Wednesday, 6 March 2013

Twigs In my Cleavage

When I undressed for my shower yesterday after work about a hundred and two tiny twigs fell out of my bra onto the bathroom floor, probably because I wore a wider-necked tee-shirt at work that invited all this unwanted debris to drop into my cleavage as I chopped out the jungle-vines above my head.

I always feel so much better once clean and love my bed when tired.

At 5.30am my alarm sounded sick and faint because the batteries are running flat. I only just heard the pathetic beep-beep-beep but luckily didn't need to get up yet. You see, I deliberately set my alarm-clock stupidly early so I can roll over, press the alarm button off  and reset it for an hour later.

"Shut up, Clock!", I say "Just shut up!", and then sink back into a satisfying sleep. It is a sad state of affairs perhaps that such a child-like game is a high-light in my day.

The Shropshires stampeded me as soon as I got to the orchard and one of them was particularly annoying. That moronic sheep dived between my legs to get at some kiwifruit leaves I had just lopped causing me to end up on a very short and undignified rodeo-ride!  After just seconds I swung one leg off but toppled sideways and grazed my legs.

At times like this I thank the Lord profusely that no-one is around to capture me on video and put me on 'Youtube'. Seriously, all I needed was a cowboy hat to complete a truly ridiculous spectacle of myself.

Speaking of spectacles, my $2 reading-glasses are strung around my neck on a thin cord as I need them to see close-up canes every few minutes. What frequently happens of course is that the cord gets entangled in a   piece of jungle and my throat gets a severe jolt.

I am a walking comedy but not everyone perceives it as such.

"Look at your legs!" said my mother aghast when I went over for a cup of tea after work. "You look like a rugby player!"

See ya!