her hair gleamed in the autumn sunlight.
so she took her wig off the washing line, put it back on her bald head, and adjusted her knickers with such vigour that the elastic snapped and catapulted her over the shed roof and into the pig sty.
the air was blue, and her wig was back in the washing machine.

then, she realised - we were supposed to be entering the ballroom dancing competition at the Faggots and Gravy workingmens club!
thinking quickly, she raced to the car boot sale and chose a wig.
rather annoyingly, it was being worn by a woman who bred pigs and looked suspiciously like one.
she pursued us all the way to club and grabbed me in the middle of my fandango.
don't pick on me, i yelled in a high pitched voice.
but the panic was over - the MC shouted "the pies have come" and she elbowed her way to the front of the queue.

my darling and i won third prize - a home made steak and kidney pie.
rather ungraciously, she asked which home it had been made in - a remand home perhaps?

i didn't say anything.
when we got home, her pet goat cyril had rigged up a pole vault so he could eat her wig.

but she has such spirit!
she forced open his jaws, removed the wig, sat on it for five minutes and decided it looked better than the other one.

and people ask me why i love her so much...

... to be continued ...