The 9 wives of Sir Jeremy Creame
A delightful evening to you. Allow me the delight of introducing myself, I am Sir Jeremy Reginald Bibbington Creame the third. I live in a very large mansion; you have probably seen it on your television. We had the antiques roadshow here in the mid 90’s, I have a sneaking suspicion Hugh Scully stole my mother’s bathing suit, but I can’t prove it! The house and estates are known simply as ‘Creame Country’, is 5004 acres (4 acres more than my nemesis, the Marquis of Bath’s land). It’s been in my family for longer than I can remember; luckily the family historians can date the land back to 3AD. Over the years there have been many attempting to get onto the grounds, but I won’t let them, we have some of the best barb wire in the county! I am not letting the oiks onto my property. I’ve learnt my lesson from Mr Scully’s light fingers!
I am 57 years old. I own more money than I am rather fond of admitting on this document. Several accounts, investments and businesses, cleverly administered around the world make for a very weighty portfolio! But what is life if one cannot share the experience? Not a lot of jolly fun that’s what! Over the years I’ve had many lovers, not all of them one at a time. I once had merry japes at a naughty party with over 600 guests in a weekend, I’ll say no more than that!
I have had nine wives so far. A gentleman whom I sometimes meet with when I need technical computer advice has said I should write a memoir of them. So I have a record should any of my legitimate children wish to know more of their fathers opinion on the relationship; how we met, why we married and why I divorced them. If any of my illegitimate children wish to read of my marriages then I would kindly ask them to throw themselves under the nearest ocean liner for they are worthless to me and I would see them all stricken from existence. They won’t get a penny from me!
Wife 1
Name: Henrietta
First I would like to point out, I don’t know any of my wives maiden names. I am a very busy individual, there is information I need and information I simply have no time for. Most of the bally time I didn’t remember names, I only found out wives 4 and 5 names by looking at the wedding certificates. A little trick to never having to remember names is to be too important to care about the opinions of peons. If you absolutely have to remember someone’s name (potential business opportunity, royalty, parents (optional)) then try to think of a word which rhymes with their name then get your man servant to secretly pin a tiny picture of that object onto the subjects left shoulder. As you see here Clifton (my man servant) has pinned a tiny busy swan to her shoulder, busy=Little Lizzy! A flawless method! As a side note, that baby swan was my gift to Liz as an in joke because she ran out of toilet paper while I was taking afternoon elevensies with her last May day.
I digress. I was a young gentleman of 21, fresh out of Demontford University. I’d achieved my dream of a third in media. I had no plans to make use of the degree, but I thought it would be an easy course (it was) which I could coast through. I moved back into the family home, taking residence in the east wing. Father pressured me to join the forces but that sounded like a lot of ruddy hard work. I took a position at Lemons, a company owned by a friend of Fathers. My position was to oversee the marketing department. My time there was a blur, mostly because my first day there I met Henrietta. Yes she was my secretary so meeting her was inevitable.
University wasn’t a kind time for me, sexually. I got nary a snifter of lady during my time away. Needless to say I was as horny as the 20 rhinos I’d shot on my summer safari. Henrietta was keen to climb the corporate ladder and if that meant she had to scale me to do it then she would and she did! The poor fool thought that sleeping with her young impressionable boss would get her places. The only place it got her was to my heart! I fell for her like the love drunk puppy I was. Father forbad the relationship, one simply should not mingle with a subordinate. Oh but mingle I did. I mingled all over fathers 15th century writing bureau on several occasions (with Henrietta not father).
I don’t know if it was the taboo of fathers rule or Henrietta’s insatiable appetite for pleasures of the flesh but I couldn’t say no to her. So when February 29th 1972 came, she asked me to marry her, I said yes. We were married 4 weeks later. The wedding was a small affair in a local village church. Henrietta’s family were poor, we didn’t let them come. Didn’t want the common folk stinking up the place with their Marks and Spencer off the shelf suits. My best man was Tabbal Clemons the CEO of Lemons. I’d never met the chap before that day. He seemed like an affable sort of fellow, very good friends with Father.
I was so nervous standing at the front of the church waiting for Henrietta. There was talk she wouldn’t come just because we hadn’t spoken for a month. There was a little falling out over my banning of her family. It just made sense for them not to come, or to see her, or set foot on the estate ever. She must have seen my way of thinking because she walked herself down the aisle bang on time. She cried her way through her vows, silly thing must have been so happy to be marrying me. The wedding took 23 minutes.
8 hours later Father was found in his study, he’d shot himself in the leg, stomach, heart and through the head twice. The entire estate passed to me! As of the 1st of April 1972 I was officially named Jeremy Creame Lord of all Creame Country. I began managing the estate, and with the added bonus of fathers £2 billion being transferred to me, I didn’t have to get my hands dirty. Oiks, peasents and commoners were (and still are) paid to tend to the land and estates. I was a (and still am) a strict lord, if we ever caught an oiks stealing from the estate they were beaten, locked in the barn for a week then sent on their way through the village, naked while the children throw rotten meat at them! A harsh punishment some say but its what father put me through as a child and it didn’t harm me any!
Henrietta and I gave up our jobs at Lemons, we spent our first two weeks traveling around Europe. She went to Paris and I went to Brandenburg. We both got home, exchanged traveling tales then I didn’t see her for a month as she got lost in the north wing. The first year of our marriage wasn’t a particularly happy one. We saw very little of each other, I recall she took a room of her own in the north wing, we rarely slept together. But I was still but a boy, I knew not the wily ways of women. I thought this was normal for a marriage. I’m told Mother and Father lived in separate cottages 98% of the year.
Henrietta and I had some good times together, on the 1st of February 1973 our first child was born. Cuthbert Creame, 9 pounds 11 ounces. We had jolly fun interviewing nannies. Henrietta had always been a phenomenally cruel woman, her interview technique was brutal. It was a seven day and night nanny trial, we would hire dwarfs to pretend to be babies and pay them £50,000 if they did as we told them. Henrietta would tell them to keep these women awake all night, for the whole week. The dwarfs would cry, vomit and soil every item of clothing they were made to wear. I haven’t seen a stack of nappy’s that big before or since. Of the 8 applicants, 2 are still in clinical care. In the end we found a lovely Italian nanny, she slapped the dwarfs until they were silenced and put to sleep.
My marriage to Henrietta didn’t last, 2 years to the day of our wedding she asked for a divorce, claiming I was distant and also sleeping with the nanny. Henrietta was found drunk, and dead behind the wheel of a car 8 hours late. As the proceeding court case proved I had absolutely nothing to do with her accident. DNA tests done in 1998 would also go to prove that Cuthbert was not my son. He was also found dead. I had nothing to do with the arsenic placed in his morning Spanish omelette he also fell out of that window on his own!
Wife 2 – coming soon (That’s got a bally rude double meaning!)
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