Plus, I've been told off by one of my avid readers for not blogging enough. Three words; job(s), family, life......walking bus, kids' taxi service, cooking, cleaning, sleeping, pilates, ballet, tap, personal hygiene.....you knew it was never going to be only three words didn't you?
But actually Mr Avid Reader has a point so I've decided to adopt a little and often (also the name of a great singing duo from Huddersfield, Google them) approach rather than waiting until I have multitude of blogging gems to impart. The other plus side to this is that I'm getting incredibly forgetful these days so when there's a blog-worthy incident I have to jot it down quickly before I forget, and then I forget where I've put the bit of paper, closely followed by forgetting that I ever wrote it down in the first place.
Withdewrespect prides itself on being a warts 'n' all, spill the beans, tell it how it is kinda blog.
However, some things must remain private and I'm afraid the origins of our song (me and Mr Withdewrespect) will remain thus, and never be aired on primetime national radio alongside the dulcet tones of Simon Bates (is that still on? I'm old now and listen to Radio 4 so folk think I'm clever).
Anyway, the story behind 'our song' will not be aired here except to say that such was its romantic, sweet and innocent poignancy in the history in our relationship that we had it played on a CD player in the registry office as we signed on the dotted line, some 15 years, two marriages and four children after we'd first met (not, I hasten to clarify, all with each other).
Imagine my, erm, shall we say, surprise, when I was in the kitchen the other day (cooking and listening to BBCR4) when I heard 'our song' floating out of the lounge where Daniel was watching TV.
It's a little known song, from an even littler known artist and is very rarely heard these days so I was intrigued and dashed into the lounge.
Right there, right then, every shred of romance was instantly ripped out 'our song' and we can safely say my heart will not be a'fluttering every time I hear the song in the future. Instead, I will see red, literally!
There on the screen, as Harry Nilsson belted out his rousing chorus, were a dozen Dachshunds bounding across a field adoring hot dog baps on their backs and leaping into the arms of awaiting men wearing full-body lifesize bottles of the full plethora of sauces in the Heinz range.
On the upside, everytime Daniel squeezes a huge dollop of tommy sauce on his plate I can forever be reminded of my very own Mr W.
Romance, still very much alive and squirting in the Withdewrespect household!
That's all for now folks, ketchup with you later (sorry, couldn't resist).
