From busy worker bee to grinning on the podium – Zella Compton

Team Sky's Geraint Thomas celebrates winning the Tour de France
Team Sky's Geraint Thomas celebrates winning the Tour de France

How lovely to watch Geraint Thomas win the Tour de France.

His bad luck with crashes and as a domestique (that’s a worker bee of cycling) left him in the shadows, so it’s truly lush to see him on the podium as number one.

I’m genuinely delighted for him and suspect that his win will inspire a further generation of cyclists from Wales and across Britain.

He also comes across as such a decent bloke. We cheered him on many years ago before an individual time trial in the wilds of France, as he was circling around waiting for his turn to pop out the gates.

He gave us a big grin; it’s amazing to see that again in yellow on the Champs Elysees.

Forget the tweezers boys, keep brows rugged and real

With Love Island over, I am wondering where I will get my fix of staring at men who’ve had their eyebrows done.

I find it relentlessly fascinating, and at the same time, absolutely repulsive.

There is something so decidedly unattractive about shaped brows on a man.

I get that some men might want more than one eyebrow, I understand the need to pluck away a few stray hairs, but the reasons they make them into defined arches like those gruesome fat slugs which some women powder and draw on their foreheads (why oh why?) are beyond my understanding.

Perhaps it’s because they think they look better, but please boys, resist. Stay rugged and real.  

Our perfect pooch – lazy, but great bladder control

It’s only when you have another person’s dog come to stay that you really get to know your own ones’ idiosyncrasies. 

We’ve got a relative’s hound staying for three weeks.

Already, in week one, I’ve learnt that my dog is never as happy to see me as I thought he was. 

He barely manages to get out of bed on a morning to say hello, while the visitor is dancing around in glee.

Mind you, this might be something to do with his ‘movements’ as it turns out that my dog has insane bladder and bowel control.

If it’s raining, that control time is tripled. 

If he’s in a comfy spot (for example, if he manages to squeeze his bulk on the corner of a blanket hanging off the sofa) it’s even better.

I reckon he could hold on for three days if the weather, comfort and food worked in his favour.

That’s quite unlike the visitor who needs to pee every five minutes, which may explain the early morning excitement of seeing me.

I also hadn’t realised how calm my dog is on a day-to-day basis.

If a leaf blows against a window, or someone flushes a loo in the house, or even if I say one word, my dog feels absolutely no need to do anything.

Perhaps if something riveting happened, like 15 chittering children covered in ice cream wandered through the front door carrying squirrels, steaks and squeaky balls, he might open an eye or let out a tiny huff.

Not so this new creature whose energy knows no limits.

A sun ray needs investigating, for optimum warmth along its length, in every position known to dog (on front, back, side, all again) but only after turning around 16 times before each contortion.

I can’t even put it down to my dog’s advanced years  because they’re the same age.

I can only conclude that, unexpectedly, my dog is far more laid back about life than I ever gave him credit for.

He’s not half as busy as I thought he was, and that makes him twice as perfect to me.