Monday 30 March 2015

Chapter 1

Hi everyone, anyone,
I've been busy writing a book, I'm up to chapter 20 with more swilling around in my head.
Here's the first chapter, I plan to publish a chapter each week.

Let me say sorry now for the many spelling, gramical errors, we didn't all get a fancy education!

Anyway I hope you enjoy it

m



Chapter One 28/03/15

Early one stifling hot summers evening, a Thursday evening to be precise,lost within the vast city that endures, nestling near the mighty river, stood the ruins of forlorn abandoned warehouses, yesterdays essentials, now discards of today.  Hidden deep in one secluded basement, dark, dank with a wet musty twang, a naked; once beautiful young man hung by his arms, his legs secured and stretched wide apart.  Light came from the many candles dotted around, flickering, casting dark shadows where evil hid, watched, consumed, tasting the pain, the terror the despair.
He sobbed; tears flowing down his face, the chains that tethered him rang and clinked as his aching muscles frantically strained in his futile attempt to escape from the small cook's gas blow torch that was creeping slowly back towards his exposed flesh.  He gazed into the gleaming emerald eyes that studied him, the eyes that were coldly calculating the exact point when his torment would resume.  He pleaded and begged; offering everything, promising all he had, all he was, unable to accept his life was ending before it had really started.  She listened to his words and was amused, happy, in rapture with his shear terror, feeding, savouring the fear, watching the sweat running down his fried ruined torso.  Her lips formed into a mean smile, she licked them; her eyes deadened, absently mindlessly she brushed a stray blonde strand of hair away from her youthful features before suddenly thrusting the blue flamed torch into his face, flesh burnt and with a final jerk and stifled scream his five hours of living hell was curtailed.  Clinically she turned off the torch; packed her briefcase with the toys of torment she had used.  Smoke was rising from the burnt carcass, the smell starting to finally irritate her senses, even annoying them.  Glancing at her watch she noted she still had time and left. Gliding away she started to hum a favourite tune softly, a haunting melody.

Later that same evening a white  Boxed Luton Van glided to a gentle halt outside the rear of a large fake Georgian residence. A huge garage nestled beneath; spreading underneath offices that were also above and fixed to one side of the residence.  The driver was careful to park over a particular manhole cover.  In the rear three men, clothed in black glanced at each other; the leader, clean shaven, dark brown hair; early to mid twenties nodded.  They pulled the manhole cover up through the hole that had been pre-cut in the floor of the van.  One by one they climbed cautiously down the creaking off white rope ladder that they had had to first lower.  The dark was full of deep blackness hiding menace and worry.  Once they had got inside the round concrete drain; each man had switched on a lamp fixed to his head.  They moved slowly; paddling in the effluent that covered the bottom of the pipe.  A powerful pungent aroma of rotting waste tinged with bleach assailed their senses.

Progress was slow inside the oppressive rising serpent but after a couple of minutes they arrived without a word being spoken at a metal railed gate covered in toilet paper and slushy gunk.  Cutting through the rusty padlock with the cutters the second man, Fat Malcolm, had carried; they entered a brick lined chamber, forty feet square. They still had to stoop a little, but not so much as before.  Smaller pipes terminated here, each coming from a building above.  Suddenly one of the pipes emitted an offering of shit and spoil, splattering the floor in a shower of brown dark sludge.  Ignoring the increase in stink, the leader; David Stantz pulled out a map from a chest pocket. Together the three studied the drawing, they twisted this way and that trying to get their bearings. Above them were four trap doors, each spaced equally from each other. For a long time they pondered and pointed before agreeing on a door.  With bit and brace the third man, Calum drilled a small hole, a camera on a flexible pole was slipped through.  A quick look at the screen attached to the other end of the pole proved that the room above was in darkness.  A battery saw was used to allow entry through the middle of the wooden trap door and they crept upwards; David pleased to note that the alarm door contact fitted to the trap door and the frame had not been disturbed.  He professionally stripped the outer sleeve of the small white alarm cable leading to the alarm contact and studied the coloured wiring.  Pulling a small multi-meter from the other breast pocket he laid it down and peeled back the inner sleeve of each of the four cores of the cable.  Using the meter, he then tested each core before nodding to himself and smiled.  The black rucksack that he had brought with him was opened to reveal a Megga, that standard electricians tool of the trade used normally to send a high voltage around a circuit to test the circuit was ok.  Leads were attached to the blue and yellow cores, directly onto the exposed copper of the stripped cores of the cable.  A button was pressed, lights on the unit went from green to red and back again, 500 volts had briefly powered its way rounds the alarm circuit which was not designed to be treated in this fashion, as the far too high voltage reached the alarm control panel it destroyed the alarms main processor.  All three listened out straining their ears for any sound.  Putting the Megga away David lowered the rucksack back through the trap door.  Moving quickly they went to the only door in the room and cracked it ajar, David desperately using the camera trying to see if there was an Alarm Contact on the door, there was.  He looked at the other, they both gave a brief "yes"nod and he opened the cheap wooden door a little more.  They stood in silence again, no alarm came.
"Fried the fucker!" David murmured.  They were in!

Another camera check followed and then they fully opened the door before moving along a dimly lit passageway, many of the bulbs were out or switched off. The tension was almost unbearable, each man was taught and sweating.  Looking quickly at the map David pointed to a door and they slipped into the large garage, the rows of lights flicked on automatically as a light saving sensor picked up their body heat.  Rows of cars, big and expensive lined up as ready for inspection, each covered in a white shroud to protect against dust.  Also David observed two white Transit Vans were positioned right in front of one of the garage doors.  The men got to work removing the catalytic converters.  Working as fast as humanly possible  the units began to stack up, each piece taking one of them about five minutes or so to remove.  Calum kept up a steady pace transporting them; four at a time out of the Underground Garage, along the passageway, through the stink and slime all the way back to the van, the first time he also swept up the rucksack and the rest of the used equipment as he passed.  The other two continued; hard at it, it was hot heavy work and all three were soon dripping in sweet, the air conditioning not helping much.  Crime takes too much hard work reflected David as he worked.  Finally they had removed a total of thirty one converters.  David looked at a smart nearly new Blue Skoda parked at the front of the Garage nearest one of the other doors.  They had not touched it as it was a diesel, it didn't have a converter, David noticed the keys were in the ignition.  A note in bold type stated 'Must be available at all times for use by the duty chef'.  Silly buggers he thought; surely a van would be better to get vitals in.

Finally mission completed they re-entered the passageway, Fat Malcolm carrying the last three items of booty was in the lead followed by Callum, David last in line.  As David got halfway down the passage a piercing alarm started to sound, all the lights went off plunging them into darkness, panic gripped them, they ran adrenalin kicking in, the last three converters were abandoned.  As he move David had the presence of mind to switch on his lamp.  The other two were ten to fifteen feet ahead of him when a door was flung open into the passageway, David was just in front of it as it opened and had no chance to avoid it, he hit the door and bounced through the opening then colliding heavily with someone inside.  Both parties sprawled onto the floor.  As he raised his head he saw a wooden fruit bowl sliding across the tiled floor and disappearing under a large stone statue of a Woman dressed as a Warrior, closely followed by some fruit which bounced against the statue and rolled back towards him.  The Warrior, he noted,was adorned with sword, slightly curved and a shield with a red dragon spitting fire.  Feeling, more than hearing ,a movement to his right he turned his head, the beam from his torch locked onto the face of a Woman, blonde, young with emerald green angry eyes, a scowl forming on her face, he clocked a small crossed scar on the forearm of the woman; then a dagger long, thin, sharp and very pointed appeared in his beam.  She was holding it in her right hand, it was pointing at him.  David slithered backwards, crying out in fear.  She moved rapidly towards David with intent and malice.  Rolling backwards across the threshold he heard the door slammed shut, looking up David saw Calum sliding a bolt across.  The door was hit from inside; repeatedly, it was clear to both of them the bolt wasn't going to keep the door secure for long.  Pulling David up Calum shouted in a harsh Glaswegian accent "Run you twat" they did.  Behind them the could hear the door giving way.  Charging back the way they had first come they flung themselves through the opening in the trap door and legged it into the pipe; splattering shit onto the ceiling and themselves.  Yelling in fear they sped along at full pace.  Malcolm who had already reached the van pulled them up and then the rope ladder.  Chucking the manhole cover earthwards back into its original position David screamed "Drive, drive you fucking cock sucker, just drive".
The van moved, picking up pace then faster and faster; the stolen converters shifting and sliding with each turn of the van. Eventually the driver slowed down after a good five minutes. As the van stopped briefly at some traffic lights they could talk.

"What the fuck was that?" demanded Fat Malcolm, the broad Scots accent harsh and evil.

"We're so fucked"said David moaned softly.

"Come again" Malcolm asked.

"It was a Warrior I've just swopped spit with" David snapped back.  "A female warrior, you know a member of the Mistress Hood, Order or what ever else you want to fucking call them twats".

"What the fuck was she doing there? And what the fuck is the Mistress Hood?"
Fat Malcolm demanded his accent getting broader revealing the stress he was under.

"I don't know why she was there" came David's glum reply, "But I've come across them before, I know what they're like, we're dead meat, I mean it, we're dead meat!"

The rest of the fifteen minute journey was in silence mainly due to the roaring noise of the van's engine.  Malcolm and Calum exchanging worried glances, David slumped down; head in hands.  His mind a whirl of questions, worries and half-cocked what ifs.  What the fuck was she doing there he kept asking himself.  This was meant to be an easy blag.  The fence said it was a piece of cake.  I should never have agreed to this David reflected ruefully, always better on my own.

Flicking a butt out of the window, Ahmed exhaled the last hot smoky drag and turned into a car breakers yard.  Pulling to a stop he jumped out and walked quickly towards the rusty dented sheet covered metal double gates; banging on the side of the van as he past.   "Out you wee cunts" he shouted as he closed the gates; snapping the padlock shut.  His accent more the wrong side of Edinburgh.

There then followed a fierce discussion come argument in the yard, bones picked over, blame apportioned, fingers wagged.  Finally after ten minutes or so they went into the not so new once olive green portacabin David switched on a desk light revealing a well thumbed last years Topless Model Calendar hanging on the dirty wall a faded penned penis sketched artfully entering the smiling mouth.  David shook his head in a no gesture as Fat Malcolm went to switch on the main lights.

"Look guys" he said, "No ones seen you lot so let's go our separate ways, you don't know what's coming, I think I do, if we're caught we're going to get a right good pasting!"

Calum said for the fifth time, "Will you fucking clearly spill the shite and stop being a dick, you ain't made any sense so far".
Ahmed and Malcolm joined in clamouring for an explanation.

David sighed rubbing his eyes, "All right you cunts" he said in a strong clear firmer voice; "Pin back you lug holes, this ain't no shit, straight up".

"I grew up in a small village in the sticks, well in the sticks, in fact it was in Wales, it was a Mistress led village".
"Come again bro" said Calum.

"Shut up and listen" David flung back, spraying a bit of spit that landed on Ahmed's bold head. No one seemed or cared to notice.  "Let me try and get it stuffed into your brainless Jock minds, don't you know dick?  A Mistress led village is one where some, most; if not all the houses are owned and run by women.  Most are members or affiliates of the Mistress Hood, Order, bla-bla-bla, whatever.  They live in FLM or FLR's".

Ahmed's black, neat eye brows rose up asking the question that the other two were about to ask.

"Female Led Marriages or Relationship.  The woman own everything, even the men" said
David.

"Bullshit", screeched Calum and Malcolm both at the same time.  Ahmed just blow out noisily through his lips like he was smoking another fag.

"Look" pleaded David, "I grew up a village just like that, my next door neighbours both sides were just that.  Half the kids I use to know are like that.  Fuck me you couldn't shit in the woods without the Coven Council knowing.  All women, mean, old and fucking nasty bitches, all twelve of them".  

"So" mocked Ahmed "What were the men, slaves?  The woman witches?".

"Sort of, maybe, I don't know" said  David, "But more than that, their men were called Slave-Dogs.  Two of my mates when I was younger were like that.  Good guys until you got the wrong side of their Sister, then they could be real funny, not in a Ha Ha way you know.  Look, they think differently, have their own rules, laws".

"I ain't seen this shit on the Discovery Channel" said Ahmed, "Your taking the piss you lying ball bag".

"Straight up" David answered throwing up his hands in a pleading action.  "I don't know why but they're for real you've just got to believe it.  Why the government don't do dick, fuck knows, fuck cares.  I thought this was some posh rich gay bankers house".  Scratching his balls David joked "Nobs all round".

"You sure we went through the right trap door" asked Calum, Malcolm nodded in agreement.

"Bollocks" said David going a little more pale.  "Do you think we ended up in the wrong pad?, the alarm was just as described, old and a bag of poo". Easy to fry the processor"

Fat Malcolm rubbed his lardy stomach, patting it to release some trapped wind before farting loudly and shook his left leg.  "Not another fuck up, ay?, why the alarm go off?.

"Maybe the Tart set off another alarm" David answered, more to himself than the others.

David frowned, groaned and slumped into a leather chair that was the wrong side of its chuck it away date.  "You don't get it, one of them saw me, I'm fucked, they will find me, look just leg it.  I never understood it all, Mum took me away from the village when I was thirteen just before my next birthday.  We move to this great shitty city.  There was a man in the village, called Shaky George, he walked like a spaso on drugs, hunched and twisted, muttered all the time.  Terrified of his own shadow, couldn't look anyone in the eye, we use to take the piss as kids".
David wished he still smoked as he watched Ahmed light a tab and inhale the first crisp vapour of death.

"Shaky George", David continued, "Was rumoured to like a drink, one winter's eve, just before the longest night he got wasted and drove his pickup.  It was said that he crashed into some woman's car, she and her kid got hurt.  Not killed, or even badly hurt mind.  The cops got called, took them two days to find him.  He weren't pissed by then, cleaver lawyer got him off.

The following week he disappeared, six weeks later he was back, fucked over for good.
It seems the woman also lived in the village, didn't know her name, she was a Mistress, so the Mistress Coven did their own thing".

Funny David thought to himself, woman in the village use to smile as they went past George, did they all know he wondered.  He dwelt and pondered on this for a few minutes before becoming aware that Malcolm was talking.

"Bollocks to this guys I'm off, I stink like last weeks wee turds, let's talk tomorrow, I've got an appointment with a shower then four wee tinnies and Babestation xtra".

After a few more minutes chatter the agreed to meet at ten in the cafe opposite the yard before moving the goods.  As they left, each one walked off in a different direction.  Ahmed was the last to leave, locked up and lit another cigarette before drugging off pulling his coat collar tight around him as it started to rain.

None of the men looked up to the skyline as the left.  If they had they might have seen a figure perched on a roof top studying them with great interest.












Friday 27 March 2015

Dance anyone?

Lap dancing is I guess demeaning, shallow and puerile, but enough about me, let's talk about the lap dancer.  How does she feel , used or the user, the mug or the mugger.  I said that I might blog about my trip to a l dancing club; so here goes.

A few years ago I went for a few drinks with two friends, one of the was recently married with a young child and another on the way.  Incidentally, not that it matters She likes jumping in the sack more than he does.  He likes gaming on the web, ok try not to be too judgemental yet there's more to come, you can judge away later.

Anyway we had a few drinks, and then indulged in a few more, my mate took it into his head that we should go to a lap dancing club. My other friend (who I have mentioned in a previous blog, the one who would like his wife to take charge) and I were not to enamoured with the idea.  However the pleading and insisting became incessant to the point we either walked away and leave him (Something we would never do) or acquiesce to his now rather loud demands.  So we went, reluctantly; a little hesitant maybe but certainly not dragged kicking and screaming.

Our city hosts one of these establishments, we arrived after a swaying passage on the asphalt sea.  Two fat ageing bouncers gave us the once over, decided we were worthy, or had enough dollar to be welcomed inside and we entered.  Most of the week the establishment is a normal nightclub; except on Thursday nights.  As in common with most of these fancy gaudy houses of illusion the lights were subdued so you couldn't get a focused picture.  We all parted with the price of a good main course and desert to be allowed past the entrance foyer.  Wending our way up the short staircase we emerged into a salon with a few men, mostly grubby, overweight and a little grey in pallor and hair, if they had any at all.  Doted amongst them were scantily clad ladies, mostly white, 20's and in the main slim.  A couple were chubbier than I.  My keen friend processed up to the bar; with us two tagging along, drinks were purchased, sipped before we looked at each other with a resigned look, the beverages were more water than alcohol,  mind you a bit pricy still.  Sitting at a table I looked round; unwilling to catch a ladies eye.  Regardless of me adverting my gaze every few minutes a lady would slid up to our table and ask if we would like a dance.  I mumbled;  while my enthused friend eagerly chatted away, he was a little too loud; a little too excited.  I in contrast found myself shy, awkward. This is strange if you consider I have been played with; naked, stung up in more than one BDSM club.  Very rarely has that ever bothered me.  I've seen women naked, chained; being spanked or paddled; something that although I've never thought was pleasing to my eyes; it has always been something I have accepted as their right to express their sexuality; their leaning.  In this case strange as it sounds the whole atmosphere was grimy, dead, emotionless.

My eager beaver friend suddenly splashed out on a dance for me, a painfully tall slim blond, early twenties; took my arm and guided me to a private booth, I was asked to sit on a hard wooden high backed chair and she began.  I was nonplus, slightly fascinated as I'd never experience this sort of thing before while at the same time fully conscious that as she gyrated and thrust her body at me she could have just as easily at the same time be doing a shopping list in her head.  She picked up on the fact I wasn't enjoying the dance so chatted for a few minutes, I explaining that I was just her for my mate.  Like she had never heard that one before! She loosened up and explained in response to my enquiry that she had to pay to get into the club £80.00 each night, so she had to do at least 8 dances to break even.  I admitted I was married which seemed to impress her, I figure most men didn't want to own up to that.  In return I was informed she had two young children at home, her Mum looked after them while she worked.  As the sound track changed she started to dance again, I think determined to prove her worth.  It was alluring and compulsive watching.  I have to admit the way she removed her few garments while dancing and not looking stupid was an impressive technical feat. After a couple of minutes her panties came off briefly (sorry no pun sort) before the G-String was stretched back into place.   It as over, I was walked hand in hand back to the table, the smallest of pecks on the cheek and she walked away looking for the next fool.

My friend was inquisitive, urgent in his questions, what was she like, was it good, worth the  tenner.  I assured him it was, but to be honest I would have rather given her the £10 and just had a chat. Of course I had to buy him a dance back, I did consider purchasing a dance for him by one of the more chubbier ladies, after all his other half is a bit on the broader side.  Sorry; I'm naughty I know but these things just drop unbidden into my head.  I chose for him a red head, all sassy and boobs, he rushed off looking possessed, in raptures of lust and anticipation.

My other friend appeared bored and while the eager beaver got his fix we agreed as soon as possible to get him out and in a Taxi.  It was a least an hour later before we claimed poverty and persuaded him to depart.  He had spent more than he should, I knew they weren't in clover; so I personally felt what had done was wrong as a man with responsibilities.  However it's not up to me to moralised and sit in judgement, and they are still together and by all accounts happy.

The traditional Donner Kabab was mauled upon as we trudged our weary path to the Taxi Rank before going our separate ways,

You will be please to know I told Mistress all about it as soon as I got in, this pleased her, no; not the lap dancing, the honesty.  Also next time all six of us were together she had great fun at my two friend expense dropping hints about lap dancing clubs.  They squirmed.

Personally I don't expect I will be going there again, unless of course I could take Mistress and lap dance for her.  Although I'm not sure how keen she would be because when I tried to do a sexy strip at home I fell over taking a sock off and banged my head!.

Maybe they would give me lessons at a tenner a time, now that's a thought!
m        

Saturday 21 March 2015

Pinkies

In my job I meet all sorts of manor of people.  Some are thin others fat, some kind and others pigs.  It the nature of things I suppose that occasionally I do cross paths with a Femdom Lady.  I would like to brag that I can always tell, but of course I can't.

Anyway the other day I knocked on a smart oak wooden door painted dark forest green mounted between the two Georgian sash windows.  The door was opened and a tall slim mid to late forties old woman welcomed me in.  She had short blondish hair with the odd grey strand peeping through.  Dressed in a Mohican Hairy Rainbow Multicoloured jumper and light blue jeans.  No foot wear; just a silver ring adorned a toe.  The door was shut behind me and we regarded each other.  Her eyes were an unblinking, steel blue, not unkind or hateful, more full of confidence and certainty.  She made it clear what she wanted to be done (this had already been agreed on the phone before I went).  It wasn't difficult assignment;  a small job 3/4 of an hour if I took my time and paced myself.  Coffee was offered and excepted (Oh, just to let you all know as a tradesman offering me a drink goes a long way to getting not a better job but maybe getting a little favour, coat hook fitting, smoke detector battery changed for free.  No offer of a drink, no favours).
Anyway a rich earthy freshly brew was provided and she slipped daintily onto a kitchen stool; crossed her legs and chatter to me while I got on.

I tend to have a set patter with Customers, weather, holidays booked?, kids.  No politics, religion and I avoid first mentioning parents, if they mention them; fine, other wise it's a no no.  It doesn't matter how old the customer is I find enquiring about their parents can back fire.  Years ago I asked a young girlie front of her Mother about her Gran to be told coldly by the Mother that Grandmother had just died the day before!

I became aware that as I dipped in and out of my tool box; her rather sexy bare feet were inches from my face, the thought crossed my mind that she had deliberately sat there once I'd put my tool box down.  I glanced at her, our eyes met and that faint crease of a smile formed on her lips, her eyes glistened a little.  The expression was exactly the one my Mistress has when she looks at me all knowingly.  I was sure what or who I was dealing with, she was I felt enjoying having me at her feet.      

I have over the years had various situations, ladies coming out of bathrooms dropping their towel, very improper suggestions, let your imagination run wild and you will get it.  I have always ignored the situation/improper suggestion, I know I'm a saint or just too cowardly.  I would like to say wise but that would appear to be bragging so I'll settle for cautious lol.  So in this case it was head down and plough on with the job, the trouble was each time I returned for a tool she wiggled her toes, she knew exactly what she was doing, the smile got broader, man I could of kissed them!  Of course I didn't but I will admit to being tempted but that's all (Yes Mistress that was all).

Finally with me completely unnerved, the job completed, report and bill written, monies exchanged hands, I left.  I'm sure as the door closed behind me I could hear giggling.  I'm glad I made someone's day!.
m

Monday 9 March 2015

Sunday Spanks

On Sunday Mistress chose to give me rather a vicious spanking, due to other small events in our lives we had not found the time to play!.  So on Sunday over i went and it was a mean one, i squirmed and squealed as my bum went red and became super sore.

When Mistress had decided She had had enough, which was quite a while after i had had enough, i was unceremoniously pushed off, unchained from my restraints, leg spreaders and wrist cuffs that had been fastened behind my back, and told to get up: Mistress informed me we were going to blitz the house cupboards and tidy the Kitchen.  What she really meant was that i was going to work while She observed me.  I was of course naked except for a small white maids apron that I'm required to wear when doing domestic chores. I worked: mainly with my back to Mistress, well you can guess the outcome.  I was motivated shall we say.  I enjoy working under Her eye, it gives Her a chance to see that i am compliant and respectful of Her wishes, it can be a little nerve racking though!

Once the chores were over, i hoped that i might get a treat.........No i got another spanking!!!! (no complaints Mistress, honest). i could tell She was enjoying Herself as She was laughing at the noises i inadvertently made. For me there is something really wonderful to hear Her laugh as She plays with me, the pain for me maybe awful but somehow or other its ok if She's laughing.  I'm not sure if that makes sense to anyone else, but it does to me.  A spanking really brings out the Full Submissive side in me.

If you have ever been spanked on a bare sore bum you will know what i mean, i quickly ended up begging.

Oh and then for good measure i got three with the cane for offences committed during the week, ouch!

Finally i was instructed to lie face up with my hands beneath my back and Mistress very kindly gave me some much sort relief, that ended up with the bowl and spoon being brought into play ughh.

Strangely enough i went to bed that evening at 8, i was whacked! and slept until 7 in the morning, i guess Mistress can cure insomnia, is there anything my wonderful Lady cannot do? lol.

We are off to a Femdom event in a couple of weeks, so in some way I'm glad normal service has been resumed, its has always amazed me how quickly my bum goes soft and i need it to be hardened up before we go; as; let just say the Ladies inadvertently sometimes egg each other on!

Happy squealing
m

Monday 2 March 2015

Oh Baby!

There are some days that are......well days one remembers.  It started with a phone call early one evening a short while ago.

'We're rushing number one daughter to hospital now can you meet us.  N1D had been due to have Her baby last week.

It was cold, dark and raining, I drove shall we say "if you were a racing driver in the same type of car, you would have been hard pressed to stay with me!"

Part of the journey was on the Motorway, I held Mistresses hand tightly on this stretch of our passage, both of us fully aware what the implications could be, we could not speak about it, it was too awful to contemplate.

We arrived at the Hospital to find the parking was exorbitant, not that we cared at the time, but later on I reflected how sad it is that you have to pay to attend an emergency of a loved one, no compassion; just cold hard cash!

The next few hours were spent with us all sitting in the room with N1D offering our physical support, trying to appear calm, screaming on the inside.

We waited and waited while the Docs tried to make a decision.

I was given the task of monitoring the contraction times on N1D phone using an app She had downloaded.

RANT TIME:  It wasn't an I-Phone, it was rubbish to use, the phone was
 @£&********€$>#}{, I'm not employed by apple, however they get my vote every time. I am a firm believer in it should be easy to use and strangely enough I think it should actually work!  This stupid make of phone was
Appalling!


Rant Over

Finally as things started to look blacker, a little after Midnight N1D was whisked away for an Caesarian, we got thrown out into the cold comfortless waiting area (Which was basically little more than a corridor) to spend the next three to four hours pacing and worrying.

Finally the news reached us Baby and Mother doing well!!!!

We hugged, cried a little and went back to waiting.

It was gone six before we got to see them, just a fleeting visit, a kiss and we were banished until visiting time.

We are so lucky to live in a country that has a National Health Service,
Free to all citizens at the point of delivery, or in this case doing the delivery!
(yes I know not one of my better jokes, it has been a tiring few days)

I drove us back home, both of us very happy but shattered, at our age the one thing I am certain of is that I need my beauty sleep, lots of it in my case!

We slumped into bed ready to sleep the day away.

I am happy to report we managed two and a half hours before the dog chose to wake us up!

So maybe I now have three Mistresses in my life, lucky or what!
m