I’ve turned the man into a hero! Can you believe it – because I can’t? My female followers have ditched news of me for news of Richard’s tooth. And my male followers are more interested in his Land Rover than snowdrops and daffodils. Humphh!!
I know they say you can’t win them all, but really. I have to say that I am finding some people rather fickle. But, as you know I aim to please – most of the time – so for you ladies who are following the tales of Richard’s gums, I shall report. And for the men who are manic about Land Rovers, I will include a picture of his pride and joy. Just looks like a brown, old Land Rover to me but what do I know?
Ladies – the poor little darlin’ staggered through the door yesterday tea-time having had a back tooth removed. He was shaking and looking extremely pale. Obviously I enquired how he was? He shook his alabaster coloured face and mumbled something through a wad of cotton wool. It sounded something like, ‘Why are you grinning?’ I could have been wrong.
Eventually he managed to speak and informed me that he’d been unable to stop shaking in the dentist’s chair and that he was so cold. I only paused briefly, while I listened to see if I’d got the answer right on The Chase before informing him – helpfully, I thought, that it would be shock. Pretty much the same feeling that I had when I was informed of the £1,000 tooth!! Oh, OK, I won’t go there.
And now we come to the bit that will surprise you all. I got up, even before The Chase broke for adverts and fetched the man a glass of water with a straw and two painkillers. Yes, painkillers. Well I wasn’t really going to hide them, was I? You guys will believe anything. I gave said painkillers and water to the hero and informed him to pop them into the good side of his mouth and sip the water through the straw, thus making sure that the fluid didn’t touch the gaping hole in his gum on the other side of his mouth.
My attentions to his needs obviously worked the miracle because within the hour he was necking two chocolate fairy cakes, a Ginsters steak pasty and a whole pint of Angel Delight.
I rest my case. The man is no hero – just a baby. So, that’s the ladies dealt with.
Men. Below are two pictures of the ‘true’ love of his life, his Land Rover. I think its name is Betsy or some such rot. Why do people name their cars? I just say, ‘the car needs some petrol,’ and everyone knows exactly what I’m taking about. ‘Betsy’ isn’t a recent purchase. She has been shut in Richard’s mum’s garage for the past twenty years, sinking lower and lower on her poor worn-out tyres. She couldn’t move, poor thing. (snigger)
When diesel prices rocketed we downgraded to a new VW UP, which frankly is not much of a work-horse so dearest Betsy had to come out of retirement, hence the renewal of virtually every part.
The work on Betsy (shit, now I’m calling the sodding thing Betsy!) came to a premature end just before Christmas. Richard came up against several problems. And Richard being Richard has taken time out to ‘think’ about how to sort the problems. Lord knows how long that will take. Probably until the weather warms up! The last thing he did on Bet…the Land Rover, was to bleed the brakes. Anyone who knows anything about bleeding brakes will also know that it takes two to perform the operation. Naturally, I sat there in the freezing cold, pumping pedals and listening to his dulcet tones of, ‘NOT now. WHEN I say! Are you pumping them NOW? Don’t pump them until I SAY! Can you HEAR ME!
The bleeding of the brakes was not successful – or likely to be with him bellowing at me. I don’t respond to bellowing. He later said that he was only shouting to be heard over the noise of the traffic. Funny that because there is barely any traffic on the road on a Sunday morning.
So Betsy waits for her Lord to come up with the answers
Good luck with that one – Betsy, you old pile of c**p!
Yesterday Chea climbed her first tree. A conifer, taller than Jack’s beanstalk. After thinking it was great fun, especially the balancing on the end of the branches bit, she fell. On her way down she hit her belly on the very sharp edge of the spare chuck cage. I truly thought she had ripped her belly open. I watched her like a hawk throughout the day and she was playing and eating normally, however, this morning she doesn’t seem her normal barmy self so I’m thinking she is a bit sore. I’d like to think that might be the end of her tree-climbing nonsense but I doubt it. I seem to be surrounded by crazy life forms. But then they do say it takes one to know one.
Probably catch you guys after the weekend. If the sun shines I shall be roped into bleeding Betsy’s brakes!!