What every woman wants...

8 December 2009

Back home I found a box of flowers and a parcel.  The first contained a dozen red roses and the second, I noticed with surprise, came from Worcester. 

'Perhaps it's a jigsaw.' said one of my fellow Pedants at work when I mentioned that he'd called me to wish me a safe trip and said he was going to sent me something.

'Ha bloody ha,' I retorted, though knowing full well that it was unlikely to be a box from Tiffany's.  For those of you who are wondering about the significance of jigsaws in this sentence it's because I met him when we published Margaret Drabble's 'Pattern in the Carpet' about - yes - jigsaws, because, erm, yes - he makes them - as in manufactures them - as in runs a jigsaw factory.  I know, I know, you can keep the jokes, I've heard them all before, and even made a few...

As it turned out, however, my colleague was right.  The fabled gift was, indeed, a jigsaw.  However instead of the obligatory chocolate box picture the box bore a photograph of my own fair self. 

Ahhhhh.  Sweet.  Really sweet.  I was touched.

The implication only dawned on me later when I had another look at the photograph.  It was taken on a boat in Lake Como.  The last time I saw him.  The weekend we split up.  Now commemorated in a jigsaw.

Broken up into little pieces.

If that's not a metaphor then I don't know what is.

Posted by Writer in Residence at 12:03 AM