Picture Postcard 8

 

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Dear Matey,

This is my new beachfront hideout.  Don’t let anyone know.  Particularly the ‘ex”.  Yep, she came blustering through like a storm and I had to do some fast talking to get rid of her.  It wasn’t easy, I tell you.  She was all set to take me to the cleaners; came equipped with her newest lover boyfriend too, some sort of Accountant cum Solicitor.   So I hemmed and hawed, found out what they actually knew (wasn’t much) then promised to meet them in town at the Bank.  Soon as they’d gone, I threw all my clean gear in my trusty duffel bag and hightailed it out of there.

Now I’m holed up here till the storm passes.  She gotta know the laws over here ain’t quite the same as back home, and I mean we ARE going through a divorce.  Granted we were only separated when I won the lottery, but we’ve been separated for years now, and the divorce is nearly final.  There is no way she’s getting any of it.  She’s got her lovers, the kids (ok so they are grown up and so on, but she and her family turned them against me, didn’t they?), the house and nearly all I had.  I came here to sort out my head after that mess in Mexico and as soon as I begin to see the glimpse of better times, up she pops like some waltzing Matilda Jack-in-the-box.  Well I’m not having it.  And I AINT LEAVING BARBADOS EITHER, that’s for sure.

O.K I’ve had my rant.  How’s the wife?  At least you made a better first choice than me.  Don’t know what I ever saw in that Matilda.  I must’ve been drunk.  You keep good friend. I’m lying low here for a bit. 

Your friend,

Mac.

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