Wednesday 16 January 2019


Patsy had a little bit of a sniffle so I called over to see her. She was lying on the couch in her fleecy pyjamas going through a box of man-size tissues at the rate of knots. Beside her on a table was a bowl of chip sticks and a large hot whisky .

On her iPad she was watching a trailer advert of some guy called David Gandy. I'd never heard of him but, according to she who knows, he has just launched his own version of tighty whiteys for M&S.

Apparently, David is one of the few male models that people can actually identify by name.

After looking at this trailer they'll be able to identify him by his nethers as well. His briefs are so tight they look like they've been vacuum packed. Either that or he's keeping his pet ferret down there.

But back to Patsy who was sweating like an Eskimo in the Amazon and it had nothing to do with her sniffles or Mr. Gandy's choice of underwear.

What I haven't mentioned before is that while Patsy has no children of her own - something she wears with a badge of honour - she is, in fact a step-mammy. Jose has a son from a previous relationship who has been working abroad for the last couple of years. Recently he made contact and decided to pay his father and new stepmother a visit.

Felipe was arriving that very evening and Patsy, as is her wont, was thinking the worst. "What if he doesn't like me?" she wailed, putting down Mr. Gandy's underpants for a while.

"The only reason he won't like you is if you are an evil stepmother… oh wait a second…" I said, winding her up. It worked.

"Feck sake, you make it sound like I'm going to stick pins in him or poison him with my cooking." (It has to be said that this is not beyond the bounds of possibility.)

"I'm just not cut out for all this mumsy stuff," she sighed.


Maggie and I agreed to turn up for her little family soiree that evening just to ease any tension. There was no need.

When we arrived Patsy was sitting on a high stool in the kitchen staring up at Felipe with nothing short of adoration.

In fairness he did look like a young Antonio Banderas.

But if she batted her eyelids any harder they would have caused a back-draught

"What do you think?" she whispered to me when Felipe had managed to extricate himself. "I think you will make a lovely step granny," I replied.

She grabbed my nose and twisted it.


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