Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Saturday, 25 October 2014
Guest post, guess who two
I am knackered. A long and difficult night shift followed by three hours on the end of the phone talking to practical jokers, and I get home to discover that all the chicken sheds have been blown over in the wind, and the badger has eaten all the chickens which have escaped into the churchyard, with a little help from the fox.
Oh well, I think, I might as well collect the last of the eggs to deliver to the old ladies of the village, but - bugger me - one of the dogs has got to them before I did.
Just as in The Archers, all of the flowers have been flattened in the hurricane as well, so this year's show is going to be very sparse indeed.
I thought there would be just enough time to squeeze Millicent's anal glands before Chris gets back from his very important meeting at work, but what do I find when I go up to change the duvet? One of the dogs has had an extremely loose bowel-movement all over it, and the cat has settled down in the middle of the stinking mess, purring away as if nothing has happened.