To set the tone of my day I must have calm and tranquility first thing. I must be able to roll around Granny and Grandpa’s bed until my heart’s content and my hair is stuck up on end. Then I must be allowed to lie back and dream of the rolling hills of the Yorkshire Dales. Diva… who… me? Never!
So you can imagine how angry I was the other morning when I was rudely awaken, not by Blur’s Parklife Dustman (no that’s on a Tuesday morning) but Mama J playing her version of the EastEnders theme tune with her cupboard door and storage box lid for instruments. Then all this crashing and frantic sounding movement was followed by the words, “Can’t bloody find it!” Then again, “No, I can’t bloody find it!” 
   Granny, Grandpa and I had all being awoken from our slumber by this point and to put it bluntly, we’d had enough of Mama J’s drum, base and dulcet tones. Granny enquired as to what was wrong and Mama J loudly replied, “You what? YOU WHAT?” Again Granny asked what was perturbing Mama J and upsetting her morning and Mama J answered in a questioning voice as well, “YOU WHAT?” Grandpa by this point had had enough of what he described as Mama J’s uncouth language and shouted, “I think the word you’re looking for is pardon not you what!” Mama J cheekily replied, “You what?” 
   Once Mama J could hear the rest of the household from her vantage point across the landing she yelled back, “Cotton wool. Cotton wool. Can’t bloody find it!” Granny by this point was exasperated and marched around the landing into Mama J’s bedroom and head dived straight into her cupboard and storage boxes where there was no cotton wool to be found. Mama J clearly had lost her marbles and not her cotton wool, as she never purchased any cotton wool in the first place.

Now this isn’t where this story ends, as Mama J being ever the creative started singing (well if you could call it that) the words, “Can’t bloody find it! Cotton wool! Cotton wool! Can’t bloody find it! You what? YOU WHAT?” All this was done in a Cockney accent. There could be voice over work for Danny Dyer if he wants it. I’ll give him a tweet once I’m done here. To make matters worse Granny then joined in and it became like the battle round on The Voice UK. They were going back and forth like Eminem and his rapping opponent in the film 8 Mile. That or a pair of demented parrots crossed with The Chuckle Brothers. I actually now believe the spirit of Barry Chuckle is inside Mama J and he’s channeling his new material through her!
As a commercially minded pooch the least I feel we could do with this “material” is turn it into a GIF and the most is a full on rap. Let’s go with rap! However I may need a little help producing it as the music industry isn’t my forte yet. I’ve whittled down who to ask to, Kayne West or Simon Cowell and on reflection feel Mr Cowell may be the one to turn mine and Mama J’s dream into a reality. This is because he has three Yorkshire Terriers so there is already an infinite point to start my negotiations from, as I can bribe Squiddly, Diddly and Freddy with doggie chocolate drops should the need arise. Right I’m off to get myself a baseball cap, a gold medallion and sovereign ring so I can dress like I know all about rapping in the 21st century.