Dinner at the beautiful country house of a young, successful, wealthy, fulfilled couple, with whom Mrs Combo and I have so much in common. Mrs Combo had spent all afternoon preparing a special pudding. We took two decent bottles of wine as well. The automatic gates slid back, we parked the car and I got out. I had the two bottles of wine in a small gift box in one hand and the precious pudding in the other. There was Max, their big guard dog, on his chain. Barking and wagging his tail as usual. I skirted him and was about at the door to the house when Max sank his not inconsiderable teeth into the calf of my right leg. I was in mid-stride and slightly off-balance. I tried to swing around and hit Max on the head with the wine. I could feel myself going over. Which should I drop? The pudding or the wine? One would have to go. Max was still tucking in to my leg and emitting a low constant growl. I was flailing around. Just as I was about to let go of the wine, Max decided enough was enough, relaxed his jaws and ambled off. Fortunately, I was wearing a stout pair of moleskin trousers from Cordings so no flesh was actually removed. Our hosts were especially solicitous but asked me not to identify the dog when I went to A&E, as this time the authorities would have to give Max The Final Injection. "What do you mean this time?" I spluttered. Big silence as young, successful, wealthy, fulfilled couple looked at each other. At least I didn't drop the wine.
15 comments:
God! It's life on the edge out here for you isn't it? I almost slipped on a wet leaf here yesterday and risked dropping a litre of milk.
You bloody fool - that's an Asian Black Bear. I should know, I've a peeled one on the office floor.
I feel for that couple. I really do, having to resort to a dog attack in an effort to stave off
yet another visit from your goodself.
Good shop Cordings, even better before aging rockstars owned half of it.
By the way, how was the pudding?
Crikey Cindy, you're on the case. Who are the ageing rockstars who have some of Cordings? And the pudding was smashing, even through the waves of pain that were crashing all over me.
Oh dear Ron, you're not a face at Cordings are you?
To answer your question though, Eric Clappedout is one of them, can't remember who the other one is.
I once had a Jack Russell that would let people in the house but consider it fair game to take a chunk out of 'em as they were leaving. He once got my postman by actually diving through the kitchen window - it was closed at the time !
Two points Ron: you must surely remember my dog Hamish eating your blazer? Ok, it was in the next room rather than draped over your shoulders. Hamish went on to eat Bernard Breslau's hat, and a perfectly good pair of shoes. Clearly this was a portent. Perhaps there's something in the Combo make-up that triggers this response. It's all your fault, obviously. Secondly; why did your successful and fulfilled friends' attack-pet get bored and walk off? Surely mixed with relief there must have been a trace of 'he never writes, he never calls'? Something in those trousers perhaps? Thank goodness you saved the pudding.
This is what I love about blogging. It starts of with Ron having his leg torn off and ends up, thanks to the increasingly lovely Cindy, to a discussion about bloody Cordings. But, for the record, I couldn't give a stuff about the pudding. Save the wine, everytime. Unless it's Guinness Cake (copyright Nigella).
The reason being, Ron's story can't be taken seriously can it? What's he doing as we say in Liverpool 'gegging in' with the 'beautiful people. Somebody should have a serious word. He's making a fool of himself.
By the way, hello Peter. Have to say hope you'e not a fan of Nigella. Don't you think her PR people have made her image just a bit too self conscious. Subtlety is everything .in my book.Something Ron would be well advised to consider.
Hallo Cindy. No, I'm not a particular fan of Nigella. I had two hugh slices of the Guinness Cake at a dinner party last night and saw her book open in the kitchen. Anyway, enough of that, very glad to see you having a go at Ron. He's had it coming.
Well said. As regards Nigella i think she's very alluring but is over egging the pudding(if you'll pardon the analogy) which is a bore.Her arse has now reached hidious proportions don't you think.? She looks like she has a couch shoved up her dress.
The big problem I have with Nigella is that I can't get the brilliant Ronni Ancona out of my head when I hear that simpering, slushy whimpering and little squeals of faux delight.
It all seems to go horribly wrong with women granted too much exposure on television. So I'm currently enjoying the very fresh appeal of that nice girl who makes sand castles on the Coast programme.
I've not had a television for five years so I'm feeling a tad left out on all this, but I do like Guinness. I like more, Panetoni. Especially toasted with lashings of Normandy unsalted butter preferably made by M. President. Never much of a one for dogs, except Lucky Combo, naturally.
I'm with you on the TV front, Explorer, in the sense that Mrs Combo and I do not have a television either. Not that Nigella is on Italian TV yet. If she did her programmes in her underwear she'd get prime time. However, I have to say from the pictures I have seen in the newspapers, she is one jugged-up belter. Oops, I've over-egged it, haven't I.
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