Alan and the Oldest profession

Isn't it strange how the meaning of a simple word can alter with time. When I was a girl ( just a decade or two ago ) there was something extremely dirty about "procurement". It implied.....do I really need to spell it out - read the definition for yourself. But we live in a very different world now, where those who procure are celebrated with glittering awards and get a pat on the back from AJ for doing it. Frankly they can count themselves very lucky if he stops with a pat. Or stops at the back. In the old days procurement involved sleazy sexual favours and a generous payment at the end of it. Does £144,000 ring any bells?

The Flesh is Weak

Freudian slip

AJ would go on and on about it, quoting tedious paragraphs of Sigmund's book and grinning that manic grin. He was obsessed and, I'm afraid, he still is. He's now forcing everyone to join a "team". Where will it all end? He's even got that awfully nice trade union bloke with the pony tail involved.

Let the train take the strain

Ahh. Those were the days. Just like "Brief Encounter" but without the rock cake and the steam. AJ and I would get up to all kinds of mischief on railway stations. I kind of fancy a trip to Frome tomorrow just to see if he is still on form. Why not join me?

Mum's gone to Iceland

If only he had bothered to read the small print. That's AJ for you. It may say "the value of your investment can go down as well as up" but he never bothers with the detail. Too busy with the big picture, the broad canvas. Or simply the broad. Always the first to stick his fingers into the fire, or in this case the deep freeze, without so much as a thought for the consequences. Sometimes it paid off. Remember the Colour-me-Beautiful lady, Mary Spillane, I recall him boasting to me about how he'd encouraged her to get her t*** out, and guess what - she did. Well who's the big tit now AJ?

Gloakoma

"Gloakoma", AJ was fond of saying "is an ocular deformity which prevents the patient seeing anything uncomfortable or incriminating." Then he would giggle and jump back into bed beside me. Of course I knew Gloak was up to his neck in everything. AJ described him as "that unscrupulous uphill gardener". But AJ also had something on him. Rather a lot on him I expect. We all remember the vintage Merc, and the pomposity of the man ordering strangers to polish it. We also recall his moments of madness or, as AJ used to call them, his "indefatigable efforts to devalue the eight-bob note". Gloak had his nose in the trough and AJ knew. It was Gloak who acted on AJ's behalf and did his dirty work. It was Gloak who helped broker my pay off. This is probably the last pose we'll ever see of the man grinning as he clutches a fat cheque.

Up the Ardoyne!

I adore this event.

Mighty men let their hair down - hair permitting, of course! It can lead to new contacts, big contracts and lots of freebies, frolics and good old-fashioned fun.

SouthWest One has bagged the number one slot in the exhibition hall this year, right next to IBM. These two pitches must have cost a pretty penny, but who's counting. I'm sure AJ isn't. The price has gone up a bit. £665 per person. But I've already booked a double room at the main hotel. After all it is well worth getting close to the action. Just ask the hall porter, he'll show you up. And there's a lovely view of the city as well as me. See ya there!

Off again?

Well now! Who'd have thought it! And just when he's in the midst of pouring all that money into the new house. But that's my man all over. He always reckons the art of being really settled is to be permanently on the move. His hands always were. And now he could be off again to do a bigger job. Hmmm. I guess that's why he cultivated all those contacts across the Tamar. He's always telling people about his visiting academic position at Plymouth University. But not a lot of people remember him there. Hardly surprising. You can't move for people with his name in Cornwall. Common as muck they are, and all of them promising to change your life for the better. I reckon he should fit in like a well worn pair of marigolds

More Memories

AJ always had an eye for a bargain. That's why he obtained so many things in bulk - sometimes including his women. But I well remember the little round face lighting up when a two-for-one offer was extended to his favourite bedside reference book. He could quote whole chapters verbatim. In the end he bought ten volumes. The hardbacks were best. Standing on the pile did wonders added several inches.

Hot Lips

I can visualise that strange cross between a cheeky grin and a crude licentious leer. And I know that he is at it yet again. It is the wife with whom I sympathise. Another day, another dolly. The predictability of his behaviour is Pavolovian. But through that unmistakable mouth of his will come his own painful downfall. For he can never resist opening it. To me, to you, to any passing journalist or acquaintance. And as a bragger it always opens too far.

Pulamania

The gravel spat out from beneath the tread of fast-turning wheels. Brakes squealing, doors slamming, feet rushing in – and then the unmistakable sound of cuff metal clicking over warm wrists. But this was no ordinary raid by Avon and Somerset’s S & M squad. In any case the boys from S & M knew the Whitefield barn too well by now! This was different. This time they had come for evidence. They were piling computers into police vans. They were taking out boxes of strange disguises. The fiends involved clearly liked pretending they were other people. One even claimed to be the Chief Executive. A squat figure with a plummy accent protested his innocence from beneath a regulation blanket as he was led away. He muttered something about having relatives in high places. And all the while my man grinned and laughed in smug self satisfaction. He had laid the trap and these silly little people ( many of whom might well have suffered troubled childhoods ) were going to be made to be sorry. Very very sorry. And then my eyes opened. And all was still. It had been a dream even if AJ had convinced himself otherwise. I wish he would simply stick to the medication.

A J

Those piercing eyes! Those smooth, manicured, tactile fingers. That faraway look of injured innocence. How fresh and recent it all seems. Yet how long ago, lost in the mists of forgotten meetings. Snatched glances beneath the flip charts. Muttered affections as the coffee was poured. The accidental touch of a knee sometimes. The smile of confidence mixed with the look of yearning. His Powerpoints were always pithy. That is how I would prefer to remember him. Strong. Courageous. Excellent. But it all went wrong. I thought it was love. He knew it was lust. My frailty. Our tragedy. And someone was going to have to pay. Luckily I logged the calls, retained the texts and kept the few handwritten notes. I am tempted to publish some soon.

Hi folks

One little arrow and I was smitten. There was something quintessentially excellent about his demeanour. Here was a mortal with the vision of a superman and the energy of power station. What followed first is the stuff of dreams. What transpired in the end is the food of nightmares and law suits and film scripts. Except that all of it is true. All of the heartache. All the dishonesty. All the cover-up. And all of it deserves re-telling.