Mrs Z. Revealed
From time to time the things I write about in this diary prompt a few hostile comments. These come in the form of e-mails, phone calls and letters wrapped around bricks. That's why I keep moving around the country.
I'm happy to say that actual threats of violence are few and far between, unless you count that bloke who promised to slap me silly the next time he sees me in the street. But that's all part of the ´óÏó´«Ã½'s new performance management system and I'm taking that up with the union.
No, most of the offline comments I receive concern my references to Mrs Z and the Zedettes. While there's appeciation that I must guard the identity of my children - in case they sue me in later life - many of you ask why I don't see fit to refer to my wife by her first name. A few others demand photographic proof that I am actually married. Given that I've published more than a few photographs of myself, I can see why people might suspect I am single.
Well, it's Mother's Day and I've decided to inch slowly towards revealing Mrs Z's true identity. The following visual representation adorned the card she received from the Zedettes this morning. It's a masterpiece of felt-tip pen and stickers, and I think it does her justice.
Wow..that last brick almost hit me.
