Dirty work doesn’t stop just because the "Peacock Petes" decide to bloom in my fields. Every time King James rolls into Newmarket for the races, the roadside sprouts a fresh crop of these pretty, desperate things.

They think they're clever, wearing those muddy earth tones to look "local," but they stick out like a sore thumb. Honestly, if they wanted the King’s eye, they’d be better off standing there buck naked; at least then they’d be honest about what they’re selling.

I spotted one lad in particular, draped in blue and looking far too high-and-mighty for a dirt track.

“Never on time is he, His Maj?” I let my voice grate against his refined sensibilities. I looked around at the rest of the flock. “Bet you thought you were being clever, avoiding the crowds on the High Street. But you’re not the only one with that idea, are ya, sweet?”

I couldn’t help but scoff at one of his mates in a ridiculous tall hat. “No, we get all the Peacocks here when the King visits for the gee-gees. All hoping his eyes, or something lower, will wander.”

The boy in blue finally snapped, sounding like he’d swallowed a fence post. “I’m just here on business.” Oh, he’s a live one. I can work with this.

“What’s your business, sir?” I drawled, looking him up and down like a prize heifer. “Are you hammer or anvil? Shovel or bucket? Or both?” I caught your eye next to him and gave a little brow-wiggle as you tried to hide a grin.

“I’m going to punch you in both your eyes,” Blue Boy muttered, giving me a smile that was about as warm as a January frost.

“I don’t mind,” I shrugged, leaning into his space so he could catch the scent of real work. “I like it rough. As long as we cuddle after. Mm. Though, I can pay. A bit.”

“I’m not for hire,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He was practically vibrating with offense, which only made your giggling louder.

“You’d bend over for the King,” I pointed out. Let’s call a spade a spade. “His body’s no better than mine.”

He turned on me then, looking me over like I was something he’d stepped in. “Well, he’s the King. And you are what, exactly?”

“Available,” I grinned.

Just then, the royal carriage rattled into view. Right on cue, the "feathers" went up. Little Boy Blue went charging after the King like a spaniel after a bone, only to catch his toe and go face-first into the muck.