Ooh, 'ek!

It is definitely 'Ooh, 'eck!' alright.

I've now started my proper training for the cancer research raceforlife -->

And, as I am sooo fat, and sooo unfit, it's about bloody time.

Last evening I went out with a group from the WI, not knowing the others were bringing their men with them. Mr T was nicely tucked up at home, watching the telly.

We had a lovely time, Hill Climbing! Which, for most of them, was a mere meander amongst the hills. Luckily, one of them was aged over 80 and couldn't manage to climb down the steepest bit, just to 'have a look at the river' so, I (kindly) stayed with her.

The views from the hills were Stunning. I do love Scotland.

We went back for supper which, as I'd only had chocolate for lunch, I was starving for; and got... half a cheese roll, half a ham roll and two delicious lumps of cake. So, I woofed those down with a cup of tea and left them to sup some wine and went home and had a pizza.

And, this morning a mere matter of hours after the last walk, went on another one!

Bugger, I'm hurting. Still, a few more cocodemol, some ibuprofen and cod liver oil capsules and I should be fit for the next bit - a swim tomorrow.

Not a chocolate...!

Now, don't get me wrong. On the whole I love my job. I have a very short walk, up a leafy lane, and with stunning views, to get to my work.

At 7.30 am, yesterday morning, for example, it took me a couple of minutes to let out the hens and walk up to work amidst a fresh nip in the air, rhododendruns bursting out all over, and loads of noisy birds vying for attention with the sounds of their chirruping.

Wonderful stuff.

However.

This was the last morning of a long week at work - up to 12 hours for each of 8 days and yep, Not a chocolate, Not a big bunch of flowers, Nor yet even a cash bonus was I given for a tip, as my predecessors had.

I am head cook (producing the best of Gary, Gordon, Nigella and Mary Berry), bottle washer, laundrymaid, shopper, seamstress, bed-maker, toilet cleaner, shoe-shiner, butler, soother of ruffled feathers, etc for my boss and his guests. Rose, Mrs Bridges and Mr Hudson et al, all rolled into one.

All for the princely sum of £5.35 per hour (basic minimum wage.) That's what I get. Mr T, for being gardner/handyman and general runner abouter has our tied cottage thrown onto his salary package.

My boss visits only a few times a year, but expects, and gets, full service. Except, of course, any 'service' above and beyond the normal call of duty- *ahem*.

And. Joy of joys - I heard that the rancid old crow, who used to have my job yonks ago, but has now climbed herself up to the dizzy heights of paid 'companion', made up Lies about me. A big problem for her is that I am good at my work.

Fuck, I do wonder why I am doing this.

Especially when I am asked what will happen to the leftover food; will it get saved and put into the freezer?

Perhaps I should be grateful for the 'showy offy' glass of champange I was persuaded to drink the other lunchtime.

Just made me drunk in charge of an Aga.

Egg Shaped

I was wondering, over the last few days, what must it be like to be a chicken, as it lays its first egg? It surely can't be like labour, as in giving birth labour. When that happens there is a build up, of shufflings, and wrigglings and well, Pain. That builds. And Gets Worse by the Hour.

I don't know of any animal, or fish, that goes into labour to give birth for, it must be remembered, most days of its life. Like a chicken does. Can you imagine? When the wee chicken starts to feel some kind of rumblings in the nether regions -

'Sqawk! Wha' the f...?' is the very least it must say to itself, when this oval thing decides to burst out of its bum. This would scare me shitless, especially as they don't get to go to any ante-natal classes. Anyhoo, 'nuff of these meanderings. I have news.

Ahem *cough*...

Yes, our first egg, laid by one of our lovely girls, sometime this afternoon, as modelled by Mr T himself.* We are sooo very chuffed that one of our girls has come through for us.

I do feel a bit squeemish, though, about actually Eating this first egg.

* Yes, he's still wearing those damned trousers.