The lady who comes to cut our hair came to cut our hair yesterday. It was pissing down.
"I feel really sorry for those poor sheep in the field behind your house," she said, as she trimmed my beard. "They looked really wet and miserable."
"It's worse than that," I said. "When sheep get wet, their fleeces shrink, so they get squeezed from all sides."
"That's why their eyes bulge out."
"Really, is that true?! Jen, is he having me on?"
"Yes, he is," said Jen, trying to stop stuff coming out of her nose.
"It's a good job you told me: I was about to go and tell all of my friends!"
BBC: 'Extraordinary' genetic make-up of north east Wales men
Experts are asking people from north east Wales to provide a DNA sample to discover why those from the area carry rare genetic make-up.
Points will be deducted from the first person to make a sheep joke.
As we were going to be travelling down to Ann and Bill's last Friday evening, I gave Jen a lift into work in the morning. Our route to the motorway takes us over the marvellously named Blackstone Edge. The steep, winding road down Blackstone Edge has an almost sheer (and, in the place I am about to describe, unfenced) drop to the right, and a very steep hillside rising to the left.
It was about 06:20 and pitch dark as I rounded one of the blind bends near the top of Blackstone Edge doing about 40mph. Suddenly, five or six sheep lit up in the headlights directly in front of me. They were standing in the middle of the road where they didn't belong, the stupid twats! There was no way I could swerve around them (deadly drop to the right, rock cutting to the left). There was also no way I could brake in time before hitting them. But what the hell, I thought, and slammed on the brakes anyway, putting the car into a controlled skid…
Suddenly, everything went into hyper-slow motion. The sheep blinked stupidly at me as I calculated there would be fewer fatalities if I aimed the car at the sheep on the left, then yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. Jen bellowed something along the lines of golly gosh! Startled, motionless sheep passed either side of the car, as I skidded through their midst and out the other side. No crunches. No blood. No gore. Not even a glancing blow. Jen and I have absolutely no idea how I managed to avoid hitting a single one of the daft sods.
It was like a bullet-time sequence from out of The Matrix.
Only with sheep.
Stense (remember her?) this morning:
Pheasants are like the sheep of the bird world.
Hmmm… Compare and contrast:
Don't quite see it myself.