Mrs. Fry's Diary (18 page)

He's an ape. He's a beast. Should've been a priest . . .

Gorilla? Me? I'm waiting for my tea!

Let me be!

Gorilla? Me? I'm waiting for my tea!

Let me be!

Gorilla? Still waiting for my tea!

Let me see!

I'm going down the pub
!

Watch TV!

Then maybe to a club!

Oh please don't go oh-oh-oh!

Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!

Sitting here, with a beer and Mamma Mia video!

He's down the pub and there's devilled eggs and Spam

For tea

For tea

For tea . . . !

So you think you can treat me like some kind of slave?

And I don't mean the times when we just misbehave!

Oh Stephen!

Just want something more even!

(Just gonna drink stout. Looks like we're all right out of beer . . .)

Ooh yeah, ooh yeah . . .

Nothing really matters,

Easy to believe,

Nothing really matters,

'cept beer and birds and ladders

To Steve . . .

(
When he's cleaning windows
. . .
)

I think it's safe to say I made quite an impact.

13 Thursday

I can't believe it! The
Daily
Herald
's running a poetry competition! What perfect timing, given the reception my poem received at the class last night. It clearly deserves to be read by a wider audience. Why should all those thousands of people miss out on the opportunity to read a work of pure genius and originality like 'Bohemian Spam For Tea'? I'll send it off this morning! Fame beckons . . .

14 Friday

Received a very prompt telephone call from the editor of the
Daily Herald
this morning. She said that although my entry had a great deal of merit, regrettably they were unable to consider it for inclusion in their poetry competition due to its 'evident plagiaristic nature'. I told her I had no idea what she was talking about and she said something about the Queen and mercury. Poor woman's clearly been spending too much time around the printing ink. I was about to slam down the receiver in disgust when she asked if, instead, the newspaper might possibly interview me about my life with 'the great Stephen Fry'. She said her readers might find my story highly entertaining. I said I had no idea what was so great about Stephen nor whether my 'story' would be in any way entertaining, but I would be only too happy to oblige, so she told me to expect a reporter on Monday morning. What a strange woman.

15 Saturday

Stephen's sleepwalking again. It's amazing - every night he manages to find his way to the pub just before last orders.

16 Sunday

Honestly, I told Stephen not to eat Spanish food in the bath. Now he's got his toe stuck in the tapas.

17 Monday

What a fascinating afternoon. The reporter from the
Daily Herald
turned up just after noon. Apparently, he'd been delayed by the protracted birth of the local zoo's first albino polar bear cub. He was a very well-dressed young man, clearly terribly intelligent. He complimented me on my home and my custard creams. We chatted for hours - or rather I did, while he scribbled away in his little notebook. He asked all sorts of questions, mostly about Stephen, although I managed to redirect him to the subject of my literary prowess most of the time. He smiled and nodded attentively at every answer and before I knew it, it was six o'clock and he had to go. He told me the article would be appearing in Wednesday's edition. It was sure to make quite a splash, he said.

18 Tuesday

Poor Stephen. Ever since the Red Lion closed for renovations he's been forced to venture further and further afield to satisfy his karaoke habit. Tonight he's at the Ballad 'n' Blues Burger Bar on the high street.

19 Wednesday

Couldn't sleep last night. I was far too excited. As soon as Stephen had gone off on his round and I'd given the kids their Alcopoptarts, I dashed straight round to the newsagent to pick up today's
Daily Herald
. To my astonishment, they said they had sold out. Already! I checked my watch, disbelievingly. It was still only five past nine. That reporter must have been right. I clearly had made a splash! I hurried to the 24-hour garage but it was the same story there. Goodness. I had no idea I was so popular. Well, I had an inkling, obviously, but I'm far too modest to admit it.

After scouring the entire district, I was reluctantly forced to return home empty-handed. I was out so long I even missed tonight's poetry class, ironically. Or is it metaphysically? Anyway, in the end, I tried ringing the offices of the
Herald
but even they didn't have any copies left. They'd never known anything like it. Not even when Princess Michael of Kent opened the new Matalan.

20 Thursday

I knew I shouldn't have offered to help Brangelina make that giant butterfly costume for school assembly. Me and my big moth.

21 Friday

An interesting morning, to say the least. I was busy doing a spot of cleaning when I noticed something sticking out from under Stephen's side of the bed. At first I assumed it was just another copy of
East Anglian Babes
, but when I looked closer I had quite a shock. It was a copy of the
Daily Herald
. Wednesday's
Daily Herald
. And there on the front cover, next to a rather fetching photograph of myself holding a teapot, in bold black letters, were the words: 'STEPHEN FRY'S SECRET WIFE LIFTS THE LID!'

I sat down heavily on the bed. Very heavily. The mattress seemed much harder than usual. I looked underneath and couldn't believe what I saw. Lying there were what looked like hundreds of copies of the
Herald
- each bearing the same headline. He must have bought the lot! This could only mean one thing. He must love me even more than I realised!

22 Saturday

Usual Saturday night in. Stephen's at Sing-along-a-sushi. I hope the Red Lion opens again soon.

23 Sunday

Still no idea who the father of Viennetta's child is. We've narrowed it down to three, we think - it's either Darren, an assistant tattoo artist; Gavin, a shelf-stacker at Foodland; or Raymond, a one-legged Dutchman. We're hoping it's Raymond. He's got a PhD in Physics, the clever clog.

24 Monday

Wonder what's happened to Hugh Junior this evening? He's not generally this late home from school. I hope he hasn't wandered off again with his imaginary friend, Hugh Junior Junior.

25 Tuesday

Finally found Hugh Junior late last night, sitting in the local woods with a torch and a pile of Stephen's
Razzle
magazines. No wonder he was in a spinney. An educational night all round. Hugh Junior discovered that Britnee from Newport likes broad shoulders and Curly Wurlys and I found exactly who - or what - Hugh Junior Junior is. And why he enjoys playing with him quite so much.

26 Wednesday

Apologised to Ms Wordsmith for not attending last week's class. She said it hadn't been the same without me. What a nice lady. Today we tried our hand at rhyming couplets. I managed several - Wayne and Jane, Andy and Mandy, and Belinda and Gurinder (although strictly speaking, I think that last one's a mixed metaphor).

27 Thursday

Oh dear. Brangelina's nightmares have started again. She keeps going on about this man who's been invading her dreams. According to her, he always looks exactly the same. He wears a long striped jumper and a hat and he can be absolutely anywhere - standing behind a tree, lurking in an alleyway, even hiding behind her wardrobe. I do wish Stephen wouldn't read her
Where's Wally?
at bedtime.

28 Friday

Today is the grand opening, or re-opening, of Le Lion Rouge. I think it's very much to Stephen's credit that he's prepared to set aside his prejudices and pay the establishment a brief visit. I told him he was doing a fine thing as it could only be good for the
entente cordiale
, but Stephen insists he'll be sticking to lager.

29 Saturday

No sign of Stephen since last night's text, which simply consisted of those three little words that say so little and yet so much - meklili skaloo phadunk. But that's Stephen. After half a dozen pints, he's completely unpredictable.

30 Sunday

Still no sign of Stephen, although by all accounts a man answering his description was seen in the Botanical Gardens singing 'La Marseillaise' to a giant fern.

31 Monday

Hallowe'en - the night
he
came home. Just in time too. Mrs Winton's party began at eight. It had a mythological theme - I, of course, made a sensational Aphrodite, while Stephen was some kind of half-man, half-beast. At least, until he changed into his costume. The highlight of the evening was when Mrs Norton and Mrs Biggins both turned up as Medusa. If looks could kill . . .

November

1 Tuesday

Struggling to get Stephen out of bed this morning. He says he's not feeling well, poor dear. I'll try looking up his symptoms on Hypochondria.com. I hope it's nothing too serious
-
it's bingo night.

2 Wednesday

How disappointing. I received a letter this morning from the council insisting I give up my little Ednables venture - apparently the school was objecting on the grounds that I was providing unfair competition with my 'blatantly commercial approach'. Really! It's hardly my fault if they don't give out loyalty cards and small plastic toys with their meals! It's the children I feel sorry for. How are they supposed to complete their Ednimals collection now?

Stephen's complaining that he's feeling even worse today. His temperature's 98.6 degrees and his blood pressure is 120 over 80. There's no doubt about it - he's got man 'flu. Looks like I'll have to miss my poetry class and do my Florence Nightingale impression. Just as well I kept the cap and lamp from our 'Kinky Crimea' night.