Friday 10th July 2026
Heat. Humidity. Thunderstorms. Those three things sum up summer so far in our portion of old Blighty. The heat and thunderstorms I rather enjoy, but the humidity is another story. It’s a real bitch, especially at night when it swaddles you in a suffocating blanket and sleep is nigh on impossible. A lack of sleep isn’t great for anyone, but when you have a bath bomb for a brain its even less great. I have fizzed, but not with glitter and a pleasant scent.
Been mad busy lately with hardly a minute to spare: houseguests, housework, garden work, etc. The garden is looking good, thanks to constant attention and copious watering. I’m particularly proud of my hanging baskets this year. I went for a lemon and white theme, and I have to say they look fab, very fresh, light and bright. ZZ tries to take some of the credit for them, and I let him delude himself, cos I’m nice like that, but really it’s all me, me, me. (I’m so modest.)
Re last entry, and buckle up, cos I’ve got my gobshite head on today, we had a nice long weekend at Leo’s cottage in Cartmel, though given my anxiety regarding the bleach faux pas it was touch and go as to whether I’d actually go. And bugger me if I didn’t go and do the exact same thing again, the day we got back from our break, but on a jacket this time. Shane just about hit the roof. The palm of his hand certainly hit my arse. Reluctantly, I felt I deserved it. If he hadn’t been around I’d have smacked my own arse, but probs not as hard as he did. He’s a brute, whereas I’m a gentle soul at heart.
Anyway, let me whisk you back to bleach blunder Friday. I managed to get hold of someone from the store we bought the couch from, but they were sod all help. The guy I spoke to was hardwired to make sales and why sell a cushion when you can sell an entire couch? He threw every obstacle in my way as to why it was impossible to get a new seat cushion for the couch we already had. Designs had changed; the model we’d bought was no longer in stock, etc, and so on. I pointed out that the seat cushion was basically a square and as long as they sent one the same width and depth it would fit. Ah, no, you see, there was no guarantee of a colour match. It’s just black, I said, only to be told there are many shades of black, and the one we had was likely to have faded over time anyway, and also the texture might not match and would stand out like a sore thumb. Best to get a whole new couch. I gave up, manfully resisting an urge to hurl my phone at the wall. Hiding a damaged cushion is one thing, hiding a hole in the wall quite another. I could have ordered a whole new couch, but aside from the eye watering cost, I suspected the men folk might notice a completely new couch appearing in the lounge, and ask uncomfortable questions.
I went online and managed to find an upholsterer who worked our area. His blurb claimed he could repair and reupholster just about any kind of chair, etc. I called him, explained my dilemma and was given hope. He reckoned he could either salvage the existing cushion or re-cover it, matching it to its brothers. Clever man. I almost asked him to marry me. The downside? It would be several days before he could get out to me and make an assessment. Bugger.
It was what it was. At least I had a plan. Now all I had to do was prevent the bleach blunder being discovered in the interim period. Given we were going away for the weekend I was hopeful of securing a definite solution without the men folk discovering why one was needed. Simples.
I admit I was preoccupied and unusually quiet during dinner that evening, prompting Dick to ask if everything was all right.
Re-enactment of the scene that followed:
Me - ‘why shouldn’t I be all right?”
Dick - ‘you’re quiet, that’s all, got something on your mind?”
Me, tersely, - ‘nothing, apart from wondering when you two are going to sort out your cases for the weekend.’
Dick, mildly, - ‘it won’t take a minute to throw some clothes in a case, Gil.’
Me - ‘only because I have everything washed, ironed and hanging in the wardrobe ready to go.’
Dick - ‘and we appreciate all your hard work.’
Me, cynically - ‘hmm.’
Dick, cheerfully attempting to change the subject, - ‘I though we might have a day at the races while we’re away, should be fun, what do you think?’
Me, suddenly losing it (and revealing grudges I didn’t even know I had) - ‘yeah, why not, it’s not like we haven’t had wall-to-wall racing since March. I mean there’s no limit to how many fucking horses you can bet on, is there. This house might as well be the regional headquarters of the Jokey Club. Tell you what, Dick, while we’re on, I’ll give Rory Mcllroy a bell, see if he can join us for a round of golf up there, I mean you and him are practically blood brothers given the amount of time you spend watching him, or talking about him. I mean God forbid we do anything I’m interested in. Racing, golfing, sailing, shooting, what do they have in common, eh? I’ll tell you. They don’t involve me, not in any real sense.’
Dick, looking genuinely bewildered, said - ‘shooting season is over.’
Me, sarcastically - ‘oh, you must be gutted, never mind, there’s still racing, golfing and sailing to exclude me from. In fact, know what, I’m not going to the cottage. It’s just another busman’s fucking holiday for me. You all have a jolly good time while I end up knackered. I’ll stay here and have a proper break on my own.’
Dick opened his mouth, only to have Shane point at him and sharply say ‘shush.’ His finger then swivelled at me - ‘no one excludes you from anything so shut it. There is no argument to be had here. I mean it, boy, use your mouth to eat with and nothing else, and that goes for you too, Richard. Him being quiet is a cause for celebration, not the signal to launch a fruitless quest. I thought you’d learned that much by now. You should have quit while you were ahead. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my dinner in peace.’
Dinner resumed and was consumed in silence. Afterwards, they left the table and went into the lounge to await coffee, as per.
I was setting up the tray ready to take through when my mobile rang. It was Leo. He got straight to business.
Leo - ‘so what’s going on?’
Me - ‘what are you on about?’
Leo - ‘I’ve just spoken to Shane, and he mentioned that you were in one of your moods. So again, what’s going on? I’m not having you spoiling our weekend with tantrums and sour vibes. If you’ve got something on what passes as your mind then spit it out, and let’s resolve it now.’
I went straight for Leo’s throat, snarling, - ‘there’s nowt going on, Leo, and even if there was it would be none of your business, so butt out.’
Ending the call, I snatched up the tray with such energy I almost toppled the coffee pot. Marching into the lounge, I set the tray on the coffee table with a fair degree of attitude. Let’s be honest, I was in a twat of a mood.
Shane said, - ‘still scowling I see, so what is it, a real problem, or just a bad hair day?’
Me, tight lipped, began setting out the cups and coffee pot. I was gearing up to make a pithy remark about not liking to be talked about behind my back, when I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. It was Dick. He’d plunged his hand behind the damaged sofa cushion, and I knew why. He was scrabbling about for the telly remote. He's a menace for letting it slide underneath the cushions. Before long he’d have the cushion up and it would be game over.
Lunging forwards, I slapped at his hand, yelling, - ‘leave it! I’ve just conditioned those cushions. You’ll ruin them. Why can’t you put the remote on the coffee table like a normal person?’
‘What the hell, Gilli?’ Dick, looking thoroughly startled, rose to his feet, two hot spots of colour staining his fine cheekbones, a sure sign of annoyance. I was mortified to note an equally red patch on the back of the hand I’d slapped. I’d given him a fair old whack. Repercussions were bound to be incoming. One did not slap Beta Daddy and get away with it.
Right on cue, Shane also stood up, his face thunderous. ‘If there’s any slapping to be done in this house, young man, I’ll do it. Apologise to Dick, at once.’
I did so without hesitation, and with heartfelt sincerity. Shane sat back down, roughly yanking me alongside him. ‘What’s happened to put you in such a temper?’
Dick also sat down, rubbing a hand along my thigh, saying kindly, ‘c’mon, Gil, out with it. You were fine this morning, so what’s happened since to throw you so out of kilter?’
Shane said, ‘you’ve got ten seconds before my patience expires.’
Standing up, I turned over the cushion I’d been parked on, revealing my sin for all to see, followed by an account of how it came about. Shane’s reaction was of the Alpha Daddy variety, silent, swift and brutal: pants down, over his knee, hard hand to bare arse. Only when it was over, and I’d calmed down, did he speak.
‘You deserved that spanking, Gilli, and not for ruining the sofa, but for trying to conceal it. You act as if I’m some sort of unreasonable ogre. Yes, I’d have been bloody annoyed by your carelessness, yes, I’d have bawled you out, but I’d have given you credit for seeking a solution. Accidents happen, mistakes happen, but dishonesty is a choice. You should have manned up, owned up and it would have been done with, but instead you engaged in deceitfulness, and that’s what you were spanked for. You put yourself through the mill for no good reason, and us along with you, just to avoid a telling off.’
‘Sorry, Daddy, really, I’m so sorry.’ I wiped my snotty nose with the back of my hand. ‘I didn’t think of it as going behind your back. I just felt so bad, and so stupid, about what I did, I wanted to make it right before you noticed.’
‘Stupidity is your calling card, I can handle it, but I won’t put up with deceit. And, just so you know, if you ever strike Dick, or me, in a hissy fit of mindless hysteria ever again, I’ll take a paddle to your backside and put you under restriction for a year. Now go and wash your face.’
When I returned to the lounge, they were drinking coffee and watching the telly, as if nothing had happened. Shane offered his cheek for a kiss, which I gladly gave as a sign of my acceptance of discipline and the reason for it.
‘Silly boy.’ Dick pulled me into a fond hug when I took my rightful place between them on the sofa.
I’d made a bad situation worse by trying to conceal it instead of owning it. As a result, my backside was sore, but my conscience was now clear. Justice had been served and all was right again.
Footnotes:
It was a good weekend away. My rant had clearly hit home. There was no day at the races, and Rory Mcllroy was not mentioned once.
The upholsterer duly turned up and proved to be worthy of earning a place in my address book of trusted tradesmen. He did a grand job with the sofa cushion. I insisted on paying for the repair, it wasn’t cheap, but nowhere near as expensive as a new couch.
Spray foam bleach is no longer part of my cleaning arsenal. It was binned after a second brush with catastrophe. Returning home from Cartmel, we’d stopped off for a quick lunch of coffee and bacon sandwiches at a roadside cafe. Once home, I’d remarked that our jackets smelled of bacon and needed to be hung outside to freshen. For good measure I grabbed a bottle of Febreeze from under the sink - and yeah, you guessed it. Shane hit the roof, and not just because it was his jacket. What kind of idiot didn’t check the bottle in the first place, and in the second place, put the bottle away with the nozzle turned to on, instead of off, which made blunders easier to commit in the moment. Fair point. Spray bleach is banned altogether, and it’s now a houseboy policy to turn all cleaning spray nozzles to the off position after use. Seconds count, peeps.
Well, sorry, but I did warn you I had my gobshite head on, but I’m done now. I’m off to attend one of the tennis lessons I was given as a birthday gift. I’ll be glad when they’re done. The coach is a fucking slave driver and he has no sense of humour at all. It’s like being coached by a sergeant major getting recruits ready for war.
Sunday 26th July 2026
Dear Diary,
The Daddies are having a sail away day with Captain Pugwash, aka Leo, and also Howard and Rob, so here I am, home alone. I’m okay with it. I could have gone along, but it isn’t my thing. I’m nervous on boats, there’s so much to remember, and given the eccentricities of my brain, sailing doesn’t always suit, not when the sun on water can trigger an event, and anyway, I can get seasick on the shore just looking at a boat bobbing, never mind being on it. Sunday lunch will be served as Sunday dinner when they all pile back this evening.
So, yeah, hallelujah, the tennis coaching is finally over and done with. It improved my backhand, honed my serve, and made me a better competitor, while killing all my enjoyment in actually playing tennis. Knocking a ball back and forth across a net while having a good run about and looking sexy in shorts was all I needed from the game. For God’s sake, what happened to having a bit of fun? Why does everything have to be professional, competitive and perfect? Fucking ruined it for me. I know, I’m an ungrateful bastard, but come on, life is supposed to be fun, not a non-stop battle to be best and top dog, its just narcissism gone mad. Granted, I used to get snarky when I lost to Leo, or anyone really, but I chucked my racket, whined, swore under my breath, scowled, and got over it. There was absolutely no need to spoil my enjoyment with tennis lessons. Bloody Leo.
It’s been a dry old summer in Blighty. To be honest, I’m amazed there’s actually any water left that’s deep enough to sail on. We had a shower of rain overnight here in our portion, the first in weeks, but really not enough to make a difference to the parched landscape. All the same, it did refresh the garden. The lavender always releases more perfume after a rain shower. It’s gorgeous.
On the domestic front, self and men folk had a bit of a contretemps during the week, but fear not, it was nothing serious. Bleach was not involved. Edible food glitter did feature large though. Interested? Then read on.
I know there are those amongst you, the homemakers, who will get where I’m coming from when I say we feel unappreciated at times. We keep home and hearth in tip-top fettle, we cook, clean, garden, etc, etc, we are purveyors of many trades. However, sometimes, for whatever reason, we get the feeling that the many things we do are not just under-appreciated, but are not even noticed at all, as if they are mere trifles and of no consequence. In short, we, and all we do, is taken for granted. I don’t know about you, but every now and again (on a regular basis) it really pisses me off.
My two come home from their places of work to my place of work and most of the time they don’t seem to notice how much I’ve done, let alone appreciate it. They’re full of how much they’ve done and how much they’ve achieved, while failing to recognise how much I’ve done and how much I’ve achieved, which they then enjoy. Clean laundry, a lovely home, beautiful garden, and good food beautifully presented. If I say anything, they claim I’m whinging and exchange long suffering sighs and exasperated eye rolls, while denying they take me for granted. Like I said, it pisses me off, and words get said.
Anyway, we had one of those sessions last Tuesday evening when I felt they had bowled home once too often without appreciating how much I’d done in the house and in the garden, especially the garden last week with ZZ away on holiday. Given the heat it’s been hellish hard work keeping the garden green and lovely. I’d managed it, though, not that they seemed to notice. Words got said. Sighs and eye rolls were exchanged, denials made, provoking me to shout that I could hire an Oompah band to greet them on their return from work and they wouldn’t fucking notice. Shane reacted by ‘suggesting’ I have an early night, as I seemed tired and overwrought and he thought the heat might be getting to me.
I was still a bit seethy next morning. I get like that sometimes and find it hard to let things go. Breakfasts were basic and served with minimum charm. Fuck em both. Shane ignored me and went to work. Dick tried to placate with honeyed smiles, but gave up when I dropped his toast onto his plate from a height of approximately two feet. He primly told me I was naughty and churlish. On leaving for work, he made as if to kiss me goodbye, saw my face, and thought better of it. I imagine he thought it’d be like trying to snog a grumpy piranha. He left the house muttering something about a grudge-bearing pain in the arse.
Later on, I was raking about in a kitchen drawer, looking for the tube of superglue I knew was in there somewhere. I’d been watering one of the borders when I’d noticed a small split in the hosepipe. A good blob of superglue would hold it until I could do a better fix or buy a new one.
No matter how often you tidy out a drawer, it inevitable fills back up with junk. While raking, I found several things I’d thought were lost forever and a couple of things I’d completely forgotten about, including two pots of edible cake glitter. I couldn’t even recall what I’d bought them for, or why they were in the drawer seeing as I kept all the baking stuff in a cupboard. Maybe I hadn’t liked the colours or something. They were pretty bright. One was petrol blue and the other an eye popping green. I set them aside, found the glue and did my repair.
Later still, while enjoying a well-deserved lunch in the kitchen, I picked up the pots and examined them. I don’t know what the shelf life is on edible glitter, but I reckoned these must have lain in the drawer for years. There was no actual use by date on them, so would they still be safe to use, and what on? I couldn’t imagine Shane or Dick being tempted to sink their teeth into anything luridly sparkling in vivid shades of blue and green. Shane isn’t a glitter fan at the best of times. He doesn’t even like it on a Christmas card. All the same, it seemed a shame just to bin the glitter, wasteful.
That’s when an idea came to me. I’d use the glitter and at the same time prove that the men folk didn’t, as they claimed, always notice my efforts in home and garden. Moments later, armed with the pots and a small brush, I was in the front garden, blithely dusting every plant and flower in edible glitter. I used up every bit.
Sunflowers, lavender, roses, marigolds, hostas, my hanging baskets, you name it, coruscated in the afternoon sunshine, turning the borders into a sparkling, enchanted wonderland. I actually loved it. Surely they’d notice? Time would tell.
They duly arrived home one after the other, and one after the other they did their usual thing, shouting a greeting as they came through the front door, going off upstairs to wash and change before coming back down and heading for the dining room where they expected to be served a good dinner. Glittering plants, anyone? Nope. Not a mention.
I duly served a good dinner, biding my time, before casually asking if they’d noticed anything different about the front garden as they came in. Dick, bless him, took the bait and said, ‘ just that it looks beautiful. It always does, Gilli. We can see how hard you work at it, can’t we, Shane?’
Shane agreed, and got on with his dinner. We were having dessert at that point, a light hazelnut meringue, one of his favourites, and he seemed keen to get on with enjoying it. I waited a few moments and then said, accusingly, ‘you really didn’t notice, did you?’
They gave each other tense side eye. I sensed fear, and took a moment to enjoy it, before repeating the question. Dick grimaced, and then joked, ‘don’t tell me you actually hired an Oompah band and we walked straight past them?’
“No, but I bet you would. It’s fucking unbelievable.’ I shook my head. ‘How could you not notice the garden? Is there any fucking point to how hard I work in it when you can’t be arsed to even look at it? It proves my point about being taken for granted.’
Shane’s patience threw in the towel. ‘Just spit it out, Gilli, what did you set up for us to miss?’
Leading then forth to the great outdoors, I silently spread out my arms, inviting them to share the wonder. Nope. Not a sausage.
‘It doesn’t look any different,’ said Dick, sounding a bit panicky.
‘Glitter!’ I all but roared the word. ‘For the love of God, everything is glittering, look at it, how can you not notice? I know you’re old, but your vision can’t be that bad.’
‘Oh, yes,’ the panic left Dick’s face, replaced with a genuine smile, ‘I see it. Oh my word, look at it, Shane.’
‘I’m looking.’ He said, clearly unimpressed.
‘It’s sparkling like a fairytale film set. I can’t believe neither of us noticed it. I’m going to take a vid.’ He hurried back inside to get his phone.
Shane looked at me. ‘You’ve made your point, such as it is, it still doesn’t prove you’re taken for granted. Chance would be a fine thing where you’re concerned, master motor mouth. Won’t this stuff harm the plants, and what about the birds?’
I made a disparaging noise, ‘says the man who likes nowt better than shooting a wood pigeon up the arse with a twelvebore, and no, it won’t. It’s edible food grade glitter, no harm done. The wind will blow most of it off.’
‘I hope so. Are we done now, is your childish little show over, can I finish my dinner in peace?’
‘Fill your boots,’ I said graciously.
‘After you,’ he said sweetly, and damn it if I didn’t fall for it, letting out a pained squawk as his hand met my arse and propelled me back inside faster than I’d intended to go.
‘That was for being a devious little diva.’
Daddy has to have the last word.
We did actually laugh about it afterwards. Harmony was restored, until the next time.
The glitter is still evident, though not quite as much, and I still enjoy seeing leaves and flowers glitter in the sunshine. Be interesting to see what ZZ makes of it tomorrow. I imagine, like Shane, he’ll be unimpressed.
Well, peeps, time to go and start prepping for dinner. I’m keeping it light and simple I’m doing lemon chicken with new potatoes and green beans followed by a choice of vanilla cheesecake or panna cotta, both ready made, but I might break out the lustre dust to tart them up and make them my own. Ciao for now.
Heat. Humidity. Thunderstorms. Those three things sum up summer so far in our portion of old Blighty. The heat and thunderstorms I rather enjoy, but the humidity is another story. It’s a real bitch, especially at night when it swaddles you in a suffocating blanket and sleep is nigh on impossible. A lack of sleep isn’t great for anyone, but when you have a bath bomb for a brain its even less great. I have fizzed, but not with glitter and a pleasant scent.
Been mad busy lately with hardly a minute to spare: houseguests, housework, garden work, etc. The garden is looking good, thanks to constant attention and copious watering. I’m particularly proud of my hanging baskets this year. I went for a lemon and white theme, and I have to say they look fab, very fresh, light and bright. ZZ tries to take some of the credit for them, and I let him delude himself, cos I’m nice like that, but really it’s all me, me, me. (I’m so modest.)
Re last entry, and buckle up, cos I’ve got my gobshite head on today, we had a nice long weekend at Leo’s cottage in Cartmel, though given my anxiety regarding the bleach faux pas it was touch and go as to whether I’d actually go. And bugger me if I didn’t go and do the exact same thing again, the day we got back from our break, but on a jacket this time. Shane just about hit the roof. The palm of his hand certainly hit my arse. Reluctantly, I felt I deserved it. If he hadn’t been around I’d have smacked my own arse, but probs not as hard as he did. He’s a brute, whereas I’m a gentle soul at heart.
Anyway, let me whisk you back to bleach blunder Friday. I managed to get hold of someone from the store we bought the couch from, but they were sod all help. The guy I spoke to was hardwired to make sales and why sell a cushion when you can sell an entire couch? He threw every obstacle in my way as to why it was impossible to get a new seat cushion for the couch we already had. Designs had changed; the model we’d bought was no longer in stock, etc, and so on. I pointed out that the seat cushion was basically a square and as long as they sent one the same width and depth it would fit. Ah, no, you see, there was no guarantee of a colour match. It’s just black, I said, only to be told there are many shades of black, and the one we had was likely to have faded over time anyway, and also the texture might not match and would stand out like a sore thumb. Best to get a whole new couch. I gave up, manfully resisting an urge to hurl my phone at the wall. Hiding a damaged cushion is one thing, hiding a hole in the wall quite another. I could have ordered a whole new couch, but aside from the eye watering cost, I suspected the men folk might notice a completely new couch appearing in the lounge, and ask uncomfortable questions.
I went online and managed to find an upholsterer who worked our area. His blurb claimed he could repair and reupholster just about any kind of chair, etc. I called him, explained my dilemma and was given hope. He reckoned he could either salvage the existing cushion or re-cover it, matching it to its brothers. Clever man. I almost asked him to marry me. The downside? It would be several days before he could get out to me and make an assessment. Bugger.
It was what it was. At least I had a plan. Now all I had to do was prevent the bleach blunder being discovered in the interim period. Given we were going away for the weekend I was hopeful of securing a definite solution without the men folk discovering why one was needed. Simples.
I admit I was preoccupied and unusually quiet during dinner that evening, prompting Dick to ask if everything was all right.
Re-enactment of the scene that followed:
Me - ‘why shouldn’t I be all right?”
Dick - ‘you’re quiet, that’s all, got something on your mind?”
Me, tersely, - ‘nothing, apart from wondering when you two are going to sort out your cases for the weekend.’
Dick, mildly, - ‘it won’t take a minute to throw some clothes in a case, Gil.’
Me - ‘only because I have everything washed, ironed and hanging in the wardrobe ready to go.’
Dick - ‘and we appreciate all your hard work.’
Me, cynically - ‘hmm.’
Dick, cheerfully attempting to change the subject, - ‘I though we might have a day at the races while we’re away, should be fun, what do you think?’
Me, suddenly losing it (and revealing grudges I didn’t even know I had) - ‘yeah, why not, it’s not like we haven’t had wall-to-wall racing since March. I mean there’s no limit to how many fucking horses you can bet on, is there. This house might as well be the regional headquarters of the Jokey Club. Tell you what, Dick, while we’re on, I’ll give Rory Mcllroy a bell, see if he can join us for a round of golf up there, I mean you and him are practically blood brothers given the amount of time you spend watching him, or talking about him. I mean God forbid we do anything I’m interested in. Racing, golfing, sailing, shooting, what do they have in common, eh? I’ll tell you. They don’t involve me, not in any real sense.’
Dick, looking genuinely bewildered, said - ‘shooting season is over.’
Me, sarcastically - ‘oh, you must be gutted, never mind, there’s still racing, golfing and sailing to exclude me from. In fact, know what, I’m not going to the cottage. It’s just another busman’s fucking holiday for me. You all have a jolly good time while I end up knackered. I’ll stay here and have a proper break on my own.’
Dick opened his mouth, only to have Shane point at him and sharply say ‘shush.’ His finger then swivelled at me - ‘no one excludes you from anything so shut it. There is no argument to be had here. I mean it, boy, use your mouth to eat with and nothing else, and that goes for you too, Richard. Him being quiet is a cause for celebration, not the signal to launch a fruitless quest. I thought you’d learned that much by now. You should have quit while you were ahead. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my dinner in peace.’
Dinner resumed and was consumed in silence. Afterwards, they left the table and went into the lounge to await coffee, as per.
I was setting up the tray ready to take through when my mobile rang. It was Leo. He got straight to business.
Leo - ‘so what’s going on?’
Me - ‘what are you on about?’
Leo - ‘I’ve just spoken to Shane, and he mentioned that you were in one of your moods. So again, what’s going on? I’m not having you spoiling our weekend with tantrums and sour vibes. If you’ve got something on what passes as your mind then spit it out, and let’s resolve it now.’
I went straight for Leo’s throat, snarling, - ‘there’s nowt going on, Leo, and even if there was it would be none of your business, so butt out.’
Ending the call, I snatched up the tray with such energy I almost toppled the coffee pot. Marching into the lounge, I set the tray on the coffee table with a fair degree of attitude. Let’s be honest, I was in a twat of a mood.
Shane said, - ‘still scowling I see, so what is it, a real problem, or just a bad hair day?’
Me, tight lipped, began setting out the cups and coffee pot. I was gearing up to make a pithy remark about not liking to be talked about behind my back, when I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. It was Dick. He’d plunged his hand behind the damaged sofa cushion, and I knew why. He was scrabbling about for the telly remote. He's a menace for letting it slide underneath the cushions. Before long he’d have the cushion up and it would be game over.
Lunging forwards, I slapped at his hand, yelling, - ‘leave it! I’ve just conditioned those cushions. You’ll ruin them. Why can’t you put the remote on the coffee table like a normal person?’
‘What the hell, Gilli?’ Dick, looking thoroughly startled, rose to his feet, two hot spots of colour staining his fine cheekbones, a sure sign of annoyance. I was mortified to note an equally red patch on the back of the hand I’d slapped. I’d given him a fair old whack. Repercussions were bound to be incoming. One did not slap Beta Daddy and get away with it.
Right on cue, Shane also stood up, his face thunderous. ‘If there’s any slapping to be done in this house, young man, I’ll do it. Apologise to Dick, at once.’
I did so without hesitation, and with heartfelt sincerity. Shane sat back down, roughly yanking me alongside him. ‘What’s happened to put you in such a temper?’
Dick also sat down, rubbing a hand along my thigh, saying kindly, ‘c’mon, Gil, out with it. You were fine this morning, so what’s happened since to throw you so out of kilter?’
Shane said, ‘you’ve got ten seconds before my patience expires.’
Standing up, I turned over the cushion I’d been parked on, revealing my sin for all to see, followed by an account of how it came about. Shane’s reaction was of the Alpha Daddy variety, silent, swift and brutal: pants down, over his knee, hard hand to bare arse. Only when it was over, and I’d calmed down, did he speak.
‘You deserved that spanking, Gilli, and not for ruining the sofa, but for trying to conceal it. You act as if I’m some sort of unreasonable ogre. Yes, I’d have been bloody annoyed by your carelessness, yes, I’d have bawled you out, but I’d have given you credit for seeking a solution. Accidents happen, mistakes happen, but dishonesty is a choice. You should have manned up, owned up and it would have been done with, but instead you engaged in deceitfulness, and that’s what you were spanked for. You put yourself through the mill for no good reason, and us along with you, just to avoid a telling off.’
‘Sorry, Daddy, really, I’m so sorry.’ I wiped my snotty nose with the back of my hand. ‘I didn’t think of it as going behind your back. I just felt so bad, and so stupid, about what I did, I wanted to make it right before you noticed.’
‘Stupidity is your calling card, I can handle it, but I won’t put up with deceit. And, just so you know, if you ever strike Dick, or me, in a hissy fit of mindless hysteria ever again, I’ll take a paddle to your backside and put you under restriction for a year. Now go and wash your face.’
When I returned to the lounge, they were drinking coffee and watching the telly, as if nothing had happened. Shane offered his cheek for a kiss, which I gladly gave as a sign of my acceptance of discipline and the reason for it.
‘Silly boy.’ Dick pulled me into a fond hug when I took my rightful place between them on the sofa.
I’d made a bad situation worse by trying to conceal it instead of owning it. As a result, my backside was sore, but my conscience was now clear. Justice had been served and all was right again.
Footnotes:
It was a good weekend away. My rant had clearly hit home. There was no day at the races, and Rory Mcllroy was not mentioned once.
The upholsterer duly turned up and proved to be worthy of earning a place in my address book of trusted tradesmen. He did a grand job with the sofa cushion. I insisted on paying for the repair, it wasn’t cheap, but nowhere near as expensive as a new couch.
Spray foam bleach is no longer part of my cleaning arsenal. It was binned after a second brush with catastrophe. Returning home from Cartmel, we’d stopped off for a quick lunch of coffee and bacon sandwiches at a roadside cafe. Once home, I’d remarked that our jackets smelled of bacon and needed to be hung outside to freshen. For good measure I grabbed a bottle of Febreeze from under the sink - and yeah, you guessed it. Shane hit the roof, and not just because it was his jacket. What kind of idiot didn’t check the bottle in the first place, and in the second place, put the bottle away with the nozzle turned to on, instead of off, which made blunders easier to commit in the moment. Fair point. Spray bleach is banned altogether, and it’s now a houseboy policy to turn all cleaning spray nozzles to the off position after use. Seconds count, peeps.
Well, sorry, but I did warn you I had my gobshite head on, but I’m done now. I’m off to attend one of the tennis lessons I was given as a birthday gift. I’ll be glad when they’re done. The coach is a fucking slave driver and he has no sense of humour at all. It’s like being coached by a sergeant major getting recruits ready for war.
Ciao for now.
Sunday 26th July 2026
Dear Diary,
The Daddies are having a sail away day with Captain Pugwash, aka Leo, and also Howard and Rob, so here I am, home alone. I’m okay with it. I could have gone along, but it isn’t my thing. I’m nervous on boats, there’s so much to remember, and given the eccentricities of my brain, sailing doesn’t always suit, not when the sun on water can trigger an event, and anyway, I can get seasick on the shore just looking at a boat bobbing, never mind being on it. Sunday lunch will be served as Sunday dinner when they all pile back this evening.
So, yeah, hallelujah, the tennis coaching is finally over and done with. It improved my backhand, honed my serve, and made me a better competitor, while killing all my enjoyment in actually playing tennis. Knocking a ball back and forth across a net while having a good run about and looking sexy in shorts was all I needed from the game. For God’s sake, what happened to having a bit of fun? Why does everything have to be professional, competitive and perfect? Fucking ruined it for me. I know, I’m an ungrateful bastard, but come on, life is supposed to be fun, not a non-stop battle to be best and top dog, its just narcissism gone mad. Granted, I used to get snarky when I lost to Leo, or anyone really, but I chucked my racket, whined, swore under my breath, scowled, and got over it. There was absolutely no need to spoil my enjoyment with tennis lessons. Bloody Leo.
It’s been a dry old summer in Blighty. To be honest, I’m amazed there’s actually any water left that’s deep enough to sail on. We had a shower of rain overnight here in our portion, the first in weeks, but really not enough to make a difference to the parched landscape. All the same, it did refresh the garden. The lavender always releases more perfume after a rain shower. It’s gorgeous.
On the domestic front, self and men folk had a bit of a contretemps during the week, but fear not, it was nothing serious. Bleach was not involved. Edible food glitter did feature large though. Interested? Then read on.
I know there are those amongst you, the homemakers, who will get where I’m coming from when I say we feel unappreciated at times. We keep home and hearth in tip-top fettle, we cook, clean, garden, etc, etc, we are purveyors of many trades. However, sometimes, for whatever reason, we get the feeling that the many things we do are not just under-appreciated, but are not even noticed at all, as if they are mere trifles and of no consequence. In short, we, and all we do, is taken for granted. I don’t know about you, but every now and again (on a regular basis) it really pisses me off.
My two come home from their places of work to my place of work and most of the time they don’t seem to notice how much I’ve done, let alone appreciate it. They’re full of how much they’ve done and how much they’ve achieved, while failing to recognise how much I’ve done and how much I’ve achieved, which they then enjoy. Clean laundry, a lovely home, beautiful garden, and good food beautifully presented. If I say anything, they claim I’m whinging and exchange long suffering sighs and exasperated eye rolls, while denying they take me for granted. Like I said, it pisses me off, and words get said.
Anyway, we had one of those sessions last Tuesday evening when I felt they had bowled home once too often without appreciating how much I’d done in the house and in the garden, especially the garden last week with ZZ away on holiday. Given the heat it’s been hellish hard work keeping the garden green and lovely. I’d managed it, though, not that they seemed to notice. Words got said. Sighs and eye rolls were exchanged, denials made, provoking me to shout that I could hire an Oompah band to greet them on their return from work and they wouldn’t fucking notice. Shane reacted by ‘suggesting’ I have an early night, as I seemed tired and overwrought and he thought the heat might be getting to me.
I was still a bit seethy next morning. I get like that sometimes and find it hard to let things go. Breakfasts were basic and served with minimum charm. Fuck em both. Shane ignored me and went to work. Dick tried to placate with honeyed smiles, but gave up when I dropped his toast onto his plate from a height of approximately two feet. He primly told me I was naughty and churlish. On leaving for work, he made as if to kiss me goodbye, saw my face, and thought better of it. I imagine he thought it’d be like trying to snog a grumpy piranha. He left the house muttering something about a grudge-bearing pain in the arse.
Later on, I was raking about in a kitchen drawer, looking for the tube of superglue I knew was in there somewhere. I’d been watering one of the borders when I’d noticed a small split in the hosepipe. A good blob of superglue would hold it until I could do a better fix or buy a new one.
No matter how often you tidy out a drawer, it inevitable fills back up with junk. While raking, I found several things I’d thought were lost forever and a couple of things I’d completely forgotten about, including two pots of edible cake glitter. I couldn’t even recall what I’d bought them for, or why they were in the drawer seeing as I kept all the baking stuff in a cupboard. Maybe I hadn’t liked the colours or something. They were pretty bright. One was petrol blue and the other an eye popping green. I set them aside, found the glue and did my repair.
Later still, while enjoying a well-deserved lunch in the kitchen, I picked up the pots and examined them. I don’t know what the shelf life is on edible glitter, but I reckoned these must have lain in the drawer for years. There was no actual use by date on them, so would they still be safe to use, and what on? I couldn’t imagine Shane or Dick being tempted to sink their teeth into anything luridly sparkling in vivid shades of blue and green. Shane isn’t a glitter fan at the best of times. He doesn’t even like it on a Christmas card. All the same, it seemed a shame just to bin the glitter, wasteful.
That’s when an idea came to me. I’d use the glitter and at the same time prove that the men folk didn’t, as they claimed, always notice my efforts in home and garden. Moments later, armed with the pots and a small brush, I was in the front garden, blithely dusting every plant and flower in edible glitter. I used up every bit.
Sunflowers, lavender, roses, marigolds, hostas, my hanging baskets, you name it, coruscated in the afternoon sunshine, turning the borders into a sparkling, enchanted wonderland. I actually loved it. Surely they’d notice? Time would tell.
They duly arrived home one after the other, and one after the other they did their usual thing, shouting a greeting as they came through the front door, going off upstairs to wash and change before coming back down and heading for the dining room where they expected to be served a good dinner. Glittering plants, anyone? Nope. Not a mention.
I duly served a good dinner, biding my time, before casually asking if they’d noticed anything different about the front garden as they came in. Dick, bless him, took the bait and said, ‘ just that it looks beautiful. It always does, Gilli. We can see how hard you work at it, can’t we, Shane?’
Shane agreed, and got on with his dinner. We were having dessert at that point, a light hazelnut meringue, one of his favourites, and he seemed keen to get on with enjoying it. I waited a few moments and then said, accusingly, ‘you really didn’t notice, did you?’
They gave each other tense side eye. I sensed fear, and took a moment to enjoy it, before repeating the question. Dick grimaced, and then joked, ‘don’t tell me you actually hired an Oompah band and we walked straight past them?’
“No, but I bet you would. It’s fucking unbelievable.’ I shook my head. ‘How could you not notice the garden? Is there any fucking point to how hard I work in it when you can’t be arsed to even look at it? It proves my point about being taken for granted.’
Shane’s patience threw in the towel. ‘Just spit it out, Gilli, what did you set up for us to miss?’
Leading then forth to the great outdoors, I silently spread out my arms, inviting them to share the wonder. Nope. Not a sausage.
‘It doesn’t look any different,’ said Dick, sounding a bit panicky.
‘Glitter!’ I all but roared the word. ‘For the love of God, everything is glittering, look at it, how can you not notice? I know you’re old, but your vision can’t be that bad.’
‘Oh, yes,’ the panic left Dick’s face, replaced with a genuine smile, ‘I see it. Oh my word, look at it, Shane.’
‘I’m looking.’ He said, clearly unimpressed.
‘It’s sparkling like a fairytale film set. I can’t believe neither of us noticed it. I’m going to take a vid.’ He hurried back inside to get his phone.
Shane looked at me. ‘You’ve made your point, such as it is, it still doesn’t prove you’re taken for granted. Chance would be a fine thing where you’re concerned, master motor mouth. Won’t this stuff harm the plants, and what about the birds?’
I made a disparaging noise, ‘says the man who likes nowt better than shooting a wood pigeon up the arse with a twelvebore, and no, it won’t. It’s edible food grade glitter, no harm done. The wind will blow most of it off.’
‘I hope so. Are we done now, is your childish little show over, can I finish my dinner in peace?’
‘Fill your boots,’ I said graciously.
‘After you,’ he said sweetly, and damn it if I didn’t fall for it, letting out a pained squawk as his hand met my arse and propelled me back inside faster than I’d intended to go.
‘That was for being a devious little diva.’
Daddy has to have the last word.
We did actually laugh about it afterwards. Harmony was restored, until the next time.
The glitter is still evident, though not quite as much, and I still enjoy seeing leaves and flowers glitter in the sunshine. Be interesting to see what ZZ makes of it tomorrow. I imagine, like Shane, he’ll be unimpressed.
Well, peeps, time to go and start prepping for dinner. I’m keeping it light and simple I’m doing lemon chicken with new potatoes and green beans followed by a choice of vanilla cheesecake or panna cotta, both ready made, but I might break out the lustre dust to tart them up and make them my own. Ciao for now.