I is for Imago

Continuing the Alpha(Bet) males - The life in my men in my life July challenge,

I is for Imago

Imago is the Latin term for the sexually mature adult form (of an insect.)

This beautiful Red Admiral Imago was basking on the roof of a car, with its wings open to absorb as much heat as possible.
I would liken myself to a human Imago, at the peak of adult life, only moments before I hit the slippery downhill slope!

' I ' is also for Irish - or 'The Irish' in this case.

Yesterday I re-introduced you to Harry Stocracy. After the romance was over he kept in touch and on one occasion I received a phone call, Harry Never wastes words.

"Hugankiss" He always calls me by my surname, "The Irish are coming. Get yourself up here for a couple of days"

"But Harry...." I started.

"No buts, Hugankiss, just get yourself here this evening."

I surrendered, drove up to the country pile, and of course on arrival realised there was a hidden agenda.

"Hello Darling, mwah mwah."

" Sorry Hugankiss, I'm out this evening, hold the fort will you?"

'The Irish' 6 of them, were over for their annual huntin' shootin' and fishin' trip and staying with Harry Stocracy for a couple of days. He had forgotten he had a prior engagement.

I had met two of 'The Irish' previously, when in Ireland with Harry Stocracy. They were all charming - as only the Irish can be - married men, let loose in England for the week.

One of 'The Irish' had arranged for several dozen oysters to be flown in from his home town in time for dinner.
After the majority had been consumed with a seemingly unending supply of Champagne and just a little soda bread, he turned to me and asked:

"Are they working yet?"

The oysters were followed by cheese and port. It was a splendid evening an' all an' all.
At about 11.30 p.m.- that seems to be the time when my squiffyness brain pushes my sensible brain to one side, I noticed the increased twinkle in the eye of one of 'The Irish' and he probably noticed it was being reciprocated.

Shortly after Harry Stocracy returned from his evening out and resumed the role of host, so I excused myself and retired for the night, leaving them to their tales of great days in the field and the ones that got away.

A few days later I received a text message:

"Thanks for your charming hospitality" it said.

"You're welcome, come again" I replied.

"Please don't text me, I wouldn't want my wife to find out"

"Well, if you don't want your wife to find out, don't text me your number."
There's method in the Magners !!

As for me? I never will play with The Wild Rover no more - until, maybe, the next time.