Please don’t you rock my boat

I try not to be a nagging wife, really I do.  For every little thing Pud does that winds me up, I’m sure I’m doing or saying something that’s getting up his nose in return.  I try to bear this in mind when he’s listening to the TV at a volume that makes the walls shake or when he washes up and leaves a coating of gravy on the dishes………

Gravy train

………..mainly because I’m firmly of the opinion that life’s too short to pick up on every single issue but also because Molly is convinced that Pud and I are going to divorce every time we have even the slightest difference of opinion.

However, as hard as I try I can’t let everything go without a mention.  Every so often something needs to be said about certain matters and today was ripe for the picking.

Those of you who know me are aware that I’m officially a WAG due to Pud managing the girls’ football team that Molly plays in. I don’t like to flaunt this fact, hence my shopping at Primark and Matalan in order to maintain a smokescreen for the circles that I actually mix in nowadays. Pud takes his role extremely seriously.  In fact some might say he’s a tiny bit obsessed with it. In fact some might even suggest that it’s completely taken over his life and indeed the Puddington Residence but I couldn’t possibly name such people.

Anyway, today I stood ankle-deep in mud, watching Molly play. The icy wind cruelly whipped around my ears as we cheered our girls on and I slowly lost the sensation in my feet. After the game, the parents couldn’t get away quickly enough, mainly because it was so cold and their Sunday lunch was beckoning but also because of what always follows a home game ….putting the goal posts away.

Which left me, Pud, our nephew Sam and another chap, Sean.  Oh, and a tumbleweed.

I’m no stranger to putting all the footy stuff away, I’ve done it on many an occasion and it’s bloody hard work, especially when the weather isn’t pleasant.  Today was no exception, I could hardly feel my finger tips as I un-hooked the scratchy nets from the metal posts, covering myself in mud and getting wetter by the minute as sheets of rain started to penetrate my jeans (is there any worse sensation than cold, clammy denim wrapped around your legs?)

As I hauled the last metal pole over to the equipment shed and stood there trying to pop my right arm back into its socket, Pud turned to Sean and Sam and said,

‘Thanks for your help lads, I really appreciate it.’

Like I said, I normally try and let things go for the sake of harmonious living but Molly, a girl has her pride and sometimes she just has to make a stand for the greater good. I felt honour bound to have a few choice words when we got home and of course Pud couldn’t see what my problem was, explaining that I was included in his thanks as I was ‘one of the team’.  Consequently, we spent the rest of the day either avoiding each other or grunting monosyllabic* responses to only the most essential of questions.

Hopefully normal service will soon be resumed…..

*when I entered this into the on-line thesaurus it came up with ‘did you mean ‘miner’s lung’?’  Errrr, no.


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