for you?” “Did you let him in?” “No. I said I would check with you.” “Well, did you ask his name?” “Yeah. It’s Mr. Rickard.” “That’s Adam you idiot! Go and let him in!” “But he’s like fit!” “No need to sound so shocked.” “You’re dating him?” “Yes. look, I haven’t got time to go this, and he is standing out on the doorstep.” “Fucking hell Mum, like, way to go.

I didn’t think I’d end up divorced with three kids and a bucket fanny, but there you go.

I felt tears coming and for some reason, buried my head in Iain’s chest. It was firm and muscled and he smelt so wonderful. I realised what I was doing and pulled away, but a big string of snot hung between my nose and his shirt pocket.

I came out of the bathroom naked this morning as the computer was ringing and Meryl and Tony appeared via Skype.

Thursday 18th June 07:37 TO: chris@christophercheshire.com Ow, ow ow. Sunburn. Grass burn. Torn dress. Mud in hair. Hung-over. Feel like a slut.

TO: rosencrantzpinchard@gmail.com Oh god! Oh god! Oh shit! I have just sent the email I was meant to send to you, slagging off Meryl to Meryl by mistake. Damn this email invention.

Saturday 18th July 19:02 TO: adam.rickard@gov.co.uk Great. Will see you tomorrow. I am just going home for a bit of anal. Saturday 18th July 19:04 TO: adam.rickard@gov.co.uk That was the auto correct! Not me! My email was meant to read ‘I am just going home for a bit of a nap!’ I am tired, I am not, and I never have… Anyway. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Coco.

again, I’m limited to the over forties. Your youth, it goes.