Good grief, but that Waddington 6X is wonderful stuff. If I could, I’d set up an IV line thereof into my arm.
Yes, it’s Mr. FM’s backyard… the pool is just behind the hedge, and the staff cottages are on the other side of the garage all the way at the bottom end of the estate. The slave bell (or as it’s known here, the “summoning bell”) is right behind me.
Also: we’re talking steak & kidney pies and sausage rolls, as per Jack Spratt’s in Devizes:
Comfort foods. How I’ve missed them. Next up: fish & chips.
Fortunately, as the estate’s official Dog Walker is still recovering from his earlier whipping, Mrs. FM has appointed me Interim Dog Walker — and it’s a damn good thing that the walk is about 2 miles, otherwise I’d weigh 500lbs by the end of the month, easily.
Must go now; the boot-boy is about to get whipped, and I want to watch.
Waddington?
Jet lag + Wadworth = cognitive dissonance.
Have another, or 2 or 3, it’ll help.
Does Mr. FM still roar around on a Ducati? I hope so. Tell him we miss his blog.