I'm wallowing in a few silent minutes before the day known as "Fat Chop Wednesday" blasts off. How sweet it is just to sit here with my hair sticking up and Monty scratching my legs. What joy there is in the sight of a a bleeding calf.
Bless.
Ok, so today it's Italian style Pork Chops for King Henry and I dare say I'll whip up something dead glam with a tin of fruit salad and banana. But oh dear does he need to lose some blubber or what? The poor darling panted over the stool on Monday with droplets of sweat falling all over me best straw placemats. Horrible. If that had been me, I'd have nipped to one of the sparkling bathrooms and dunked me head in the sink instead of perching on a red velvet stool guzzling Merlot just before six.
I think he's a bonkers man with a death wish.
Today the new additions to the family should be free to roam the halls, so I will be stressed beyond belief on account of worrying about the gorgeous fur balls sneaking out through the dog flap in the utility room and out into the space known as the garden.
Why couldn't he get a hamster like everyone else.?
Bugger.
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