The Not So Secret Emails Of Coco Pinchard by Robert Bryndza

Author:Robert Bryndza [Bryndza, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: love, Chicklit, Book Club, British, iPhone, Comedy, Diary Format, Women's Fiction
Publisher: Team Bryndza Books
Published: 2012-06-05T04:00:00+00:00

Wednesday 6th May 09:01

TO: [email protected]

Just home. Just sent outline to Angie. I am worried. I did rather pull it out of my arse at the last minute, well 4.15 this morning. Got sidetracked watching Battlestar Galactica with Chris, hence it ended up having a science fiction theme.

Rosencrantz has paid the electricity bill from his own money and left me a lovely note saying how he wants to make me proud and he is turning over a new leaf.

I’m off to bed. Love you.

Wednesday 6th May 17:46

TO: [email protected]

Was up at 2pm woken by the doorbell, I had fallen asleep on the sofa in my coat and shoes. Outside was a horsey woman in her sixties wearing dungarees.

“Ah you’re ready,” she said. “Good girl. Come on.” I stared at her for a moment.

“Come along,” she said. “I haven’t got all afternoon.”

I followed her out shutting the door behind me. I am not sure why. Luckily, I twigged half way down the road that this was the meeting I had arranged in April about having an Allotment, and the woman must be Agatha Balfour of the Augustine and Redhill Allotment Association.

Did you know that hidden away from the bustle of London, there is a whole group of little Allotments, just past the Outer Circle of Regents Park? Thirty long plots surrounded by tall trees and populated by a load of wild haired old men digging in trousers held up by string. I couldn’t work out where they’d come from. I had never seen them before. The streets around here are full of tourists, businessmen, and alpha mother’s power-pramming.

As Agatha strode ahead up the hill, I struggled to keep up. My heels kept sinking in the soft earth. A few of the old men stopped gardening to stare at me in my floor length fake cow hide coat, and a couple made mooing noises. I caught up with Agatha standing on the brow of the hill. The land sloped away showing off a wonderful view over Regents Park, the lake, and metropolis beyond.

“Wow,” I said out of breath.

“Yes,” she said, “and your patch looks over it.” She indicated an overgrown strip of soil with a yellow shed at the end.

“Right. Tea,” she said bustling toward the shed, pulling a key out of her overalls, and inserting it in the lock.

Inside it has been beautifully kept, with neat wooden shelves. In one corner were two fading deck chairs and a little table. On the workbench in front of the window sat an old Paraffin Stove and lots of clay flowerpots.

“Now,” said Agatha handing me a little kettle. “Water.” I looked for a tap but she rolled her eyes. “Water Butt, outside.”

Whilst I filled the kettle, I looked at the Allotment next door. It was well tended with a smart shed, but the best feature was its Scarecrow.

A dressmaker’s mannequin was buried in the earth up to its knees. Stuck on its head was a black beehive wig and glued underneath was a cut-out of Amy Winehouse’s face.

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