On Saturday I was unexpectedly invited to Frobishers to take afternoon tea , with Mr F and Mr C , in Mr F's expansive garden.
I should have been on my guard , as yet another of Mr Frobishers garden chairs mysteriously collapsed underneath me , pitching me into a flower bed full of sharpened tomato canes , (like one of those feindish jungle animal traps filled with razor sharp bamboo sticks ).
Luckily The Beast has skin as tough as a hippo's hide , and apart from a few peircings and a minor scald from the tea , the Beast survived to fight another day , I was much more wary of helpful suggestion from Mr F of 'why dont you pop upstairs to the luxurious bathroom and cleanse your wounds' . Its not too big a leap of faith to imagine lard spread on the stairs , so I toboggan down the steps to an untimely demise or taps accidentally wired into the mains... POOF!! oops Frying tonight.
A brave Beasty , stiff upper lip creaking in the breeze , politely refused all offers of 'assistance ' and just sat quietly and bled on the blighters patio . It was a shame to refuse Mr C's 'Almond suprise' french fancies' , specially baked for my pleasure apparently , anyone who has ever watched Miss Marple knows that almond= cyanide , so I didnt fancy taking the risk.
Mr Frobisher and MR C are obviously insanley jealous of my glamorous weight loss and are trying once again to bump me off. Call me paranoid but , I shall be keeping a weather eye over the next few weeks for cut brake pipes , poisonous snakes in me gym bag or deadly scorpions in me pants drawer.