Miss R is always telling me that I shouldn't walk alone. Funnily enough, she's not the biggest fan of post-1960 popular music, but there you go. So, she thinks that there's a fair chance that I will be attacked while tramping through the woods near my home, and often warns me of the kind of people who live in the Home Counties.
Well yesterday, I threw caution to the wind, and headed off for another amble (sorry, brisk walk) in the woods. The dogs, who know this route well, walk quite a bit ahead of me, so I can't always see what they can see until several minutes later. With the weather being so lovely yesterday, I met quite a few people on my travels (all of whom had dogs, so they MUST be okay).
The first couple I came across happen to be my doctor and his wife. They had a couple of retrievers who looked like they'd jumped off the front page of Country Life. (You're more likely to see mine on Crimewatch). Now this was a little embarrassing, as the last time I saw Dr A, he was examining my right boob, trying to put my mind at rest about a lump. (It was benign thank goodness). His wife, who is also a doctor, had very kindly examined me concerning SOMETHING ELSE about a month ago. I don't feel that I need to elaborate here, but I'll just say that because my body is dropping so quickly, she wore a safety helmet with a bike light strapped to it with some Tubigrip. Anyway, we had a little chat, skirting around the obvious, and headed off in opposite directions.
Ten minutes further on, and two very tall men rounded the corner. Neither had much hair, and they were dressed in over revealing skinny jeans with buttoned down polo shirts. For a second, I thought I'd landed onto the set of This is England, but I carried on walking towards them. The men had a couple of dogs with them which was a good thing. One was massive, a Leonberger, I think, and the other, who looked rather pathetic in comparison was a French Bulldog.
I had already labelled these two guys as odd, so was a little apprehensive as I drew up next to them on the path, especially when I noticed the Doc Martens they were both wearing. This was going to be interesting.
The bulldog was getting a little over zealous with Reg, and the Leonberger had her nose in my biscuit bag (not a euphemism before you start), when a high pitched camp voice said, 'Daphne, leave the poor lady alone'. Aah. The penny dropped. Well Daphne was gorgeous, and managed to win me over with a pair of eyes to die for. The bulldog had the misfortune to be called Madge and had just had 'her lady bits done' apparently. Turns out that they run a guest house on the South coast somewhere (I'm guessing Brighton) and they are visiting some friends close by.
So it goes to show I suppose that looks can be misleading. Don't tell anyone, but I'm really an MI5 agent who can kill a man with my two index fingers.
Don't be fooled by this overweight, middle-aged lady disguise I use....