Sex After Three Sets?

Morning All

It is absolutely hurling it down here in Leicestershire. I’ve been up to the chucks and the pond fish and come back half drowned. I am so loving this summer. Chea is out in it. She usually calls it a day when its raining and tootles in but no, today she is out there in it. At least I’m assuming she is. I heard from the neighbour yesterday that she visits him in his kitchen which is quite worrying because he doesn’t like cats.  Oopps I spoke too soon, here she comes – wet through!

I’m meeting my brother this morning and then this afternoon its ‘Wimbledon’ time. A comfy seat on the sofa and a bit of Andy Murray. I have found it most interesting how the aforesaid Mr Murray has changed over the last couple of years. Two or three years ago he was a sulky-looking, skinny lad whom people found it hard to get behind because of his aloof attitude. Like many things in this world things are not always the way they seem. A sulky nature is blamed for shyness and lack of confidence and experience in front of the camera? He loves what he does and the public and adoration side of it is a part that he didn’t necessarily sign up for.

Because someone chooses something that is public orientated it doesn’t follow that they feel comfortable with millions of people chanting their name. And besides, the press puts so much pressure on the likes of Andy Murray it is unbelievable. And the questions they ask after a match makes me want to hurl something at the TV. Let’s ask ourselves how we would  feel with some tool in our faces asking stuff like, ‘how do you think you played today?’ when you’d just gone out in three sets? Don’t they already know the answer to that? Crap! You’d feel like utter crap.

Then they get personal. ‘Your girlfriend was watching, what do you think she was thinking while you were trying to get back into the match (being thrashed!) and couldn’t?’ I’d have to answer with something totally crass, like, ‘She’d be thinking that after only three sets I wouldn’t be too knackered for sex tonight.’ That would shut the idiots up.

And then of course we have to have the ‘studio’ autopsy where they dissect every move he made and we have to listen to the opinions of ‘yesterdays’ tennis players, most of whom never won a major match and have the personalities of snails. And that’s being unkind to snails. Having said this, John McEnroe tends to know what he is talking about and never takes himself too seriously. John went the distance. As far as I’m concerned that gives him the right to an opinion.

Tomorrow I’m thinking of running the first page of my next novel by you? I may – or mayMC900366520 not. Depending on which way the wind is blowing …

 

Take care my lovelies x

 

 

 

Frozen Chuck Pooh And Warm Eggs …

Hi All

It was pretty chilly last night here in Leicestershire. I tend to watch the weather forecast these days just to see if the chucks are going to survive the Arctic blasts or if they need a bit of pampering. Last night I decided that they needed pampering, so the pop hole was closed and their little heater that stops their water from freezing was turned on. They seem to appreciate it and it allows me to sleep without worrying if I’m going to get up in the morning to two frozen chickens. No jokes, thank you!

I always go to them first thing – a good stock-man always checks his stock at daybreak and dusk – or so I’ve been told. Not sure if two chucks makes me a stock-man but hey ho … They tend to lay their eggs in the same area in which they roost so I like to remove the overnight pooh before the eggs arrive and get smeared. Quite often they beat me to it and the eggs are already there when I arrive, deep brown and still warm. I usually pop one egg in each pocket of my dressing gown (yes, dressing gown. I did say I went to them at daybreak!) and then that leaves me two free hands to secure doors behind me. I have only once forgotten that the eggs were in my pockets and that was after I’d thrown the dressing gown into the washer and turned it on. It wasn’t  a pretty sight. Poor Richard’s undies didn’t fare too well.

My mission of yesterday was accomplished. Richard’s Ma was so impressed with the Mulligan paperback that she insisted on buying it! Whoa. Go Betty. She said she would share it round the family. I told her to do no such thing and to make them buy their own copy! I’m no salesman but even I can see the stupidity of agreeing to that. I told her that it was the first book to come off the press and I would happily sign it for her if she wanted me to. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t want my scrawl in her super-duper newly acquired paperback because no answer came from her delicate mouth. But she was working her way through a very disgusting looking cream shortbread thing at the time. I really should know the name of it having been in the catering trade for many years but I tend to remove information from my brain if I think that there’s a chance I won’t be needing it again. Trust me, there is only so much info and rubbish that my old grey cells can compute.

Today I am going to see my brother. It is a twenty-mile drive, via Marks and Spencer, where I shall pop in briefly to purchase a certain item of ladies underwear. Richard has equipped the car with a tank-full of petrol and has programmed the sat-nav with appropriate postcode. He has probably, also, thrown a shovel into the boot and a Thermos of hot soup just in case the weather changes and I get stuck in a snowdrift.

You see, I go along day after day making out that I’m this big horrible baddie that won’t let the poor soul have a £1,000 tooth fitted in his orifice and you get the impression that he must hate me  – and you are so wrong. The man adores me. Worships the water that I walk on. At least – that’s what I tell him. And you know what they say – if someone tells you something for long enough you actually start to believe it. Don’t they call it brainwashing??  Hah! Whatever.

I’m off to get ready for my journey into the wilds of deepest, darkest Leicestershire  I may or may not be back. And you know what? I know that I should equip you all with a million links to my bloody books and act like an author – but I can’t be bothered. So if you want to buy one you’ll have to find it for yourselves.

You can see that I’m going to be mega successful with that attitude, can’t you?

 

Take care my lovelies x007