A fairly mundane week on the honorary accolades front. Nothing to report. Outstanding pasta salad awarded by Joe Sprat. Superlative nag silently attributed by Teenage Sprat. Tssk. I ask you.

The hound came third in the agility group (out of a class of five) in a school dog show and failed to perform for best trick, for which I was photographed taking a sideways swipe with my foot. We lost in the dog who most looked like their owner category; I blame the re-blonding of my hair.

Watched the Olympic torch arrive in Blenheim Palace. Frankly, it failed to inspire me and I decided to set fire to my own knickers instead. Only joking.

I haven’t yet bought Fifty Shades of Grey (if only to enter into an argument on a point of principle) but was hugely amused by the 50 shades of Clegg on The Daily Mash website.

I ate, drank more than necessary, and was defriended by my goddaughter on Facebook. I must be older than I feel. Or maybe I need to find a god.

Hope you find your mojo this Friday. And the blackbirds have stopped singing. It is July after all.

Mrs Mackerel x

Now here’s a slow dance for Friday night.

I looked this up on You Tube simply because I think it will be a top ten contender for me this year and was surprised to find it had had only 83 views. Well, 84 or more now. I thought that perhaps in between being a Hoof of Destiny and Mark Lanegan’s PA, I could make tea and cake for these poor blokes. They look a bit mis. Cheer up lads. I’m sure she swam out of the lake in her yellow dress. But it is a rather beautiful song.

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