I realised Sludge had found a new woman to lay his eager paws upon the instant he opened his front door this morning. Who she is I have no idea but on seeing him freshly shaven with hair combed and declaring an intention to wash under his arms before meeting her this evening then he must have felt sure of a guaranteed leg over.
She has to be an upgrade on the typical lumps he usually consorts with because the most they can hope for is a rissole and chips at a greasy spoon; this one's to be treated to a Harvester's meal. No doubt he fully expects to poke her inside his rusting Cavalier soon afterwards, the back seat off which he's already cleared of discarded kebab boxes.
I asked whether he could describe her. "Big titted" was his two-word reply.
He had finally gotten over his disappointment of the PM leadership race for which he hoped Michael Gove would stand and triumph. Suella Braverman was his alternative choice. He's not fussed on whom he calls "Gupta" but is hopeful Sunak has enough about him to deliver another General Election win.
I reminded him twice to no avail of the Scousers' recent unexpected defeats at the hands of Forest and Leeds. Nothing I said could dent his optimistic mood for he continued to cheerily hum a selection of his favourite Spandau Ballet tunes.
He did have one lengthy moan though when complaining about how much it has chucked it down of late. He hates rain because he knows no local housewives will peg their drawers out. I told him whatever the weather they should be able to with an expectation they'll be available for collection without worrying about who might be tiptoeing along the town's back lanes during the wee small hours.
He simply grinned. What a kent that fella is!