Dear diary,
Thank you everyone who has responded to my ask regarding how to avoid any more hacking horrors. I have to say some of you are more mercenary than mother (which I can assure you is quite some feat) and your top tips around shoulder dropping and erstwhile literally throwing people under buses were eye opening – or watering depending on your point of view).
I am not hopeful of being able to dislodge Crazy New Boss Lady, and even more importantly, don’t fancy facing the wrath of her very possessive mare if I mullered her mother. But I am taking top tips on bin lorry evasion and I am going to work actively to achieve my black belt in the art of “spin and sod off”, as it is clear I am but an amateur by some of your standards.
Coming back to the cross I have to bear (mother, to be clear), she is at least back to looking vaguely like her normal cross bear self and less like a raccoon after a wild Friday night out in a questionable town. Admittedly if the light falls right, the greenish tinge that can still be seen to most of her face makes her look like Slimer from Ghost Busters, but at least her bat mask style bruising has diminished such that both her other half and I don’t have to walk about sounding like Shaggy constantly stating “wasn’t me”.
She was finally able to go and buy a new hat last weekend – at last her head was less swollen (literally this time – nothing to do with the size of her ego; that’s beyond help) to actually get one on her substantial sized bonce. This means I am expecting to have to deal with her reacquainting herself with the subtle art of staying as one with your steed, instead of taking impromptu flying lessons without your landing gear down. Personally, I find it ironic that she goes to ride something that’s supposedly “safer” than me and comes back looking like she’s been on the receiving end of a smack down from Mike Tyson. Karma my friends, Karma.
Mind you, I do hope while she’s still got her stabilisers on that she doesn’t get it into her head to go hacking. Dislodging Crazy Boss Lady might be something these days I find hard to achieve, but dislodging mother distinctly easier – I think the phrase is “unfairly matched”.
I know many of you might be thinking I should be nice to her but a) she rode another and b) the invading yellow peril army is fast-approaching and frankly the size of her arse makes her a very very attractive sacrifice and/or steam roller. Her arse lands on it at 20mph and there ain’t no daffodil built to survive, I can assure you.
Anyway, I am off to practise “spin and swerve” drills and await whatever daft idea Crazy Boss Lady has this week for “exercise”.
Laters,
Hovis
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