Words from a Bird

When son number two did an Elvis and left the building some years ago, the husband suggested that I should stop cooking for him every night.  After all, I was working too and he was more than capable of finding something to eat - these were his words, not mine, before you start feeling sorry for the silly old fool. However, a couple of weeks ago, I started feeling a bit guilty about this and suggested to the husband that I would make him a small nourishing meal each evening which I hoped would stop him from eating my body weight in cheese and crackers each night.  'Are you saying I need to lose some weight?' he asked.    Now as anyone with a pulse would know, this is dangerous territory, but after some rapid internal brainstorming, I came up with a reason somewhere along the lines of wanting to have a sit down together before we headed off to the sleep-inducing recliners we've just had delivered. Well it worked, and for the past ten days or so, he's been getting some lo

 It's only day 12 of October and I'm already fed up of wearing tights. Whoever invented these weapons of mass destruction should be strung up by the deniers and flayed alive.  I mean, just how hard can it be to create something which hides the milky pallour of post summer legs whilst keeping your knees warm and not falling down?  It's the last bit I have the biggest issue with.   When I was younger, tight came in age sizes, so there was no decision to make with my woolly navy blue school tights.  I was seven years old, therefore, I wore age seven tights (or up to a year older when I had a bit of a horizontal growth spurt in my early teens). The tights stayed put, and were only relegated to the bin after falls in the playground.  Do you remember coming home with a smooth, white knee poking out of the tights?  Usually covered with a plaster?  These were darned naturally, but it was only a matter of time before the darn was unpicked to get to the scab.  Actually, that's an

I'm in the middle of a much deserved day off and I have come to the conclusion (at the ripe old age of 57) that a wife's day off is vastly different to that of a husband's. Now my husband is a hard working old thing, and over the years he has taken days off to 'go and do things'.  These have involved learning how to ride a motorbike on one wheel, butchery, taking his bike across muddy fields and doing something rather odd in the sea with a jetpack and a long hosepipe (now that was a day when I wished that I'd had a camera with me).  So as you can see, his days off are booked purely for something very specific. So shall we look at my day off which is currently four hour's old? So far, I have managed a two hour walk with the woofs which was wonderful, but intermingled with that and writing this, I have also managed to vacuum the lounge, empty the dishwasher, do three loads of washing and manage to wrestle Percy to the ground on several occasions.  This last jo