Here is a picture of domestic bliss - Bigfoot ironing my shirts. She was worried that Matron was looking over her shoulder and decided to dust down (literally) her iron which took her half an hour to find!
Unfortunately, not long after this photo was taken, the very scene that you see was transformed into something close to an enactment of the Somme. You see, I was in the enemy camp for the rugby match at Twickers. Yes, I know I'm a turncoat and, indeed, by half time I was seriously considering turning my coat inside out again given the hammering I was getting from Bigfoot. But I digress.
So, we retired to either end of the Sitting Room and called in BF's husband as referee. Needless to say he proved to be totally ineffectual and somewhat biased.
I was at a severe disadvantage given that BF had a distinct weight advantage in the scrums and, once she got going, was difficult to stop on the burst. On the other hand, I was very nimble albeit extremely unfit (as my coach, Matron has informed me on numerous occasions).
Well, close to half time, I had managed to make the most of a number of penalties conceded by BF (mostly for taking me out when I didn't have the ball, which was most of the time). On the stroke of half time, the ref at last looked up from the Telegraph and asserted his authority by sending off BF for stomping me in a maul. She was banished for ten minutes to the kitchen to make the tea.
But, blow me down, right after half time that little squirt of a ref sent me off for sledging!! All I said was "Who suffered their third worst defeat in One Day Cricket the other day?"
So, I had to go and wash up the tea stuff during which time BF managed to lurch drunkenly over for a try.
But her hysterical whinnying came to an abrupt halt when I dodged round the sofa, accidentally kicked her crutches from under her and scored in the corner right under the television for a memorable victory.
Does anyone know how to get rid of blood on the walls?
In which Youngest saves the day
11 months ago