The woman of my previous entry (you know the one, the bane of my existence and all that). I’m not sure how long I can keep seeing her without hacking off the better side of her face with an unwashed cheesegrater. She was there yesterday at the festival, turning even my professional photographic debut into a haze of deep red mist. What’s that, you’re the official photogrpaher? Don’t mind me as I stand right in front of your camera, trying to engage you in yet another conversation about my eggs (both ovular and chicken). And yes, I will insist on following you around for a good thirty minutes, insisting you return to the brass band arena to take another photo of my son and his tuba.
JUST FUCK OFF, YOU AWFUL AWFUL WOMAN!

The other day I got an email from a teacher in the next town. She had turned upon his doorstep at 8.30 (he’d never met the woman before), saying she attended my evening class and we all really wanted him to come and help out from time to time. He offered to contact me about it and she said that would be completely unnecessary. Yes, she tried to PREVENT him from contacting me about the whole thing. He told her was busy and she refused to leave until he promised to drop in on her and her horrid chicken farm at a later date.
He was a little confused as to why one of my students had come instead of me. He was also a little confused as to where the old bat might have got his name and address from.
I assured him she didn’t get it from me, that I didn’t need any help with the evening class, that if I did need help I would be sure to ask for it myself without the interventions of dear Mrs. Eggs, and that the best thing he could do was ignore her completely.

Seriously, who is this woman, and how do other people put up with her? It’s got to the point now where I lie rather than reveal to anyone the fact that I speak French, in case she finds out (she would find out), and expects me to sit around listening to her not make sense in that language as well. Oh, you’re looking for a French conversation partner are you? What a shame I can’t help you.
Some story (I’ve heard it seven times to date) about an Italian woman she met while she was a student, who taught Mrs. Eggs to speak French (I daren’t contemplate) and then married a Japanese man but got divorced, and now Mrs. Eggs doesn’t know where the woman is and it’s very upsetting.
What do you want me to do, find her for you?

She’ll be there this evening and I have decided I am going to annouce that conversation circle will be cancelled during the junior high summer holidays, due to my being absent on numerous not quite invented yet trips. I feel a bit bad for the other people in the class but seriously, if I don’t have a break from this woman soon I may start saying things like this to people who know her rather than just venting it into the anonymous vaults of the internet.

STUPID STUPID STUPID OLD CROW, FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE!! JUST FUCK OFF! I MEAN REALLY REALLY FUCK OFF!! OFF! FUCK! FUCK OFF!

OFF!