Thunder and lightning, very very frightening.

So I thought it rather apt that I keep my titles in line with my 1970's and 80's music legends, and to tell the truth it about sums up my mood for the last 18 hours (and apparently my new look makes me resemble that handsome fellow Freddie Mercury).
There I was, in full regalia, with 40 players left in the Hollywood Park $250,000 tournament. I'm not one to blow my own trumpet, but I was the best player left although a little short of chips and in my mind had begun calculating what I might do with the $67,290 first prize.
It folds to the button, and a suspicious looking chap, who incidentally raised his last button too, puts in a bigger than average raise. HA, thinks I, he's up to no good, nice little re-raise all-in, should put an end to his mischief and pick me up 35% more chips.
He called quicker than I could say 'All in' and I knew I was doomed (I had K5 for the record, and for all my alleged good player reading skills, I read that one like a Chinese book). In a fashion typical of Lord F, I rose from the table shook his paw and said 'Ah, a pair of Jacks, very nice hand sir' and went to collect my $775.
As I drove away contemplating my move, I decided from a statistical point of view, I quite liked it and I wasn't in too much of a grump. Fast forward five minutes and I was seething.
Allow me to introduce Lady Furnival. A real beauty, some might say English rose, and I would be tempted to agree and am the first to admit that I got lucky with that catch.
She understands me very well, and had gone through the following calculations/musings:

• He will be gone for at least 8 hours so I will go to the dog adoption centre for a look.
• When at the dog adoption centre gets offered a mutt for two days.
• Thinks to herself, he will be back late and will have won so will be in a good mood, and that poor creature looks so unhappy I will do a good deed and give it some love.
• disregards the fact that the landlord doesn't allow pets and returns home with said mutt.

However the reality was as follows. I get knocked out and am teetering on the edge of fury, she tells me she has adopted a dog for two days, cue the red mist. 

'What in the devils name are you thinking woman?! They stink like a sewer (and it does), If the landlady found out we could lose our lease not to mention deposit(nosey neighbour three doors down is bosom buddies with our landlady), and why the hell was I not consulted prior to this moment of madness???(after all it is my house too)' 

Well, it was all I needed to send me into a right temper, and I just couldn't think how on earth I was going to get out of it. I didn't want to drink myself into a stupor and hitting golf balls just wan't going to cut it. So I just steamed. Steamed some more, went to bed, steamed a little bit more and woke up feeling tip top.

It's a new day, I prune my whiskers and off to the golf course I shall head prior to another tournament this evening. I was fiddling away with my Ipad as I walked down the stairs, and landed my bare foot right in the middle of a puddle of dog piddle. 

Rather wisely neither she, nor the mutt were around and next time I wake up that bloody thing had better be gone.

A grumpy 

Lord F