Oh my dearest pals. I have been calamity struck! I am truly shaken, bewildered, and do not know how to process the potentially slanderous information that has just been relayed to my lug holes. Apparently dear reader…I am getting overly plumptious. Yes, I know, how very rude indeed. 

I was sat in the kitchen licking my breakfast smeared paws and glanced up to see two sets of beady eyes assessing me. After a brief muttering they slid off their stools (no, not that sort, they are housetrained) and came over to see me. Naturally I assumed they were conveying more food delights, or probably wanting to lavish more praise and attention to my adorable pointy snoot, but alas no. They peered at me and then started prodding me around the rib area. According to them, some blighter has hidden my ribs!  

What they do not know is that I actually keep my emergency parachute hidden about my person incase of an unexpected Spanish Inquisition…something of which I always suspect. I can only think that this is why they think they are seeing a bulking up my sylph like shape. Apparently this was not the case. I then pointed out I had my winter coat on, which was instantly mocked as they reminded me it was summer.

Yes, I must admit that sometimes the allure of a custard cream can prove to be too much for a Spindle to take, but I am after all an energy hungry, high octane adventure hound, ready to spring into action at any given moment. We paused, me to take a sip of Earl Grey and for them to finish hooting with laughter. The problem it seems is a disparity between my nourishment intake valve and the time spent splayed on the bed like a wilted prawn.

Spluttering with indignation I began to rally my thoughts and defence.  I did offer up the fact that 4 months of hibernating and plague avoidance had not helped, curtailing our scampers to some degree, the point of which was accepted with grace. There began a protracted verbal game of analogue pong, of which I can safely say…I lost. 

They then played the winning card. Whilst wringing a hanky in tormented emotional distress, they managed to squeeze a tear out from their gimlet eyes and played the health card. Outrageous. 

Apparently I was not getting any younger…well unless this year had also kick started a reversal of time (which quite frankly I wouldn’t be surprised, the way the year is going) then of course I was, we all were. I waved my paws about and alluded to the devastating effects of time to their persons, which I am afraid did not help me in any way…although I felt a little better.

The end result of this calorific kitchen kerfuffle is that we are ALL going on a health regime, and they are going to wear paper bags on their heads. 

At this point, Nelson lumbered through into the kitchen, clutching his sausage roll sarny. Despite my best efforts he would not be included in this as they refused to claim any responsibility for him. Bless his furry chops though, in a show of unity and great devotion, he forcefully flung his sausage roll down onto the floor and agreed to join us in our endeavour. More so I think because of leotards and leg warmers, but his support was appreciated. 

We eventually all calmed down and popped the kettle on for another brew. Worryingly, a notebook was produced and a health inspired battle plan was committed to paper.

In other news, I heard a worrying rumour that it is going to be very hot tomorrow, something that I seem to struggle with. The struggle I may add, is that my fur is black and absorbs the heat, not that any fictional spare tyre makes it more difficult. My Grandad Tom had a brilliant idea re maintaining social distancing AND protecting me from the sun…the solution…wearing a sombrero. Two problems instantly solved, with the added bonus of looking terribly stylish. 

It is with this Spindle top tip that I leave you, keep well my good pals.

*Spindle scuttles off with the discarded sausage roll hidden in her flappy bingo wing…