Oh for the wings of a cow

I went to the gym again today.  A personal trainer sat on me.  This is rather good actually; they stretch out your muscles and bend you and push your legs into uncomfortable positions then sit on you.  I must point out they are tiny little gymnastic looking girls not beefy men.

The cows are lowing.  I am idling .... waiting for materials to arrive.  I will paint the cows cream whilst I wait.  It is so lovely and sunny out and I feel rather well with my gymning and swimming.  I normally want to curl up on the sofa with a rerun of Corrie for mental stimulation of an afternooon but today I feel industrious.

Yesterday was my laundry day but I got a bit sidetracked along the way and forgot to peg out Mr Smith's clothes.  I did so later in the afternoon.  I then put mine on to tumble .... nobody will know.  Mr Smith came home whilst I was on the telephone to my mother.  "What time did you put these out?  Why is the tumble drier running on the hottest day of the year?"  9am like you asked me and the line was full so I thought I'd just get them done and out of the way.  A bird had pooed on his shirt.  Honestly you would have thought I had done it the way he went on.  He said it was because I had hung the shirt up late and the wrong way.  I thought a bit of subversive pegging out would go undetected; I didn't know we had grassy birds.  I ploughed through a mighty pile of ironing which he told me should have been done last week.  It was, it regenerated.  I noticed he was wearing his dalek socks.   I knew dinner was going to be a hoot.  The sauce wasn't quite right or something and it was the wrong kind of pasta.  He gave it to the dog who has had hiccups ever since. 

I wish I had a seaside abode.  The purchase of Kent has been delayed; our flat I mean, not the whole county.  I must cow.