The Squashed Man Who Married a Dragon Read Online Free
Author: Anthony Blackie
wonât say she towers over me but all the physical higher ground advantage has almost evaporated.
I like to dance âthe smoochie onesâ; with a precocious, smallish, warm, gentle sexy soul, clinging to me, in the secure protection of my loving arms. I donât need an Amazonian, suffragette, battle hardened woman, shouting equal heights. God knows whatâs going to happen next.â¦she will be reaching things down, from lofty shelves for me, or lifting me up to see over the wall. This is no way for the Head of the house to live.
HER FAMILY â The DNA
There is something about my wifeâs family that is definitely odd. She is one of six (three boys and three girls) of a very, very competitive family. Everyone has to be first with the answer, not to know is almost death, certainly puts you at the bottom of the pile. Worst of all for me, a reluctant thinker and less than gifted at figures; is their addiction to mathâs and all things to do with numbers.
Which could be directly linked to the fact that their father was a surveyor/auctioneer turned turf accountant with five betting shops. His father the founder of the business had probably the very first ever football pools firm; Stanhope Pools of Wigan. I think they all at some time or another helped in the business. My chosen one Victoria alias Brain of Britain, could on demand tell you in seconds, for a wager of so much, on odds of whatever, to win on the nose or each way placed bet how much your winnings would be, both betting tax prepaid or taxed post race.
For a boy â from a Methodist upbringing, although not too strict, this was shattering â but worse was to come. They played cards and oftenâ¦and for money! To me trying to make the right impression on the family was a nightmare. I hardly know my aces from my spades and having to hold vast amounts of cards in only one hand was a major challenge. Add to this the need to do mental arithmetic as well. In the end they settled for Pontoon to give me a chance. But buying another card or twisting, with all the mathematical compilations of whether I was or would be bust, and able to use only the fingers of one hand, nearly scuppered my standing with the family. Thank goodness some people like a challenge and some young girls in particular like a lame dog to love!
YET MORE LOVEY DOVEY DAYS
OUR HOUSE
After some careful searching of the countryside, just out of town, we found a little stone built cottage, two up and three down, next door to a small country pub. This had been bought by a widow, with the idea of refurbishing it and to downsize into a snug country home. For some reason no progress had been made, the house was empty for quite a while and had started to deteriorate. In order to keep tramps and dossers out, it had a council condemned Keep Out notice stuck to the front doorway, on the other end of this âdes resâ was a tiny stone built, one up and one down tenanted cottage, the two together could be ideal.
The first and larger cottage I could buy from the owner, and on a private mortgage. The tiny end cottage belonged to another lady, who would sell it to me if her close friend and adviser, yet another woman, who lived in a caravan nearby, would advise her to do so! I spent quite a few dark winter evenings in the caravan sipping weak sherry, whilst I wooed the adviser round to sanctioning the deal. At last loves sweet path could open up, and for less than seven hundred pounds we bought the two cottages.
Next followed eighteen months of hard graft, most nights after work, I arrived home, changed my clothes, had something to eat â then went out for the evening shift. Drive five miles or so and start my DIY work on the cottage, lit by candles and oil lamps at first. Leaving number one girl and baby Angela in the flat, then back around eleven, tired and dirty, but having taken the restoration on a bit further. Sometimes I donât think lover girl realised just
I like to dance âthe smoochie onesâ; with a precocious, smallish, warm, gentle sexy soul, clinging to me, in the secure protection of my loving arms. I donât need an Amazonian, suffragette, battle hardened woman, shouting equal heights. God knows whatâs going to happen next.â¦she will be reaching things down, from lofty shelves for me, or lifting me up to see over the wall. This is no way for the Head of the house to live.
HER FAMILY â The DNA
There is something about my wifeâs family that is definitely odd. She is one of six (three boys and three girls) of a very, very competitive family. Everyone has to be first with the answer, not to know is almost death, certainly puts you at the bottom of the pile. Worst of all for me, a reluctant thinker and less than gifted at figures; is their addiction to mathâs and all things to do with numbers.
Which could be directly linked to the fact that their father was a surveyor/auctioneer turned turf accountant with five betting shops. His father the founder of the business had probably the very first ever football pools firm; Stanhope Pools of Wigan. I think they all at some time or another helped in the business. My chosen one Victoria alias Brain of Britain, could on demand tell you in seconds, for a wager of so much, on odds of whatever, to win on the nose or each way placed bet how much your winnings would be, both betting tax prepaid or taxed post race.
For a boy â from a Methodist upbringing, although not too strict, this was shattering â but worse was to come. They played cards and oftenâ¦and for money! To me trying to make the right impression on the family was a nightmare. I hardly know my aces from my spades and having to hold vast amounts of cards in only one hand was a major challenge. Add to this the need to do mental arithmetic as well. In the end they settled for Pontoon to give me a chance. But buying another card or twisting, with all the mathematical compilations of whether I was or would be bust, and able to use only the fingers of one hand, nearly scuppered my standing with the family. Thank goodness some people like a challenge and some young girls in particular like a lame dog to love!
YET MORE LOVEY DOVEY DAYS
OUR HOUSE
After some careful searching of the countryside, just out of town, we found a little stone built cottage, two up and three down, next door to a small country pub. This had been bought by a widow, with the idea of refurbishing it and to downsize into a snug country home. For some reason no progress had been made, the house was empty for quite a while and had started to deteriorate. In order to keep tramps and dossers out, it had a council condemned Keep Out notice stuck to the front doorway, on the other end of this âdes resâ was a tiny stone built, one up and one down tenanted cottage, the two together could be ideal.
The first and larger cottage I could buy from the owner, and on a private mortgage. The tiny end cottage belonged to another lady, who would sell it to me if her close friend and adviser, yet another woman, who lived in a caravan nearby, would advise her to do so! I spent quite a few dark winter evenings in the caravan sipping weak sherry, whilst I wooed the adviser round to sanctioning the deal. At last loves sweet path could open up, and for less than seven hundred pounds we bought the two cottages.
Next followed eighteen months of hard graft, most nights after work, I arrived home, changed my clothes, had something to eat â then went out for the evening shift. Drive five miles or so and start my DIY work on the cottage, lit by candles and oil lamps at first. Leaving number one girl and baby Angela in the flat, then back around eleven, tired and dirty, but having taken the restoration on a bit further. Sometimes I donât think lover girl realised just
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