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.
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.