I've written before on here about stashing my gardening gloves in my knickers and not finding them until my next visit to the loo - the problem being that most of my baggy elasticated waist gardening togs have funny little pockets that don't hold much more than half a packet of seeds.
Peggy the JR likes to chase vehicles that come up the farm road and I'm still trying to train her NOT to Do That!
Dog biscuits are her one weakness so I always venture out on to the borders with a goodly handful then when I hear a tractor approaching I snap one in half. The sound is music to her ears and she sits obediently by my feet waiting for me to toss it into the air for her to catch - which I don't do until the tractor has driven past our entrance.
Clever bit of dog training, eh? Only problem is that this morning's baggy old faithfuls had holes in the pockets so I stuffed the necessary doggy treats down my cleavage and as we're always advised to wear properly fitted bras it was job done!!!
Worked a treat (sorry) until the postman reversed down the drive just as I reached down my front and produced a handful of mini gravy bones!!
The last postman was quite used to my antics having seen me water my legs trying to get a two handed grip on a heavy can but this one is new.
I'm expecting a dangerous dog and mad woman notification to be shoved through the letter box in the not too distant future. 
A new definition of what constitutes British


