I’d like to add my early-morning husky cheer to the chorus of well-wishers celebrating the news that my cousin, Zippy Phillips, is to marry her boyfriend, Mike Tindall. Of course, the term ‘boyfriend’ applies loosely to a man who would more accurately be described as a ‘man-friend build like a walnut workbench’. I love rugby players as well as the next season ticket holder to Twickenham but I can’t help but think that Zippy is marrying Bob Hoskin’s bigger and more mangled brother.
But that’s Zippy for you: a woman of independent spirit. She reminds me of my aunt, her mother. Aunty Anne is another independent spirit. Ideally, she would have been born two hundred years ago on the American frontier. Put her in a log cabin located in some remote spot deep inside Indian territory with only a sharp stick to protect her and she’d have been in her element trapping and skinning wild beasts, living off the land, wrestling mountain lions...
I have to say that it always amuses me to read the newspaper reports that say that ‘The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh are said to be "delighted" by the news.’ I happen to know that H.M. barely looked up from the Racing Post and that my grandfather is still confused enough to think that Mike Tindall made a fool of himself by appearing in ‘Strictly Come Dancing’.
However, never let it be said that the old Red Tuft is completely against marriage (for more about that, please see my reasonably priced book), especially when it brings new blood into the family. We’ve been crying out for serious muscle able to cripple a journalist with a shoulder barge since Fergie was given the boot. I’d like to wish them much happiness together and if they could put their heads together to create some strange union of horse jumping and rugby, they’d find me a more-than-willing participant.
Horse rugby. Now there’s a thought…
I say, this will jolly up the boring family coach trip up bal-boring-moral. He'll have Phil the Greek joining in with a few of his rugby tour ditties and along with your Uncle Andy will have your gran blushing to match her ermine tinged travel slanket.
ReplyDeleteThe New Year's dinner will be interesting too. I'll put £50 into the pot and bet that the record for lackies felled by hurled oatcakes falls this year! That will upset the ginger whinger Fergie! She thought she had that record sewn up for a generation.
Sign me up for the old horse rugby thing. I'll give anything a go. Quite like to see how Uncle Eddy rucks with a polo pony.
Anyway, talking of baked goods, ran into young Effy Throgmorton today. She asked to be remembered to you. Says she still can't look at a baggette without remembering that night at St Andrews.
Have a good one.
Thunderer Lightfoot.
That is an inspired drawing!
ReplyDeleteThundy, that's excellent! Only one day in and already three of us for the Horse Rugby. My aunt is extremely excited by the idea after finding this blog yesterday on one of her regular eBay sessions (her stirrup collection is now second to none). We'll be putting you between the goal posts, which by my reckoning of how this game will be scaled up, will give you about 3.2 miles to cover.
ReplyDeleteDavid? I think I know you. It's Booty F-----, isn't it, the young rogue I met at the Turps Sniffers Christmas do? If you are he, delighted to see you on here. This red tuft hasn't laughed so much as when you fell out of that chandelier and landed on the pudding waiter. Is your bruise still shaped like glazed cherries?