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  • Tom McNulty

Eau de Man


Outside, the rain continued to fall steadily and after taking a quick glance through ‘the distorted window,’ he realised there wasn't likely to be a walk or cycle ride again today. Even though he knew that Cheech would happily tag along, purely out of a misplaced Canine sense of loyalty, he wouldn't be enjoying it and neither would Hovis. Those youthful days of pounding the pedals whatever the weather, calculating times and distances, pushing himself to the limit were a distant memory. Nowadays, Hovis would happily settle for a day inside; after all, he had put out the 'Fester feeler' on Facebook, he may get a reply, he mused. His next thoughts were to start getting organised to leave. He needed somewhere to live and he needed to start sorting through his things……, both of which had the appeal of a kick in the nuts. What Hovis really wanted to do was listen to Ken Alexander and hope they won the vote.

"You never know," he whispered with a friesant of hope. "But first, socks," he wheezed, as he bent over to retrieve his casually discarded hoof apparel and sniffed them to see if he could get away with wearing them again today.

‘Like who's going to notice?’ He enquired of himself. ‘I could romp around stark bollock naked all day, or all week for that matter, nobody's going to come calling on a day like this, now are they?’ He didn't even wait for his own answer, before his mind reset the default button.

"Socks," he said again, to see if saying it twice meant he might remember it this time and not lose himself in the scent testing of male under garments.

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