What a lonesome week it's been. The skinny-ass'd one has hardly been home.
On Monday she and Paw went tramping up a mountain in an effort to reduce the circumference of Paw's gut so his trousers won't cut into him when he's sitting at his desk at work (he's a teacher for goodness sake, shouldn't he be poised - chalk in hand - in front of the blackboard, er whiteboard, most of the time anyways?!)
The lumpy structure they ascended is around 2,900ft high and called Ben Arthur. But everyone refers to it as The Cobbler because of its shape ie on the far right of its peak apparently you can see the cobbler, in the middle is his last and on the left is the wife supposedly nagging him to work faster (he must be related to Paw):
For once in Scotland, the sun was shining and it showed just how pretty our wee country can be:
Halfway up The Cobbler the parental combo encountered some snow and Muttie just couldn't resist the opportunity to pummel Paw (sigh):
The day before they'd gone for a walk to Eggie Park near Paw's place where they encountered a medieval bandstand. Thankfully Paw didn't have his g'eetar with him and peace reigned for the entire afternoon:
But hey, there's no piccies of me so far in this post. What was I thinking?! You lot must be so bored viewing all those scenic shots. So anyways, this is my favourite place to sit in Muttie's kitchen and means I can watch what Fatboy's up to without too much difficulty:
There's been a big ginger Tom hanging around our place for a few days now. Or at least it was until I returned. For the past two months now I've been spending two weeks at Paw's house then two weeks at Muttie's. I wish the Great Female Procastinater would just get organised and move into Paw's for good. He's dreading it of course cos she tends to be rather messy and she also has plans to 'modernise' his decor.
He gets really jumpy whenever she mentions Homebase or B&Q. She's threatened to ring up the local TV studios and offer his home as the backdrop for a 1950s sitcom unless he does something soon....I tend to saunter outside when this particular strain of conversation arises...I find it's best to be impartial in these matters and cowardly purr for both sides...
Milt, the Middleman xx