Horses - No Thank You!
I have been reading somewhere that women like animals, especially horses. Well I have to say that I have met a number of women I like but I don't know of any horses that I'm particularly fond of. In any case horses are a problem, women are not. If the mood takes you, you can invite one of them in for a drink; women not horses. If your Wife comes home earlier than expected and finds Her sitting on the settee, all legs and mascara, well you can easily explain the situation by suggesting to your dear Wife that your companion has been having trouble with her horizontal hold and Channel Four has been showing Jackanory again which is what I believe they specialise in. On a good day you may well get away with it. But if you are talking about horses, well I'm afraid you are in trouble.
In any case I never did like horses. Come to think of it there was a time when I didn't like women. It all started many years ago when I was walking in the vicinity of Methwold Market Place and, seeing what appeared to be two rather charming young Ladies, I decided the time was opportune to put, what I thought at the time, was my considerable charm to the test. I approached them in what I can only describe as in a somewhat perspicacious manner. Now if I can just interrupt myself here, I have deliberately thrown in that rather long word. You see if you write articles, like what I write, you can't keep using small words. Otherwise you would only use two, three, and good gracious, four letter words. And if you think you can get away with that sort of thing with an Editor like what we have, you must think again.
Disconcerting readers will, at this stage, have noticed that I have digressed. You will recall that previously I was about to approach two Ladies, and remarkably they are still there. Putting my charm to the fast forward position I quickly discovered something that was to affect me for the rest of my life; that what you see is not necessarily what you get. It turned out that these so-called Ladies were not Ladies at all but a couple of male wallies dressed up as Women. Unbeknown to me, just over the way in St Georges Hall they were having a fancy dress dance. And that experience told me that a long and difficult life lay ahead.
I must not of course give the impression that my life has been one disaster after another; there have, of course, been some brighter moments. How well I remember my own wedding day. How can I forget? When I walked into our Church and there at the other end of the Aisle I saw, what was to me, perfection personified, if ever I saw it. Even from a distance I could detect just the faintest touch of mascara, gentle cheeks that had been caressed by just the lightest application of Chanel No 5. I could go on but I know you get the picture. Honesty forces me to confess; they sure don't make Vicars today like they did in my day.