A Walk in The Park, Fist fighting and Where does It All Come From?

I have discovered that the best time for my dogs to take me for a walk in the park is early morning. This is when serious dogs take their owners for a constitutional. You see some amazing sights I can tell you , the bloke with three dogs in a pram, the dog walkers with fabulous names like Lola, Spencer, Gerald and so on. Then there are the idiotic women who pay a beefy trainer to stand in the bandstand wearing boxing gloves while they jump up and down with their tits wobbling while they practice the art of fist combat. Is this to work off steam or what I ask myself ? You notice I did not use the word fisting because this as you will all know could be taken the wrong way. If these women want exercise they are welcome to come to my house and run up and down five flights of stairs all day. I have a nasty suspicion they are learning how to deal with horrible abusive partners, who knows? In any event it is money for jam for the trainers, “all the more power to their elbow.” Whoops shouldn’t say that either.

The Sainted One has developed a habit of saying “do you ever ask where it all comes from?” This maybe when the multitudinous family is assembled for another gigantic meal. Discretion prevails, and I do not say, “do you ever ask what I had to do and do do to acquire some of the goodies which abundant in this household?” I would not dream of alluding to the black Glama mink coat of course.

This would be bad taste.

I like to have a day off from the kitchen once a week, usually it will be in some eating establishment serving fish and chips or Italian. This week the S.O did not go along with this, and after a grisly evening of dreadful music, sitting on a hard seats with a fixed smile ( not the  seats) for two hours, I could not face the kitchen. I ended up eating a drive though MacDonald’s on my own, in the car outside the house in the rain, things are getting rather anal around here. I hope nobody saw me probably not because the windows steamed up, I do not know what the S. O. did, tinned soup I expect, the only allusion to this dismal event was a complaint about the smell in the car the next day. Maybe my life is on a downwards trajectory?

Well actually it is not, we had some very good news this week. One of the gorgeous blokes (another grandson) who is residing here at the moment did the Berlin Marathon in under three hours to raise money for cancer research, to which we all owe the remarkable treatment which benefits my brave wonderful daughter, that was the real good news. This boy is about to take a doctorate in river conservation, my cousin’s son, has just been accepted for a PHD and “wunderkind” is enjoying Manchester although he says he misses my food. There is more besides, but it does sound smug if one goes on, but then …. There is plenty of sh— as well, those six monthly scans come round so fast …..you see things in a different perspective. Also the heroine of my new book has just sung for Mr Handel of the George Frederick variety….. absolute joy, it’s my fantasy world …. but the two are connected, as all we clever wise people know.

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