Dreaming, rising trots and bal swing

Well I see that the postbag is full once again, from this blog's equivalent of Mrs Trellis of North Wales (did you hear Humph today? isn't he great) wanting to delve into my dream time. well all I can say is, this lot is censored, the nightimes ranting are not and they do not make good reading!

Once made the unfortunate confession to a dear male friend that I had a dream about him, myself and a pair of yellow marigold gloves; it took our relationshp to a whole new plane-he made sure he was never in the same room alone with me again. Not that he would have anything to worry about, I know which side I bat for, and as a bowler I regularly get maidens over (OK its not true, but its a cheap laugh, and this blog is full of them)

.....Last night was dreaming I was living in the Isle of Man. It was a rented place, and we had to enter it through a pantry window. There was a door, and we used it regularly to leave the house, but it was never there on the return, and we had to enter back into the building through the small window again, its my architectural side coming out, the only decent side I have!......

As for Mrs Jackanapes being a natural in the saddle, that has to go without saying. Her performing a rising trot on a leather saddle would take the biscuit from any Austrian upstart, and might well inhabit my uncensored moments from time to time...put that crop down.....!

Onto more prosaic matters, this afternoon takes me into new territories; my fist lessons in Balboa and Bal Swing. They are legal, do involve only one partner at a time, and I will inform you more about them in due course. For the moment, I'll have to leave you hanging on to the edge of your pommels, you lucky boys and girls....

Yeeehaaaahhh!!!!