Angela Lansbury will never know...........

 

The music for ‘Murder She Wrote’ has caused my resting eyes to flicker open. They view the closing titles flying up the screen at such a rate, that I'll never know the name of the ‘2^nd Best Boy’s Mate!'   I notice too, my fellow snoozer lying at a most peculiar angle.

I’m never quite sure if the boy Bing has been watching a program, his shaggy eyebrows obscure his eyes at times.

‘Well.’ I venture. ‘That episode will remain a mystery.’

‘Very likely guv, I'd imagine most of the program before will have been lost to you as well.’

‘No, no Bing, I know who the murderer was in….um…er…oh dear.’



I receive a look, and yes his eyes are in view!

The day is one of steady rain.  There hasn’t been a drop of sunlight since early morning, and we are both extremely ‘cheesed’ off. The grass needs cutting and a certain chap, no names, no pack drill, has been wondering why we haven’t trundled up to the forest and enjoyed a really damp stroll!

The boy Bing resettles on the settee, and has another go at trying to tempt me out…….

‘Look guv, it’s starting to brightening up out there!’


‘Bing it’s as dull and damp as it was an hour ago, in fact it’s even murkier than before.’

‘I reckon your specs have misted up.’

My companion grumbles slightly as he rests his chin back down and wrinkles his nose at the ‘box.’

‘I suppose there’s no sport on guv?’



I flick to the various sports channels and the following comments are made.

‘No, nope, cor not that again, no, ski jumping without snow? Don’t get me started about tennis without squeaky balls, seen it, nope……….’

His sudden dislike of all sport is based purely upon the need to get a certain old poop out of the house, and up into the forest, even I’m not fooled for a moment.

Having carefully dismounted from the couch, he stretches wanders to the garden window and looks disconsolately out at the stair-rods thundering down.

‘Coo, I don’t know guv, a gentle ‘scotch’ mist, and you’re not up for a trundle and such.’

I refuse to be drawn into the ruse, and receive a scowl for my trouble.

A stroll to the kitchen finds my gloomy companion already sitting patiently next to the shelf whereon sits his snack tin. I receive a reminding cough as I pass.



‘You fancy a snack Bing?’

‘Well as I’m here and not out there, I s’pose I do.’

A fresh ‘cuppa’ is poured and the lad receives a snack or three. At least these are gracefully received.



Back to the lounge and as I sip my drink, and settle down, I note the lad has assumed the upside-down position on the other couch….

‘Best for viewing snooker hey Bing?’

I receive a low growl followed by…….




‘Blooming weather.’