COMMUTER LOVE

On the train to London this morning was a beautiful Italian looking couple sitting right opposite me. He was all olive skinned and dark curly hair. She was blonde and tanned and desparately upset over something and he was trying his best to comfort her with kisses and cuddles to little avail.

Being in touch with my feminine side myself, I felt terribly guilty staring at her breasts like that.

PRETTY GREEN

We sit drunkenly poised on the brink of another tantalising but ultimately dispiriting World Cup campaign.   Nevertheless, the weather is hot and sticky and full of promise.  ASDA's got a job lot of chairs decked out in the flag of St George and larger ladies walk past all thick nippled in unwise tops.   I can't get a Super Soaker of sufficient industry to drench the boy, so I settle for a flat strip of plastic which you attach to your hosepipe (bans permitting) and drape across your lawn like a slide.   On Radio 4 they're debating the art and beauty of the quintessential English rock and roll lyric, which sparks excitement in the boys.

I'VE BEEN TO A MARVELLOUS PARTY

I was designated driver on account of my ears, which always makes for an interesting bash. 

 

Things started out well enough as the bizarre combo of Yorkshire Life horsey set and Huddersfield's gay party boys tried to gel.  It sort of worked for a while until the shirts came off, the poppers came out and the dancing started.  That was just the horsey set.  Never had them down as Gina G fans, but you live and learn.

 

I managed from 8pm until 11.30, by which time Mrs Backroads and our next door neighbours The Ginnells had torn a hole in the space-time continuum.  I said I'm going home for a brew... back in an hour.  They said OK.  By the time I got back only Mrs B remained... I found her sandwiched between a farrier and a topless bear.  The Ginnells had had a fight and set off walking.  We found them eventually and it took some coaxing to get them into the bus.

 

Nearly hit a badger on the way home.