"Cor, something smells nice," said Simon, handing Tom a couple of bottles of wine. He then walked up to me and embracing me said, "Yes something smells very nice." Finally, he kissed me.

Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad & Bonzi Kiddle.
part 171.

I organised myself in the kitchen, checking utensils, knives and things and put the oven on to warm. Prepared the meat and put it safe on top of the cooker, hopefully too high for spaniels with ambition.

I got on with preparing the various veg I'd bought, starting with the potatoes. I peeled a whole saucepan full and quartered them. I parboil mine before roasting they should then be nice and soft inside.

Tom was fiddling in the house, doing something, I don't know what. I made the batter for the yorkshire puds and greased the tin, I'd bought rapeseed oil, it doesn't form transfats on heating like some do.

Then, after a cuppa, I took one to Tom who was checking his wine collection. By the time I'd drunk it, the spuds were half cooked and went in with the meat, though not in the same tin, I would want to crisp them later and shove them in the top of the oven, after the Yorkshires were done.

Then it was peeling carrots and slicing, taking the Kale off its stalks and doing some mushrooms. I also sliced an onion. These last two items went in with the joint along with the garlic I'd spread over it first, but not enough to taste other than as a hint.

It was all cooking by itself, so I found the vacuum cleaner and whizzed around with that, then checked the toilets and washbasins. Tom sniggered and shook his head.

"What's tickled you?" I asked.

"I haven't seen anyone do that since I had a woman living here."

"Meaning?" I asked assertively.

"It seems to be a woman thing."

"I didn't know it was gender selective, to clean the toilet." I wasn't sure if he was complimenting me or taking the piss.

"Cathy, I am trying to say that I appreciate a woman's touch around the place, that's all."

"Oh," I blushed. "I thought you had a woman who cleans for you."

"She does an hour or two a week, only keeps the worst of it down. It's just nice to have a female living here again, even if it's only temporary."

"Erm... I have to check the roasties," I scrambled to the kitchen, blushing furiously. They were of course fine. The clock showed one, I had an hour to finish everything.

"Are you happy to carve Tom?"

"Yes, there's one of those spiked carving dishes somewhere." I found it and wiped it over. Then began laying the table. I opened the horseradish sauce and also some English mustard, although I don't like either, too harsh for my little gob. In fact, I'd just as soon have a tuna jacket potato as all this cholesterol.

I warmed the tin for the Yorshires and spooned in the batter when it was hot enough, then whipped it back at the top of the oven. They may well be a disaster, but I was pretty sure about everything else.

Tom had changed, so I ran up and showered very quickly, threw on the first skirt and top that matched, some socks and my red boots.

I checked everything, and despite my fears the Yorkshires looked to have risen and browned, and weren't all gooey and uncooked in the middle. The veg was cooked and waiting and the roasties were browning nicely.

I ran back up to my room, did the quickest makeup job I think I've ever done, squirted some smellies, and was putting on my earrings, some dangly ones as I came down the stairs. Then combed my hair in the cloakroom, it would do, it was mostly dry.

The door bell rang and I wrapped a teatowel around me to act as a pinny, well I doubted Tom would have any, I put it on my mental list to get some more for me anyway.

Tom answered the door, whilst I stood back and kept an eye on the kitchen.

"Cor, something smells nice," said Simon, handing Tom a couple of bottles of wine. He then walked up to me and embracing me said, "Yes something smells very nice." Finally, he kissed me.

I missed the other two coming in, as the dinner needed me. I refused offers to help and began dishing up veg and carrying it through. Tom was already carving the beef which had 'rested' for a short time. Everything was coming along beautifully, when the relative peace was shattered by a commotion somewhere at the back of the house.

We all rushed to the French windows just in time to see a fox flying across his yard and into the woodshed. Shortly behind were a dozen or more large dogs, at which Tom called in his barking spaniel, before the foxhounds chewed her up instead of the fox.

Tom's house is an old farmhouse, with a rambling yard and huge garden, well a couple of fields really, which has prevented developers from building around him.

The arrival of the dogs was soon followed by the riders, breaking down hedges and fences. Hunters are big horses and quite intimidating to people like me. I may be a sagittarian but I am shit scared of large horseflesh, but not of the small brained twat on it's back.

Tom charged out swearing and threatening, who ever was in charge of the hunt, which is supposed to be a drag hunt, as killing animals with dogs is currently prohibited, although no one has told the dogs. So if they get a scent of a fox, it's business as usual.

I felt this total conflict within me. I despise hunting and wanted to get out there and shout and scream at the fools on the horses which were shitting all over Toms yard and garden. The horses I mean, although the way Tom was ranting, the riders might also be filling their pants.

My conflict was my anger with the hunters and my fear of the horses. I stood back with Stella and Pippa as Simon tried to calm things down, pulling Tom off the one rider who had dismounted. The dogs were going bananas around the woodshed but were too big to get in after the fox.

Another rider dismounted and was now jostling Simon, not a good idea. I told Pippa to call the police, and began to join the fray. Anger was now stronger.

The third rider, who was about to grab Simon who had just whacked the second one, didn't see me coming, or the brush I had in my hand. I whipped it up hard between his legs from behind, he squealed and turned around and I laid him out with a second whack to the chin.

Those on horseback who didn't retreat got whacked and they did after that. Someone grabbed me and the brush, but Stella hit him on the behind with the small whip dropped by the one the one I'd knocked down. He turned around and my elbow met his solar plexus and a moment later Simon's knuckles gave him breathing problems. "Leave her alone you bastard," he said or something like it.

Tom and the first rider were still arguing furiously when the sound of police sirens got everyone's attention.

Two police crews arrived and after an hour of furious claims and counter claims, of affray and trespass, criminal damage, assault, grievous bodily harm, attempted murder, cruelty to animals, high treason and blasphemy, the hunt withdrew and promised to pay for the damage caused.

We all retired back to the dining room, where a certain spaniel was asleep and the carved, roast joint had disappeared.

"Your dinner is in the dog," I said and the place erupted with laughter. The veg had stayed warm, although with a tin of corned beef, wasn't quite the same.

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