There are different types of trouble, the type of trouble you get into with your parents that normally is forgotten about once you have eaten humble pie, apologised and done the washing up. Then there is the type of trouble you can get in with your children, where they do not forget so easily and even if you naively believe that they have let it go it will be thrown back at you during a later argument. Then there is the type of trouble that your children get into with you, when you are so exasperated with them that your head is about to explode, you would wilfully exchange them for Donald Trump’s wig and no matter how hard you try you cannot calm down and forgive them for some considerable time after whatever misdemeanour they have carried out.
Finally, there is the type of trouble you get in with Mrs P, our compound’s very own iconic Italian force of nature, or as her bilingual and long suffering husband referred to her today – ‘la nostra gnocca Italiana’. DISCLAIMER I speak no Italian and have no idea what I have written there, any unsuitable references are simply not my responsibility!
Anyway, Mrs P is fab, she is a dude and she is, (please excuse the stereotyping here – don’t worry, she knows what I am about to say), very Italian. Having a conversation with Mrs S is a joy as her accent is captivating, her hand gestures are entertaining, (if a tad over enthusiastic and bordering on the dangerous at times) and she does not hold back on her thoughts and opinions. She is fab.
However, today I am trouble with the supreme being that is Mrs P.
It was quite a simple error and to anybody else may seem relatively insignificant and I suspect it stems from a breakdown in translation.
Today the compound’s nursery held it’s annual Crazy Hair and Dress Up Day. The event speaks for itself and each year it is used to raise money for charity. This year the nursery very, very generously decided that the chosen charity should be Tommy’s. What a fantastic gesture and one for which we are all very grateful – thank you.
I woke this morning to a message from the nursery manager asking me to pop in at 1150 to say hi and receive the money. Under normal circumstances I would have been delighted to. However, it was a slight logistical problem as I am in England and the nursery is in Riyadh – so time to find somebody to step in. A few quick messages later the dude that is Mrs P stepped in and said she would be more than happy to attend. Thanks Mrs P!
Now I did brief Mrs P on what would happen but this is where the communication broke down and Mrs P decided that after going to the nursery she would go and chill by the pool. That meant that Mrs P was dressed not in her Tommy’s kit but in a bikini with skimpy sundress. Had she just been greeted by a room full of cheeky 2-3 year olds she may well have been OK, but no as it was a fun day the room was packed with mum’s all singing and having fun and Mrs P was expected to join in and take a full and active role – in bikini and skimpy summer dress.
Needless to say that Mrs P was not, (and still is not), impressed – although the fact that she did receive 872SR, (£163.00 approx), for Tommy’s did appease her slightly.
So, my inbox was pinging and I am clearly in trouble.
At this point it is important to point out that while Mrs P is an absolute dude and I know that much of her angst is in jest, (or at least I hope it is), she is Italian and there are certain considerations to be made here.
It is not right to say that everybody in the military knows people usually in Hereford who are pretty hard core, (get what I am saying?), but it is fair to say that at least everybody in the military knows somebody who knows somebody in that locality. Well, today similar thoughts have been bouncing around in my head about Mrs P and a certain body of individuals of Sicilian and then Italian decent and who may take pity on Mrs P’s plight.
You can laugh, but you never know. Our Mrs P is pure Italian through and through and I suspect that she may not take kindly to being thrust into a room of 2-3 year olds and mums wearing nothing but a bikini and oversized handkerchief. Revenge may well be on her mind…..
So, for the foreseeable future I will be checking the bed before hitting the sack for any horses heads, I will be taking the long route around the major roadworks on the M6 involving deep holes and vast amounts of concrete and if I see anybody walking towards me with a syringe filled with a glowing substance I will sidestep adeptly and avoid any contact.
That said I have got to head to the airport tomorrow to collect the two men in my life and so avoiding the roadworks could make for a massive detour and there are always plenty of odd balls wandering around the arrivals area and so glowing syringes will not be that out of place.
OK, so most of this is in jest, (I am still worried about the M6, deep holes and vast amounts of concrete), and I would just like to say a massive thank you to Mrs P for stepping in to show our thanks to the nursery – you are fab Mrs P, now please call off the Mafia…….
Right, no training today – although I did have to fight the desire to go running, then the desire to go swimming and then the desire to go to the gym, (I still don’t have any idea what is going on in my head), I have not had a rest day all week and as my quads are reminding me today that I did run up Gawthrop Hill yesterday, (a 1:7 gradient that last for over a mile), I figured I was justified in chilling.
As I mentioned the two men in my life arrive tomorrow, so I have been tidying the cottage so that once they arrive and make a mess I can justifiably be grumpy with them for messing it all up. I went to the local fine wine merchants this morning and stocked himself up on ‘punchy reds’ and I have spent sometime this afternoon replacing the motors on the drone for the small man so that he can land it on the roof again. Last time the farmer and his son had to come up with a JCB and raise the farmer in the scoop onto the roof to rescue it – all a tad embarrassing!
I did however ask the farmer this morning if he had any of his home reared lamb left in his freezer – he is going to have a rummage and let me know. I fancy a good roast on Sunday. I mentioned this to the daughter last night as she was gazing lovingly out of the window at the frolicking and playing new born lambs running in a care free fashion over the fields – not a wise move, I think she will be vegetarian by Sunday!
So, till tomorrow when my peace will be shattered but never mind – it will be fun!
Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s