The shirt off my back

IT often seems when I do a favour it backfires on me; or in this latest incident on poor Jiminy Cricket. As I stood in the bathroom I noticed little Jiminy stuck on the inside of the window so I scooped him up in a glass and gently manoeuvred him to a gap where he took flight full of the joy of his new found freedom.

Disaster struck on his maiden flight as within seconds of him taking off along came a Swallow and gobbled him up mid flight.

Another time a friend had ran out of petrol and asked me to get him some, the petrol station sold me a 10L emergency fuel bag and I set off to rescue him. Within seconds the seal had broken and petrol was slopping over the inside of the car DOH!

I hate milk especially the smell and one hot summer’s day a forgetful boss neglected to buy any for a wedding party of 200 arriving in a few hours time. I went on the supermarket dash and soon the boot of my car was filled with a dozen plastic bottles of the devilish white liquid. When I got back and opened the boot of the car I was greeted by the rank smell of drying milk; one of the cartons had sprung a leak and five litres were swilling around the back of the car. My poor little motor never smelt the same and for years afterwards whenever it was warm I got horrible smelly reminders.

The other day a bird became trapped in a house and was trying to escape via a fly screened window. Carefully my friend reached the window and luckily (or so she thought) it was one of those special Mr Screen ones where the fly screen can easily be rolled up. Just at that moment her hand slipped off the catch leaving the screen to whizz up trapping and spinning the unfortunate creature to an unfortunate end. In future a full risk assessment will be done prior to any agreement to help any little creature out.

Recently I caddied for my friend Doc as he was in a golf competition at Valle del Este but suffers from a bad back.

Four years of me managing a Surrey golf club meant nothing and I arrived with sin of sins a tee shirt with no collar. Rightly fearing a lynching Doc lent me one and I in turn gave him mine for after the match. We agreed to launder and swop them the next time we met. A few days later Doc mentioned that he was glad I had collected my shirt that he had left on a table for me in his garden. As I had not even been in the vicinity we can only deduce it had blown away or been nabbed by a passing mutt. So we both did each other a favour and I lost the shirt off my back in the process.

Meanwhile, dog rescue centres are full of furry friends needing homes so why not boost health and happiness by taking one home. Tongue in cheek I once wrote that these dogs were free and was subsequently scolded via a reader’s letter. Mr Angry from Tunbridge Wells will hopefully put their pen down this time as the dogs are only given to those that can prove they will be responsible owners and a donation has to be made to the centre concerned.

Right enough of this pious talk I am off to kick a cat, throw stones at windows and ignore some hitch- hikers ‘catch me if you can!’

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