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Previously...

After she had gone, I sat down again and stared out at the beautiful garden and the lake. I wondered, in passing, whether ducks and swans actually liked swimming about on the water at this time of year and did their bums get cold?

Moments later, Sheila returned and sat next to me.

‘Thanks for being here,’ I said.

‘I had a feeling that this might be a bit of a fishing expedition and I was right.’

‘What was all that about? I thought it would be like the usual teeny-type mag interviews–all about clothes, makeup and what music I like?’

‘Well it was, but I have a feeling that those extras were the things to which she really wanted to know the answers.’

I gazed at her and sighed. ‘I’ve a lot to learn, haven’t I?’

‘Yes, honey, but you’re doing well and you’ve got me, so don’t worry.’

‘I’ll try not to,’ I replied, hoping desperately that some sort of normality would come into my life–sooner rather than later.

And now the story continues…

Over the next week or so, things did settle down a bit. There was no more bad publicity and Ferris seemed to have been put down a rabbit hole somewhere. I hoped that he wouldn’t re-emerge, but I had a feeling that there was some unfinished business with him to come in the near or distant future.

I had to miss a game due to my niggling leg injury and we drew it. Not bad, but not good as it was away to struggling, Cleathorn Rovers.

I was in the dressing room at the time of the post match autopsy and it wasn’t a pretty site. I learned more swear words than I really needed to know and felt that I was personally to blame for having the audacity to be injured. Not true, of course, but when we lose, we all lose, from the chairman to the cleaners. Mr Mac says it’s called collective responsibility.

On a more personal front, I went with Andrea and Monica to see the psychiatrist. I actually did little more than give Andrea a bit of moral support and spent most of the time listening to Ocean Eyes on my iPhone, in fact there were a few complaints from the rather severe looking receptionist as I sang to myself when Firefly was on. I would just hate to be an old misery-guts if that is how they behave and, for the record, I do not sing out of tune!

Andrea was getting more used to going out en femme now and seemed to blossom. She was wearing jeans and a pink top, nothing outrageous and looked every inch the girl and very edible. I was wearing a peach coloured woolly jumper and a long black skirt. I would have preferred jeans as it was quite cold, but my leg was a bit painful and it was less hassle than jeans. Anyway, that’s quite enough of the fashion news.

The upshot of the appointment was that Andrea had to go and see the psychiatrist every two weeks and see how things develop. She–Andrea–wasn’t in too much hurry to fully become a girl and didn’t want to make any rash decisions but she did get a prescription for blockers that would at least give her some time to decide rather than have to worry about coming over all hairy and muscle bound.

I think that she was relieved to have got out of there without a full frontal lobotomy–she was a bit sketchy where these things are concerned–love her.

As a celebration, after going to the chemists to pick up her pills, we went to have a Maccy D. I had a “very healthy” Big Mac and fries while Andrea and Monica wimped out by ordering nuggets.

Then of course, A and M decided they wanted to go shopping, so I glanced across to the other side of the restaurant at my shadow and texted her on my ever-trusty iPhone.

‘Danni, the grls wnt 2 go shopng can I?’

I got an immediate reply.

‘Meet me in loo.’

‘Won’t be a tick,’ I said getting up and heading for the ladies.

‘Cor,’ I thought, ‘this is a bit like Jane Bond!’

Inside, there was no one except little me and Danni, who was doing things with her face and grimacing at the mirror.

‘Are you in pain, Danni?’ I asked.

‘No, I’ve a zit on the side of my nose and I’m trying to squeeze it.’

‘Yuk, too much information and anyway, Mummy says that if you do that, your head might fall off or something.’

‘A bit of an exaggeration, that. Now,’ she said after giving the zit a final desperate squeeze, ‘What’s all this about shopping? We had this conversation the other day.’

‘Well, the others want to go and I’m fed up with missing out on things. I feel like I’m prisoner, sometimes. I don’t have the number 6 tattooed on my forehead, you know.’

‘I know, you aren’t a number, you’re a free girl, right?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Mmm, enough of the “ma’am” stuff. I’m your pimply security advisor not your teacher. Your mother and I had a conversation about this the other day and she bet me that you wouldn’t last a week before you started moaning off about not being able to do things. I said two weeks, so I think I’ve lost my bet.’

‘Well, I’m here and that’s public, so why can’t I go shopping,’ I whined–err–said.

‘You’re only here, because you didn’t tell me you were coming and by the time I’d parked, you were already filling your face with that pimple inducing rubbish.’

‘Getting a bit fixated about that boil on your nose, Danni?’

‘For that, my dear, I will think of something suitably evil for you to do on the torture machine in the gym.’

‘Oooh, not that, anything but that!’

We both giggled at that and had to stop and powder our noses for a minute while an octogenarian tottered in, did her stuff and tottered out again.

‘Okay,’ said Danni, all business now. ‘We need a disguise for you.’

‘What warty nose and stuff like that?’ I asked innocently.

‘Will you knock it off with the nose references? No I was thinking more about a wig and plain glasses, things like that. It’s surprising how different they will make you look.’

‘D’you think it would work?’

‘We can but try!’

And so it came to pass that I had the weirdest shopping trip that I had ever had in my short, but eventful life. Danni knew a place off the main road that did wigs and things. She took me in her car and the others went on to start an uber shopping spree. Claire had been texted and was to meet the others there and Danni and I would follow later and meet them at the food court.

We arrived at the shop which was very originally called Wiggery-Pokery and entered. It was a small shop absolutely full of heads with wigs on, not real heads of course–eeeww, that would be sooo macabre–but some of them did look far too realistic for me!

A middle aged woman appeared from the back as we came in. She was quite portly and wore a tent like dress, but for all that she was quite pretty and had shoulder length brown hair. I don’t think it was a wig.

‘Hello, dears, how may I help you?’

‘Hi, I’m Danni; we spoke on the ’phone?’

‘Ah yes, you want a wig for a young lady to make her look different. Most wigs do that, you know. And this is the young lady–?’

‘Yes,’ Danni answered, stepping aside.

‘Hello,’ I said shyly.

‘I know you; don’t tell me…I never forget a face…Susan Hurst. Why do you want to change your lovely hair, Susan?’

‘I need to disguise myself because, otherwise when I go out, I get mobbed.’

‘’Mmm, well, it’s a pity that you have to try to hide who you are, but you aren’t the first celeb to come in and ask for something that changes their look. You’d be surprised how often people are recognised by their hair. Well enough of this, if your mother would like to wait here––’

‘–I am not her mother, I’m not old enough!’

‘Sorry,’ she said and then winked at me, I, natch, giggled behind my hand. I just love to see Danni being wound up like a spring. I think it had the effect for which the lady hoped–to relax us both.

‘Well, I’m Karen and I’d like both of you call me that. Now, come over here, dear, and I’ll see what I can do for you–’

I didn’t realise how much of a change different hair and style can make to a face. First Karen put my hair in a nylon wig cap, carefully making sure that there were no lumps or bumps; it felt tight but I was told I would get used to it–I hoped so, because it was a bit uncomfortable. Then we tried all sorts of wigs, long, medium, short, black, brown, brunette, with lots of different styles from straight to wavy.

In the end it was a toss up between two; a long brown layered straight one with a fringe or a slightly shorter black one with flick ups. I bought both as I couldn’t decide which I liked best.

I wore the long brown one out of the shop after paying Karen and thanking her for her help.

‘Anytime, dear, and if you come again, don’t forget to bring your daughter here.’

I giggled at that and Danni looked at us both sourly–but I think she had a twinkle in her eye. After giving Karen a hug and an autograph for her daughter, we finally left with me looking very different–well I thought so anyway–than I had when we had entered the shop.

As we drove to our next port of call, an opticians, I kept looking at my reflection in the vanity mirror on the visor. The wig really did make a difference and I wondered if I needed the glasses. I asked Danni.

‘You would get away with it nine times out of ten, Susan, but why take a chance?’

‘If you say so,’ I said, wondering how many young girls of my age actually wore contacts rather than glasses. But then I was being silly as I knew that lots of girls do wear glasses and contacts aren’t for everyone anyway. Was I getting vain about my looks? And what was all this giggling I was doing when I was in boy mode, did I giggle and for that matter do boys giggle anyway or is it just hard wired into a girl’s psyche?

We pulled up at the kerb and as I got out of the car, my hair got in my eyes, making me even more aware of the colour and style.

Walking into Specs 4 U I noticed that there were only a few customers in there, either looking at the display or being fitted for glasses. Danni walked over to the counter and spoke to the bespectacled lady.

‘Hello, my sister here has a school play and the part needs a girl who wears glasses. Her eyes are perfectly okay. Do you sell glasses with just plain glass?’

‘Of course madam––’

‘–It’s Miss,’ said Danni, gritting her teeth for some reason.

‘Sorry,’ the woman, whose name badge proclaimed that she was called, ‘Tania’, looked at me appraisingly.

‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

‘Don’t think so.’ I said with dread; perhaps this wig thing wasn’t such a good idea after all if I had been clocked by the first person I had seen after the wig shop.

‘Sorry, you are the spitting image of a girl my daughter goes to school with…anyway, enough of that, go and have a look at some glasses and bring back any that you like.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, feeling relieved as Danni and I made our way to the selections. There were men’s, women’s, unisex, kids’, and designer frames, not forgetting (shudder) budget. I went straight to the designer frames as the others looked decidedly un-cool.

After trying on a gazillion of frames I finally chose a pair of titanium designer frames by Calvin Klein, they were sort of a metal coated pinkie bronze colour and I must admit I looked wicked in them. I stopped for a second and took a reality check; I was getting vain? I would have to give myself a serious talking too when I got home? Mind you they were nice and with the wig too, I looked totally different to my usual self.

Twenty minutes later, we left with my new disguise complete. ‘Do I look all right?’ I asked Danni, anxiously, looking around for any screaming and adoring fans who may want to mob me and take bits of my body for souvenirs.

‘Very pretty.’

‘I’m not pretty,’ I said dismissively.

‘You’re right,’ she said and my heart dropped, well she didn’t have to agree with me!

‘You’re beautiful. Why do you think all those mags want to take your picture and what about the sponsors? They aren’t interested in someone who’s plain–I know it’s all wrong but facts are facts–beautiful outsells plain every day.’

‘It’s not right.’ I said, trying to reapply some lipstick while Danni drove. I chose coral pink this time though I seriously doubt that any coral looked that colour.

‘No, but it happens.’

‘And another thing,’ I said as I took off the glasses and attempted to do my eyes without stabbing them with my wand thingy, ‘did you notice that everyone working in the opticians was wearing glasses?’

‘Yes, I did, it’s to show off their wares. They probably have plain lenses like yours.’

‘Mmm,’ I said as I gave up the ghost on my eyes and waited until we hit a traffic light–not literally–ooh, you know what I mean!

Eventually, we joined the queue for the shopping centre and eventually beat a fat man in a 4X4 to a parking spot. If looks could kill, we would have both been six feet under and pushing up the daisies.

We wended our way through the throng and I texted Claire to say that Susan had entered the building. Danni had more or less disappeared into the background, doing her bodyguard-type female Kevin Costner thing; though come to think of it, didn’t Kev stick to Whitney Houston like superglue? I shrugged, having more important things to think of now.

My cool iPhone chirped and there was a message from like, Claire.

‘b @ food court in 10.’

‘ok,’ I texted succinctly.

I looked around to see if I could spot Danni, but she wasn’t anywhere that I could see, but it was nice that she was somewhere watching over her little football superstar.

I stopped dead in my tracks and a lady with a pushchair nearly run me over with her “too wide for the aisles” double buggy with knobs on.

I said sorry as she pushed the thing by me and gave me a dirty look and I then gave myself yet another good talking to. I was not a super star; I was a girl who played football, period, as our American cousins are wont to say. I needed to do a format and reinstallation of my personality software to rid me of this vanity. If things went on like this, I would be in serious danger of not being able to get my big head through the door!

Passing the large Foot Locker sports shop, I saw an enormous poster of me in the window, together with some football shirts with my name on the back. I stopped for a moment and had a bit of a ponder. Could I? Should I?

I did it; I had too. I needed to see if I would be recognised in there. So in I went, as bold as brass and headed for the counter selling football shirts, picked out a Melchester one in my size, with my name on the back, took it to the counter and handed it over to be bagged up.

The girl behind the counter looked up and smiled.

‘These are going like hot cakes. She sure is a fantastic footballer. I play in a girl’s team and our membership has tripled since she joined Melchester. Do you play?’

‘Erm, I have a dodgy leg.’ I said, telling a half truth–it did hurt a bit still.

‘Pity, you look fit, mind you, you would have to wear contacts if you played. Whoever heard of a footballer who played in glasses?’

‘Some might,’ I replied, remembering Alvin Pearce for my park days — he never headed the ball though and I can’t say I blamed him.

‘Maybe, but not in our league, they’d get knocked off before you could cry foul. Anyway, here’s your shirt.’

‘Thanks,’ I said and walked out, trying to breathe normally and not panic. Once I had left the shop, my heart returned to more or less normal after a few deep breathing exercises. At least I had proven my point, no one recognised me!

I continued my journey and eventually found myself at the food court, which was done out like the deck of the Titanic, for some reason. Was that Kate Winslet over there looking wistfully for Leonardo? Nah, it must be these glasses and the fact that I am seeing way too many movies for my own good.

I grabbed a nice cholesterol laden slice of pizza and a thick creamy strawberry milkshake that made my eyes cross as I attempted to suck it the stuff up my plastic straw.

Looking around for the others, I saw no sign of them. As per usual, Claire’s “ten” probably meant ten hours rather than minutes. If she sees a skirt that she likes, she homes in on it like an Exocet missile and woe betide anyone or anything that gets in her way. I hoped Andrea wasn’t going to get any bad habits from her sister, but didn’t think so as Claire was a one off, thank goodness!

Then I nearly choked on a bite sized piece of pizza with pepperoni as a shadow fell across the table. Glancing up, I saw a boy–about my age or a bit older. He was wearing a hoodie with the hood down; some sunglasses were perched on top of his head and I wondered why he needed them, perhaps he had eye trouble as it was a dull grim day outside.

‘Is this seat taken?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Well, I’ll just sit here until whoever comes back.’

He sat down, plonked his tray on the table and then looked at me as if he was surveying a piece of meat.

‘So what is a devastatingly beautiful girl like you doing here then?’

‘Trying to eat and I did say that the table was taken.’

‘Yea, right. Anyway, I love girls who wear glasses; it shows that you are intelligent and sexy. I have a space in my busy schedule so fancy goin’ to a flick?’

‘No thank you. Now will you go away before I call security?’

‘Na, you don’t want to do that...aahhhhhh!’

‘Is this creep causing you bother?’

I looked up at Danni who was holding on to the creep’s shoulder in such a way that made me feel that she must know a few origami moves or whatever they are called.

‘Erm yes, he is. I asked him not to sit but he still did it and he’s upsetting me.’

Danni bent down with the boy still writhing from the grip on his shoulder and doing a credible impression of someone doing a sitting pee-pee dance and whispered something in his ear. His eyes went wide and then he looked at me and stood up.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, his face redder than a hot pepper and then as Danni released him, he shot off rubbing his shoulder.

‘Thanks Danni; what did you say to him?’

‘Trade secret,’ she said, smiling inscrutably and then slipping off somewhere, disappearing into the background before I could say anything else.

I carried on with my meal, thanking my lucky stars that I had someone like Danni looking out for me. There was still no sign of the others and I was beginning to wonder if there would be anything left in the shops for me to buy after the shopaholics had finished hoovering up all their goodies.

Eventually, I caught sight of them coming in and searching–for me I presumed. I just casually glanced at them through my cunning disguise and awaited developments.

My table was over to the side by a wall, but they had to pass by me to get to the feeding stations.

As Claire walked past–completely ignoring me–with the others in tow I could hear her complaining to the others.

‘Where is she? It’s like, not good. I said ten and we are only a bit late; but she’s like, uber late now!’

‘Psst,’ I hissed.

She turned to me and said. ‘I am not pissed, you cow, you………Susan?’

The others turned round and looked more than a little stunned.

‘Yup,’ I said smugly.

‘Wow,’ said Andrea; she was carrying so many bags that she was listing slightly to port.

‘Go and get some eats and then we can chat. You can leave your bags here.’

They surrounded me with said bags and as Monica put hers down by me she whispered, ‘You look lovely, Sue,’

‘Aaw, Auntie!’ I said, but rather pleased at that.

They were back soon and tucking into their food. Being a high burner, calorie wise anyway, I went and grabbed a hot dog and Coke to wash down what I had already eaten.

‘So,’ said Claire, ‘You look like, pretty cool with the hair and glasses. I didn’t really recognise you except for the voice.’

‘Yea,’ said Andrea,’ you look quite sexy like that,’

‘Andrea, down, girl,’ said Monica sternly, as if talking to a naughty puppy.

‘Sorry, Mummy,’ she replied blushing.

‘Mmm, I wonder what’s in those pills the quack gave you?’

‘I’ve only had two,’ Andrea protested.

Monica’s pencilled eyebrows shot up a notch and she just shook her head. ‘How could I have spawned two ditzy girls?’

‘I am not a frog, Mummy,’ said Andrea, indignantly. Claire took no notice as she was in mid- feeding frenzy and had a one track mind–girls shouldn’t eat like that, it ain’t polite.

‘Anyway,’ Monica said, ‘you look really nice Susan, it gives you a more mature, intelligent look.’

‘Thanks–I think.’

‘You should be able to go out a bit more, within reason and as long as your, erm, protection is nearby.’

I nearly said something devastatingly witty about contraceptives then but I wisely kept my silence and looked around nonchalantly, trying to see if I could spot Danni; but no, as far as I could see she was invisible. Perhaps she had a Harry Potter cloak of invisibility or something?

After that, we went back to the car to drop off the bags and carried on with the shopping. I found some nice skirts and tops together with a dreamy cocktail dress for those occasions that require one. After that, we hit the shoe shops as I needed some boots. I was sorely tempted by a pair of black heels, 4 inches, but knowing my luck, I would have broken an ankle or something wearing stilts like that. Eventually, I found some nice boots fairly quickly for once, black leather with a lowish heal. Then I remembered I needed some essential undies from Marks & Sparks and “non essential” ones from Agent Provocateur–naughty, but nice.

Don’t think that the others were backward in being forward because they bought almost as much as me. Evidently, Monica had come into some money from an elderly long distance relative and things were now somewhat better on the financial front. I hoped that that didn’t mean that they would leave our home and I tied a knot in my finger to remind me to quiz Andrea about it later.

All good things must come to an end at it was a tired and shopped-out quartet who finally arrived home and, after trying everything on–well, almost everything–and doing a fashion show for Mummy, it was time for dinner.

Mrs Moon outshone herself as we tucked in to some steak and kidney pudding with heaps of steaming mashed potatoes and her famous, mysterious and extremely yummy gravy–the recipe of which has been passed down from generation to generation.

We were Danni and Charlotteless as they had gone into a huddle as soon as we got home. I had intended to thank Danni for her help today and I would do so when I saw her next. I would even drop using the nose references because I’m that sort of girl.

All the family were in the dining room, for once and it was a rowdy table to say the least. The twins were being rather noisy, trying to outdo each other seeing whose squeals could reach the right pitch to shatter a glass first. Daddy was super glued to his Blackberry arranging something or other. Andrea was trying to eat without getting the glutinous globs of gravy on her nice new pink top, while Claire was simultaneously eating and texting John. Mummy was feeding the kids and trying to eat her own food. I was, of course, above all this and eating in a feminine and graceful manner–

‘Susan, don’t bolt your food down like that, you’ll end up being sick.’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ I sighed, wishing just a teensy-weensy bit that I was back in my flat over the café, doing my own thung and not watching how or what I ate.

Eventually dinner was over and after a few suggestive eyebrow waggles at Andrea, we asked to be excused and went upstairs to my room–door open, as per restrictive, unfair and discriminatory house rules. If Mummy and Daddy can have their bedroom door closed, why can’t I?

We sat on the bed and had a bit of a chaste kiss and cuddle–well I say a bit of one, but it took ten minutes, and I say chaste, but my tongue was so far down her throat, I could feel her toes from the inside. Anyway, you get my drift.

After we had surfaced for air, repaired our makeup and other essentials like clothes etc, I asked her the thing that had been on my mind.

‘Andrea, now that your mum has got some money, that doesn’t mean that you are going to leave, does it?’

Andrea gazed at me. ‘I think mum feels that we’ve sort of imposed on you too long and we should be sorting out something. She’s a lot better now and doesn’t think it’s fair to stay here.’

‘But–I don’t want you to go. I love having a big family around me.’

My eyes had started to leak for some reason, and so had Andrea’s. We hugged each other for a few minutes and then continued our conversation.

‘Why doesn’t she want to stay? She likes it here; you all do, don’t you?’

‘Of course we do; as I say though, Mummy thinks that we are imposing––’

‘–You’re not imposing. Mummy, Daddy and I just love having you stay. Do you want to stay?’

‘Of course.’

‘And Claire?’

‘Like, yeah.’

‘What if I spoke to your mum?’

‘I don’t think that it would help. Mummy’s a very independent person. Jeanie might help pull her round though.’

‘I’ll ask her to speak to your mum.’

‘Okay; let’s hope she can talk some sense into her!’

Over the next few days, I was busy being treated by the man-mountain and secret sumo wrestler that was the club physio. I was pronounced fit by Thursday and did some light training with the lads. We had a game on Sunday with Trillingam United. They had come up from the first division the previous year and surprised everyone by being the form team. They were second in the table and hadn’t lost at home for eight games. We were to go up there by coach on Saturday, stay overnight and then come home after the match.

After a bad night on Saturday–I hate trying to sleep in hotel rooms, preferring my own bed anytime- we left for the ground about 90 minutes from kick off.

It was another grey miserable day and Trillingam, being an industrial town, lacked much of what Mummy would call attractions, the best one being the fountain in the town square–but that wasn’t working.

The ground soon filled up and after getting changed in the office girls’ loo, I made my way down to our dressing room. I got a few strange looks from people and believe it or not, as I pressed past several men, ground staff in yellow reflective jackets, someone pinched my bum. I would have said something unladylike, if I wasn’t so much of a scaredy cat. I just squealed aggressively, hurried on and found myself eventually with my teammates as Mr McPherson was doing his stuff.

‘Right, the team as ye know is doin’ well this year. They’re gude an quick an ye canna tak’ ’em fer granted. Use the wings as much as ye can. The centre is like liquid sh–mud an’ the baw’ will hold up there. Aroond the goal area is bad too, so try not to go arse over tit….sorry, lassie, faw’ over and don’ forgit to watch oot as ye can get a penalty for breathin’ on someone with today’s bluidy ref.’

I wondered in passing if some of the foreign players were taking all this in as I was having a few dialect problems myself with Mr Mac’s broad accent.

All too soon, we were on the field just as it started to rain and then, unfortunately, all hell broke loose. They were all over us and we tried as hard as possible to keep them out but after ten minutes they scored. Hodges, their centre forward somehow managed to get around our defence and fired the ball hard and low just inside the left hand post and scored.

‘GOAL.’

The home crowd went berserk but the small contingent of Melchester fans were very quiet.

The game restarted and we tried to get back in it. The pitch was the worst I had played on since my days of park football. We resorted to trying to do our passing through the air, rather than along the ground but the problem with that was that it wasn’t quite so accurate and we got caught out twice more by a team that was accustomed to the pitch and had a very vocal, loyal support that lifted them.

We tried our best. I hit the crossbar once and nearly made a goal for Ogsood, and the others all tried hard, making opportunities and getting desperately close on several occasions, but it wasn’t to be and we lost the game 3—nil.

The only good thing about it for me was that my leg stood up to the battering and I wasn’t suffering any after effects.

Everyone was quiet on the coach trip home. I looked out of the window, watching the headlights of cars as they passed the other way on the dual carriageway, when I sensed someone sitting next to me.

I turned round; it was the boss.

‘How’s ye’re leg, lassie?’

‘Fine, Boss.’

‘Gude.’

He gazed at me for a few moments and smiled.

‘Ye played well today, lassie.’

‘I didn’t. We lost and I kept falling over.’

‘Everybody fell over. We’re putting in a complaint aboot the pitch. It’ll nae due any gude this year, but they’ll have tae due somethin’ aboot it next year. Ye did play well, lassie. Ye kept goin’ and ye showed heart an’ spirit. Ye canna expect tae win every game. Ye have tae learn tae lose as well as win. If ye’re gifted, ye learn from whatever mistakes ye make an’ ye move on. Will ye due that fer me?’

‘Yes, Boss,’ I said, grinning and feeling a bit better somehow.

‘Well done,’ he patted me on the shoulder and moved on to the next player.

~ §~

As I snuggled up in my brand new naughty nightie, cuddling my white rabbit and listening to some Mozart on my super cool iPhone, I realised that I had learnt a valuable lesson today. You are only as good as your last game and it does you good to eat a bit of humble pie sometimes. Not as good as Mrs M’s steak and kidney, but one that is needed sometimes to bring you back down to Earth.

To Be Continued...

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, making suggestions that I hadn't even thought of and pulling the story into shape.