Dot

Mrs Up Yours McIver 

The bike got an airing yesterday as I rode gently about the village waving to all and sundry, smiling and everything. I espied Mrs Up Yours playing gardening in her extensive estate, pulling manically at weeds and anything else by the look of it.

I shouted a greeting. Nothing. No response at all. I moved closer, and called again. Still nothing. Then I waved in front of her boat-race, the ear-plugs came out and Mrs Up-Yours was there. Talking and all that. I had to go and have a look at her new chicks - all spiky and fluffy and looking lovely. Lots of them. Mrs Chicken [forgive me, I forgot her name] had been very busy.

I smiled weakly, took a snap and moved on quickly.