Sheep development!!

As I was opening the gate at the bottom of our drive yesterday morning, I noticed a sheep looking at me alluringly through the thin wires of the fence. It had a black face and black legs but a white fleece. It had two hangy-downy bits of wool dangling from one side of it's neck like stringy snot and I didn't like the look of it at all (the sheep that is, not the stringy snot type things - well, thinking about it, I didn't like the look of either of them). Sheep don't really look at you alluringly, this is just some silly made up tale by lustful, Welsh youths that wake up in sheep fields with their trousers round their ankles after a drunken night out on the town with their poor choice of friends. If you look straight at sheep and then go 'Bluuurrrrhhhh!' suddenly, they usually get bulgy eyes, jump and run away prompting the rest of the flock to do the same until they reach either; a) a tree or bush to climb on each other's shoulders and hide behind or b) the furthest corner of the field where they huddle together quaking and shivering in their wooly britches. But, this sheep did not bat an eyelid at my 'bluuurrrrrhhhh!'. It merely continued to look at me calmly. I thought that it may be hard of hearing (some sheep are, due to their inability to use cottonbuds), so, I 'bluuurrrrhhhh'ed' again. This time it yawned. I became perturbed. I edged a little closer. 'I know things about you', I said, in a voice that I felt was convincingly sinister. It took a long, languid draw on the cigarette I had failed to notice in the corner of its mouth, and said in an Argentinian accent, 'I have some spangly boots I'd like to see you in baby!'. For a moment, I was torn between disbelief of what I was hearing and the temptation to ask what size the boots were but, being so unaffected by sweet talking Argentinian types, I quickly shot back, 'I don't do quadrapeds!' It laughed uproariously, then turned and slowly walked away, waddling it's backside, which, I happened to notice, had dried and flattened sheep shit stuck to it. In that split second I knew I had made the right decision!

WG, I can honestly say that my flabber is most gasted that you would asssault a muffin in the way you describe in your last post-Dawns blog comment. I am not surprised that it did not speak to you after such a brutal attack. Then, to add insult to injury you hurt it's feelings by resorting to childish name-calling tactics. You should be vair vair ashamed of yourself. One cannot jump into conversing with edibles, they are always at a disadvantage and are, naturally, quite shy as a result. One must know the way to open one's mind to enable one to be bloody stupid enough to talk to one's self. I have never spoken to a muffin. They do not provoke articulation. I think it's because there is nothing about them that resembles the human form. At least, when I talk to an orange it does look as if it has a head especially when balanced upon a finger-neck. It ignites my imagination you see. You should stop talking to muffins you daft tart or someone'll be carting you away in a straight jacket. There are any number of back-stabbing low-lifes who, being envious of your lovely, nice, sickly bloody sweety kindliness, would do such a despicable and dastardly deed. Not me, of course, I'm your loyal friend but, incidentally, can you tell me where to find, 'Mental Institution' in the White Pages?

Who are Spik and Span?

It is my birthday soon and I was thinking that I would have a party. I will be 39 and that is nearly 40. Yes, nearly 40. I don't want to get old. I don't mean that 40 is old but it is on the way to being older. I think this is why I try to keep myself so fit. I am being scared of being old and incapable of doing all the things I want to do and I want to do so many things. There are mountains to be climbed and all, and I don't just mean the metaphorical ones. So, what type of party? For, it must, of course, have a theme. I enjoy seeing my friends dressed in costumes they wouldn't ordinarily be seen dead in. I also enjoy seeing the way they kind of become more and more like their character with every glass of wine they have. Funny, how wearing a costume allows us to hide behind it and drop our guards. Vair, vair revealing!! Umhum!!! So, what will it be? Bonnie and Clyde, Hollywood, Bollywood, Grease, The 70's, Tarts and Pimps, Circus, Hammer House of Horror, Rocky Horror? Yayy!! that's the one!! Rocky Horror - how fab! I shall put the word out and gauge the response and then let y'all know. Not that any of you lot are invited, of course, so don't get too excited. Can't have the likes of WG poking her fingers into all the buffet food in anticipation of breathrough conversation now can I? Hurling abuse at sausage rolls, salmon quiche and tuna and mayo vol au vents? No, no, I think not. The only way she'll get through my front door is with a roll of Elastoplast wrapped all the way around her 'ead, covering her gob and all. She can have her nose-holes showing and maybe one eye but defo no more than that. This will also help her out with 'getting glammed up to gerrout shmoozling and getting jiggy wiv it' time coz she will be able to forego the need to apply the makey uppy or to straighten her curly locks. She should be grateful to me for this kind and liberating gesture, freeing her from the constraints of consumer led guilt placed squarely on the shoulders of all women by profit-driven 'beauty' companies whose pockets, paradoxically, grow richer and fatter daily by making us feel ugly. So, thus WG can concentrate more fully on her costume and knock us dead with her flair and creativity and, I nearly forgot to mention, her remarkable ability to 'timewarp' Elastoplast clad with only her nose-holes and one eye showing!

Watch this space!!!