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Come on in and share a shower

I WASN'T having the best of weeks. It started with The Mudder getting a tip for the Grand National and persuading me to put the kitchen sink on it. .

I threw in the taps as well for good measure and sat down to watch the money roll in. I waited a good half hour after the race finished but there was ne'er a sight of the nag. I reckon he never even left the stable and there hasn't been a sighting of The Mudder since either

The next morning I got a text from a neighbour. "See you for coffee after Morning Ireland," he said.

I was just about to jump into the shower so I texted back, "In the shower. Door open". As I was washing my bits and pieces it suddenly dawned on me that what I should have texted was "Front Door Open: (I know, I know, but this is Kildare, not downtown Kabul). Instead, I had given him the impression that I was waiting to ravish him in the shower or whatever it is middle-aged women do with the neighbours when their other half is at work.

With a hammering heart and shampoo in my eyes, I slammed open the shower door and leapt to grab the towel. I forgot about the dog, who is constantly hanging around on the off chance that there might be a ham sandwich going, fell over her and out through the en suite door.

As I lay sprawled on the floor, naked as a plucked turkey and the dog giving me a look that said, "Of all the homes I could have gone to...", the mobile rang. It was my other half.



"You will never believe what I have just texted," I said to him. He gave one of those deep sighs that signals utter despair.

My neighbour did turn up, but only after giving me more than enough time to don some clothes. I wasn't sure whether to be complimented by his gentlemanly behaviour or insulted that he hadn't dashed over the minute I texted him. He had only left when Maggie appeared with the really 'important' news that granny knickers are now in fashion.

"Not the ones you have that make you look like The Mummy Returns. These ones come way up at the front but at the back is a thong."

"The purpose of granny knickers is to hold everything in," I said. "Encompassing a thong surely defeats that purpose. It would be a bit like tying up a lumpy mattress with dental floss."

"We were thinking of getting you a pair for your wedding anniversary," she said.

Like I said, it wasn't the best of weeks.