Housing

1972  to 1990

Note: All names  have been changed to save rows and recriminations.

I had been married to Angela for eighteen years and thought we had a good life together, but out of the blue one Saturday, a mutual friend 0f ours rang the door bell. “Hi Doris, “I said, “What can I do for you?” “Put the ruddy kettle on, or you might want to pour yourself  a stiff drink, when you hear what  I have to tell you!” I was perplexed as Doris knew that Angela was away that weekend   and immediately thought – was Angela safe – I knew the kids were OK as they were all still in bed upstairs, but I knew Doris was a bit of a ‘drama queen’  so ushered her into the kitchen, where we sat across our kitchen table. “Go on then, what’s up?” I said when I had made the pot of tea. Doris  proceeded to ask me to check my dairies for the last year or two when she would specify specific dates that Angela had either met up with or gone away with her lover, George B. another mutual friend of ours.

I really had no idea, or belief that I was hearing the truth, so I did produce my current diary. And, only one of the dates Doris targeted made any sense and that was when Angela had attended a weekend conference  in Brighton in her role as the Treasurer of a National Charity.  I simply thought it strange, but Doreen insisted I dig out my previous years diary and sure enough, there were several date when I had noted (me have the kids) Angela at her Mum’s or Angela staying over night with one of her school friends.

After an agonising period of weeks I did finally raise the subject  of infidelity and immediately knew by her response,  that it was true. To cut a long story short, I allowed her to divorce me, but was incredulous that her divorce paper cited my unreasonable behaviour as ‘not decorating the house periodically’, and being unwilling to take her and the kids on holiday. The fact that I was working seven days a week, seemed to be missing somewhere. The divorce was granted.  Angela could not wait to find me an alternative dwelling, and within a few months a nasty, lonely, furnished two bedroomed flat over a row of shops was found that charged me a whopping £100 per week. I used to have a least one of the kids stay with me for the weekends, but I went through a deep depression for a long period, made so much worse when one of the kids said in a very matter of fact way “George has moved in with Mum”.

1990 to 1992

Situated, a short way away from a local school a public telephone box stood opposite the flat I was living in and every school day morning and afternoon that phone used to ring, presumably by some sad perverted creep hoping one of the school children would answer it.

Things finally got very much better.

(Mike)

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