Cuckolded

I would in all probability never have discovered that Jessica my darling wife had cucklded me with a cad and lothario, Bunty Broomstead to be precise, had my Darraq Motor-Car not broken down twix the Dog and Duck Inn and Hampstead New.

I was quite discomfited. The Darraq was usually so reliable. Unlike Jessica.

I do not declaim to be the most jovial of coves, nor the most attentive nor passionate of lovers but for my sins I had sampled none but that bitch Jessica for seven tedious miserable years, and fully expected her to remain faithful in her turn. However as I was to discover she had cuckolded me by decamping to Worthing with Bunty for a so called dirty weekend.

I returned home in the Darraq dangling ignominiously on the end of a towing rope hauled by Claude Francom-Davie’s Rolls-Royce.

That dear Jessica was absent surprised me little, she would scuttle round to see her mother at the least opportunity but imagine my surprise when I telephoned to find she was not at that residence either. I surmised she had some assignation with her lady friends.

The indignity of my motor’s failure was altogether too much to bear so I determined that with immeadiate effect I should to obtain suitable advice regardng the purchase of a more suitable autocar and thus went forthwith to my club, the London MotorCar Club, off the Marylebone road in Makepiece Street.

On setting myself down therein and ordering a light supper I noted something was afoot. Sly looks in my direction. I surmised it was my news of my Darraq which had created the contempt.

I sulked, one cannot always remain in the forefront of technology, the Darraq was he latest thing when I purchased it in nineteen three, but that damned Rolls chap had well and truly trumped it now and even my claim to enjoy superior reliability had now been shown to be a falsehood.

“Bloody funny Ha Ha,” I muttered.

“Good grief Balfore,” my chum Algy interejected, “You’re taking it in good spirit.”

“Yes, Ha bloody ha,” I agreed.

“Dear god if Bunty Broomstead cuckolded me I should knock his damned block off.” Dobbo insisted.

“Cuckold, what are you blethering on about?” I demanded.

“Did you not know, why Bloody Bunty and your lady wife are at this very moment cavorting in the bridal suite at the Grand Hotel in Worthing old chap,” Dobbo chuckled, “Thought the whole world and his wife knew.”

“No, I had no idea. I thought the bitch was visiting her mother,” I confessed, “Bloody Bunty’s welcome to her.”

“Looks bad though Balfore,” Algy advised, “If that Kaiser chap keeps sabre rattling I fear the entire regiment of reserves will be recaalled to the colours and she may shack up with Bunty permanently.”

“Bloody good riddance,” I agreed.

“But Balfore,” Algy pleaded, “He is an incourigable serial lothario, a bed post notching cocksman, a.”

“A nothing,” I declared.

“Then he is free to fornicate with your wife whenever he may?” Dobbo queried.

“Absolutely, why the whole bally regiment may use and abuse her in every hole at one and the same time after bally church parade for all I care.” I declared.