Sunday, 9 October 2016

Crazy horses...

After Friday night's brush with extremely minor celebrities, life came back down to earth with a rather large crash.  This was a shame as Miss R was suffering with rather a painful headache when I collected her for the Saturday Breakfast yesterday morning, whereas I actually felt rather chipper. I put this down to the husband's version of 'Splat the Rat' at 3.00am on Saturday morning.  It gave me the opportunity to knock back a pint of water (thoughtfully left by the side of the bed by my drunken alter ego) thus reducing the risk of the hangover from hell.

Breakfast was superbly average again this week, with the sausages in particular scoring a mediocre 7 out of 10, while the lukewarm cappuccino barely scraped a 5.   Mrs Jangles was there along with Miss R's friend with the fabulous hair (she's far too gorgeous for a lady of 60 and fills me with hope).  The Patriarch was also at breakfast, although he was very quiet and kept nodding off in his comfy chair.  Miss R grilled him as to why he was so tired.  Well it turns out that a two-centre holiday is not for him.  All that unpacking and  driving had finished him off.  Now I could understand that if the two centres in question were Miami and New York for example,  But Horsham and Ottershaw?  Hardly a long journey....both between destinations, nor from home.  I'm surprised that this even warranted a suitcase.....

After breakfast, Miss R, Mrs Jangles and I headed off to the bookies at the top of the High Street.  Have you ever been in a bookies?  I think that someone, somewhere is making a fortune out of supplying these places with a very specific air freshener as it always smells the same in there.  I imagine a Frenchman, with one of those silly Poirrot moustaches, waving a perfume bottle under nose, extolling the virtues of the stale fags, last night's curry and cheap beer.  Frowning, I expect he says quietly, 'What is this missing?  Ah oui.....a whiff of desperation I think'.  With this duly added, he will close his eyes, and sigh, 'Mon Dieu, c'est parfait...'  For those of you with no French, he's basically saying, 'Bloody hell, that's good'....

We had gone to the bookies to put a little wager on a dead cert.  Now we've been here before, and most of the horses we've bet on have been 50% there...ie dead.  But this one was going to be different.  When Miss R came back from placing the bet, she whispered, 'Odds have gone up from 50-1 to 33-1....someone in the know is on to this'.  So the three of us parted with £2.00 each  (yes, I know, but previous experience tells me that I shall never see that again). 

It was then time to head back to our respective homes. It was daughter number one's birthday yesterday, and I knew she had cake - always a good reason to be around when that's on offer.  Having said that, it's still intact as I write, and no one was offered a slice whatsoever.  As a PE Teacher, she needs to consider her waistline, and should offload that as quickly as possible to those around her who don't give a toss as to whether their jeans will do up the first time without the use of a tub of Vaseline and a wooden coat hanger...Kids eh?

Watching Channel 4 yesterday afternoon, the race came on.  Believe it or not, there were thirty six runners.  Our chosen nag was on the last race card....the page with all the ones who you know are the illegitimate result of a stallion's night out with a ropey old donkey.  But I cheered it on, shouting at it from the safety of my sofa to get a bloody wriggle on.  To be very honest with you, I couldn't even see it in the pack, so for all I know, it might still have been in its stable puffing on a fag and having a pint of Light Ale.

So another two quid went towards paying for more of the bookies' air freshener.

Money well spent I say...
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