Loving the wild life

You read it here second - today’s offering comes to you from the pages of last Friday’s Daily Mail – the Richard Kay page to be precise.

On his page, Mr Kay offers us a small article which alludes to a certain Rio Ferdinand, footballer of this parish.  Those of you unfamiliar with Mr Ferdinand may wish to follow that link.  If you can’t be bothered, let me tell you that he is a Premiership footballer and multi-millionaire who has played for Manchester United for almost ten years. 

This is what Richard Kay has to say:-

“He earns £120,000 a week, lives in a £5 million home and has a taste for flashy cars – but one thing apparently lacking in footballer Rio Ferdinand’s life is nature.  For the Manchester United player has, I learn, asked for plans to be drawn up to build a large, barn-style home  on an ecological reserve in the Cotswolds which is home to more than 4,000 rare species and just a corner kick from Prince Charles’s Highgrove estate.

‘Rio wanted somewhere secluded and away from the paparazzi, but it’s the rare creatures that live on the reserve that have been the real draw for him,’ says a friend.  ‘He is particularly excited by the beaver colony which has lived there since 2005.’

In fact, a key feature of the 5-bedroom house, designed by architect John Pardey, will allow the soccer star to do just that – an elevated hide and jetty on the 80-acre lake have been designed so Ferdinand can happily observe the beavers in their natural habitat.”

Now I don't know about you, but I was comforted to realise that some of our high-earning (and utterly deserving) footballers have an interest in rare wildlife.  Who would have thought it would be beavers?

And they're off!

For the first time in living history, we actually got the first three in the Grand National!  Unfortunately, the Shah, TD and I were in the Midlands at the time, paying a visit to the Outlaws and had left TS at home, ostensibly to do some revision.  His only other occupation this week has been caring for the spawn of Wags and footballers at a local kiddie camp.  He has rated his experiences as follows:


Day 1:  Arrives home in a towering rage and announces that the Camp Leader is not only camp (ha ha) but is also a "bell end" (shut your eyes, mother).  Day rated "total f*cking shit".


Day 2: Camp Leader still camp and now a "knob" as well.  Day only rated as "Shite" - improving.


Day 3: Following a stern talking to from his loving Mummy, he has now learned the art of avoiding Mr Bell-End and appearing to be busy and enthusiastic at all times.  Day rated only as "shit."  Better still.


Day 4: He has obviously settled in well.  Likes the kids but despises fellow workers bar one.  Day rated as "all right".


And so on and so on.  Consequently, he was home alone and, by his own account, rolling on the floor screaming at his horse (Black Appalachi) as it was overtaken by mine (Don't Push It - yay Tony McCoy!) at the very last minute.  And I only chose that horse on a whim because 'Don't Push It' sounds like something I might say on a regular basis.


So, anyway, he was feeling a bit bereft at having nobody to share the good news with so he rang me as we were en route home to share the glad tidings. Poor old TD was furious - her horse fell late on - and she earned none of our massive £29 winnings.


Well, whaddya expect for £2 each way?!