An interesting start to my day.
I was driving along in my automobile, my baby beside me at the wheel. That last bit isn’t true. I was all by myself, heartily accompanying “Daniel O’Donnell Sings Iron Maiden”. Mind you, one is never alone with the big O’D. If my memory serves me correctly, at the time he was doing a fine job of a Gaelic version of The Number of the Beast.
But I digress, let’s get back to the tale in hand.
I was on my way to the Mantle Estate, enjoying the scenery and wishing I could whistle, when I spotted a fat little lamb jammed between a gorse bush and the fence. So I did what any good citizen would do, no not film it and put it on social media, I attempted to help the innocent chap. I screeched to a halt (after having a bit of a ponder and checking my mirrors beforehand), leapt out of my car like a springbok, did a judo roll whilst changing into my Wonder Woman outfit (which has been languishing in my car boot for such an occasion), arriving at the poor distressed mite with a “ta da!”. He was so overcome with emotion all he could say was baaaaaaaaaa.
Releasing Larry was the easy bit. This involved a technique similar to the one implemented when I got caught in the turnstiles after the 2012 Kemacott United v Mortehoe Town derby. A very disturbing incident, I still have dreadful nightmares. After extensive research this accident was thought to be caused by one too many pasty sandwiches. As I had no goose fat on me, a rooky mistake I know, we had to forgo that stage. Still it worked. He was liberated from his thorny prison.
Then the trouble began. He did not want to return to whence he had come. If you were being generous you would say his mother was nonplussed, I would say she was verging on the disinterested. So I chased, I cajoled. I strongly suggested the enormous gap below the gate as an entry solution whilst he preferred to stick his head through the wire, getting stuck again. I even shoved a little.
At this critical point a hero arrived to help me in my endeavour. That is if an old men in woolly hats that look at you in a skewy way are your idea of a superhero. Woolly Hat Man, it has a certain ring to it. After the obligatory “where you live then?” he picked the little blighter up and chucked him, unceremoniously, over the fence.
Right, then, best be off.
We may now be engaged to be married.
You can all be bridesmaids.