Mrs Monk got excited this weekend because our town’s very own Oscar winning queen returned to Leigh on Sea where she was brought up and educated, and returns to, once and a while, ........ according to the lady at the cheese shop.
But Mrs Monk has learnt to resent lustful male yearnings whenever the Dame’s name is mentioned, and since Helen Mirren is still out there churning male loins in her seventh decade, I can claim to have enjoyed reminding Mrs Monk of the allure of HM, since the early 70s HM at the RSC, particularly as a retort, when Mrs Monk makes the inevitable Brian Perkin’s reference (See Naked Monks), or shows too much attention to a passing male cyclist’s butt in Lycra; a frequent occurrence.
This week Mrs Monk told me she was going to visit Helen Mirren at a local bookshop, to buy her book, exchange a few pleasantries, and get a snap of Helen with herself sharing the picture frame as she signed the book, thus for marketing on E-bay by the end of the day.
Unfortunately this did not materialise.
Helen was on the Jonathan Ross programme this very weekend promoting her autobiography as “a book with lots of pictures, .... because there are never enough pictures”, she explained.
Mrs Monk came back from the bookshop disappointed by the queue. She decided, unconvincingly, to renew her antipathy for the other woman in our marriage.
She speculated that people were there to launch eggs at her because of her joke about Leigh on Sea being the “armpit of Britain”.
I speculated that they were there to make an omelette.