Late this afternoon three spiders met up on the newly painted (many times) railings at our house.

“Be that you, Ted?” called out the astute spider clinging on to the spindle painted in a paler aqua blue. (Well, they were born and bred in Dawlish so they have quite strong Devonshire accents!)

“That all depends…” answered Ted warily.

“On what?” Cyril asked angrily.

“On who you be,” Ted laughed because now he recognised Cyril from his tone (apparently, around here he is known as a grumpy character). “I knows yer, don’t ee worry, but I wouldn’ a known yer if twaddn’t fer yer grizzles. Why yer looks like the post yer standin’ on!”

“And I wouldn’t a known you if weren’t for your ugly face and yer big hairy legs!”

“Mary likes ’em – don’t ee Mary?” Ted looked over at his docile wife.

“Course I do, you big lummox,” said Mary lovingly.

“Well what do yer think of all this painting lark?,” continued Cyril, “I were almost fergetting the great kerfuffle of last year and ‘aving to grow out the Forget-me-not Blue on my back, and was just starting to think about findin’ a nice lady friend to share my life with, when it started happening all over again…”

“I do knows what yer means. First the brush off with a dustpan and brush – Mary and me were luckier ‘an some, we were sent swinging into a nice geranium – and then, when we thinks that it were safe to come home and rebuild, we each gets hit with a gert big dollop of Barley Blue,” said Ted.

“But ‘ee has a bit o’ Beach Blue on yer too, iffen I know my colours aright,” clever Cyril observed before Ted had a chance go on and on.

“That be true. There certainly be another colour on me – I be Two-Tone-Ted – jus’ not from Teddington. But I bain’t be sure what colour it be… I heard mention of Sea Grass blue but I don’t care,” said Ted.

“Yer don’t care?” Cyril was incredulous.

“No I don’t!”

“Yer don’t care? Why ever not?”

“Mary likes it,” Ted smiled at Mary whose face blushed unseen under a splodge of Barley Blue.

“Now how on Earth can she like it?” Cyril was exasperated.

“Mary says it hides my greys and I look younger!”

Well, I just hope that all the surviving spiders are as happy as Ted and Mary. I like to think so.

Who doesn’t want lovely soft full lips?  Now you can forget ideas about conventional and costly lip enhancement procedures – no need for nerve-withering Botox injections, invasive cow udder insertions or chemical peels – because a couple of nights ago I discovered the answer to achieving the perfect big lip look for free (and no nasty trout pout). Mind you, no pain, no gain, as they say (for extremely good reason in this instance)…

Well, I was starving after a long day of painting; and of going up and down the outside steps, and bending myself double over banister rails, and crouching, leaning and stretching my limbs beyond their normal bounds. I was looking forward to a small piece of fillet steak, as recommended by Dr. Dukan. First I fried some onion and mushrooms in a little olive oil and, when they were almost cooked, I flash-fried the steak in the same pan; a minute or two later I took out the steak and made a sauce by adding milk and cream into the softened onion rings and mushroom slices. Having poured the delicious mushroom sauce over the steak, I was about to put the pan in the kitchen sink when I noticed some tasty remnants of the sauce still clinging to the sides of the pan… You can guess what happened next.

The wooden spoon, only partially covered in sauce, appeared deceptively innocuous and tempting. You may be relieved to learn that the molten mushroom mixture never reached the inside of my mouth – by chance it hit my top lip first and stayed for some moments while, stupefied with pain and shock, I considered the best course of action.

It was quite difficult to eat my steak dinner whist my top lip let off steam in a glass of cold water. In fact, I had rather lost my appetite for anything hot. Dr. Dukan would have been pleased. My attention turned quickly to dessert – a nice raspberry “Smoothie” (on a stick) from the freezer (only 82 calories Dr. Dukan). Now that was just what the doctor ordered. I let the frozen red lolly thaw on my swollen hot lips.

“Goodness,” said Chris beaming from ear to ear, “you look like Barbara Cartland!” (Perhaps you can remember the famous authoress, especially as an old lady, because whenever she appeared on talk-shows she wore pink chiffon dresses and lots of make-up, including lashings of pink lipstick.)

I giggled at the thought.

“Go and look at yourself in the mirror,” added Chris.

I did so and burst out laughing. The red dye from the raspberry “Smoothie” not only looked like bright pink lipstick, but it also went well over my natural lip line and even had a cupid’s bow, as if I had painted it like that intentionally (as some ladies do, except that mine made my lip seem twice the size).

“No not exactly Barbara Cartland,” Chris was in deep thought as he stood by the bathroom door frame, “more like… oh, the actress – what’s her name?”

Stood before the bathroom mirror, instantly I knew the name he was searching for. Chris thought of it at the same moment.

“Baby Jane!” we said in unison. (We meant Bette Davis playing Baby Jane from the old thriller, “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?)

And no, I didn’t take any photo’s of my big hot lips – the photographs below are of Bette Davis, not me!

“Oh Mum,” I say, getting out of the car first, “Just look at that!”

We are at the Tesco car park (just a few hours ago); we have parked next to a small car with the hatchback up and a dog wearing a harness is sat in the back. My mother, too, comes over to have a look. The owner of the dog is nowhere to be seen. A lady walks through the car park in our direction and as she nears I ask:

“Is this your dog?”

“No, but I saw him earlier. I think he’s really old,” the lady says smiling, and she stops to take a last knowing look at him before going over to her car.

Mum and I wonder at the woman’s astuteness. She must be a dog expert. What makes a dog look really old? Is it the wispy hair? But don’t some breeds of dogs have funny wiry hair like that? We survey him more intently…

“Are you old like me?” asks Mum advancing a step towards the dog but taking care not to get too close.

Wire-hair looks into my mother’s eyes and opens his mouth as if to speak; no sound comes out but there is definitely a rapport between the oldies. While Wire-hair rolls his tongue around his mouth I peer closer and note that he doesn’t appear to have the full quota of teeth (not that I would know how many teeth make up the full quota).

Another lady and daughter pair come along. They stop and smile, and take photo’s from a safe distance.

“He looks old,” offers the mother and the daughter nods her agreement before taking another shot of the strange sight.

“Do you think he’d like a pat?” I turn to Mum for her opinion.

“I don’t know – he must be a guard dog – don’t you think?”

“But he doesn’t look at all aggressive – does he?” I move a tad nearer to him, whilst at the same time veering slightly around to the side of the vehicle (for safety).

“He’s nice and quiet,” says Mum pleased (she can’t stand noisy animals or children screaming in supermarkets).

That does it for me. I can’t resist. I have to find out if he’s a real guard dog.

“You are a nice boy,” I cajole as I extend my left arm slowly towards Wire-hair’s chinny-chin-chin.

“Woof!” Wire-hair snaps suddenly at the air above my hand.

Mum and I jump, then we laugh. We can’t stop howling. We find Chris and he doesn’t know why we’re laughing but he knows it is something to do with the guard dog. And Mum and I don’t know exactly why we’re still creased up, however we recognise that it has something to do with being old and small, quiet and unassuming, not having many teeth and yet still possessing the ability to surprise… and bite if necessary. As I said, my old Mum and the little old guard dog had a great rapport.