at 8.30 on a Sunday morning, still in my jim-jams reading the paper on my ipad. Himself was snoozing soundly. A special time when all is good with the world. To appreciate how I had not a fart in a thunderstorms chance of avoiding the knock on the door you have to see where we live. Okay it is smack in the middle of the village, tucked out of the way, up a very unappealing track... no one finds us... just as we like it! Our 300 year old cottage has an oak extension with a solar farm amount of glass.
As a consequence Norman saw me seconds before I knew he was there!
An old Kentish man of our village had walked round to show us his latest pup.
'I've carried her round because I knew you would love to see her!'
'Come in!' I felt compelled to suggest.
In his arms was the most roughty-toughty scrap of a brillo pad pup I've ever seen.
His deep Kentish burr must have rattled the ancient timbers of our old cottage to reach high up to the slumbering giant in the eves, at least that's what I was hoping!
Norman's eyes travelled over my nightie-clad unleashed bosom, as luckily himself appeared from on high! Now I am not for one minute implying my matronly modesty was about to be breached, however a bod. has never been more relieved than husband heaving to!
After polite oohs and aahs, Norman and Jet eventually went. Oh the joys of living deep in the Kentish countryside...