A Mother of a Sunday

It is turning out to be a fraught Sunday..........a VERY fraught Sunday indeed.
I was woken at an obscenely early hour by the sound of snoring birds outside my window but frenetic activity, coupled with moans and groans, in the bedroom. Oh goody, I thought, I must be having sex with someone - hurrah! Sadly, I was wrong. SOMEONE ELSE was, however, having sex, or at least trying to.
My littlest dog, Tilly, no doubt flushed with the onrush of Spring, was chasing my biggest dog, Padfoot, round and round in a desperate attempt to shag him - again! I love ambition and optimism in a beagle-jack russell-cross! Pad, on the other hand, is a very reluctant suitor and it was his anguished groaning, together with the sound of his 6-stone frame lumbering around the room, which woke me.
Not a top hole start to the day. Still, I managed to pull the would-be rapist off her victim and then let both of them, and my other two dogs, out to greet the day and wake up the birds. I could scarcely open the back door, however, because a hurricane appeared to be passing through. There were bird feeders all over the lawn, buckets and watering cans tumbling down the path and the trees were bending ominously low. The weather has added to the strangeness of the day as it broke in glorious sunshine but since then there has been, by turns, hale, rain, then more sunshine and then the strong winds, and then rain, more hale and, briefly, snow! It is currently beautifully sunny again but I doubt it will last. Oops! In fact, as I type these very words, it is haling again. What is going on?

Tilly tried to shag Pad on and off during the morning until she finally gave up and sought solace with the real love of her life, Henry, my three-legged, Heinz 57 Varieties dog.
The weirdness of the day was not lessened when the current Mrs Pither dragged herself from her pit before 10am - unheard of on a Sunday - and charged downstairs, still pulling up and tucking in items of clothing while also brushing her hair. "Hell, I'm going to be late," she said, in a flustered sort of way. "Late for what?" I not unreasonably enquired as she raced out of the door to her car."I've got to blow up a tower block," she shouted back, as she leapt in the car and raced off.
Now my soon-to-be ex-wife, as I outlined in a previous post, has won medals for trashing things but blowing up a whole tower block is impressive, even by her lofty destructive standards."Why?" was an obvious word which came to mind. Maybe she had joined Al Qaeda? I dismissed that as a possibility almost instantly, however, as Osama and the boys are strict teetotallers and so Mrs Pither would fail the entrance exam spectacularly. I phoned her on her mobile to find out exactly what was going on. "Oh, I'm on call this weekend," she said, "and the council is demolishing an old, empty tower block. I've got to sort out Press coverage and photos of them blowing it up." That made some sort of sense. Anyway, I had other more immediate problems.
A mass fight had broken out in the lounge after Caty, the Dingo of Doom, found an old ball in the garden and she and Henry were having a spectacular dispute as to its ownership. Once again I leapt into action to separate the parties involved and then had to spend half an hour dabbing a cut on Caty's nose as she had been coming off second best when I intervened.









Henry, meanwhile, retired victorious to HIS armchair to spend the rest of the morning with his prize. It all went to reinforce the motto my STB EW came up with years ago - HENRY DON'T SHARE!!!
I then phoned my mother, to see if she had got the Mothering Sunday plants I had sent her. She had, but when she described what she had received I soon realised it was nowhere near what I had ordered. Still, she seemed happy enough, even though the card was addressed to "Dear Gladys" and her name is "Dorothy".
Ho hum. Well, the day is nowhere near over yet but I have already decided to keep a low profile for the rest of it, just in case.
I'm not sure how any of this relates to Grantham and, what's more, don't care.