When "Daddies
Little Angel TM" was small she would creep
into our bed in the middle of the night and slowly but methodically
push and push until I was hanging over the edge and she had all of
the space in which I was once sleeping. By doing it slowly she
wouldn't actually wake me whilst she was taking over the bed. Instead
I would eventually wake up hanging over the edge of the bed having
lost all of the covers.
"Furry Face TM"
did much the same thing last night.
I got up, and nearly went
arse over tit down the stairs. A certain dog had arranged all his
toys at tthe top of the stairs. Over brekkie I watched the latest
episode of "Revolution". I say "latest";
I mean "next". Having spent months walking hundreds
of miles, our heroes now seem able to cover the same distance in a
few scant hours. And despite being able to shoot villanous henchmen
(cowering behind shelter) from hundreds of yards away, they
are unable to shoot chief baddie (who is in the open) from a
distance of five yards.
And then I spent ten
minutes watching the "Nutribullet" infomercial. If
any of my loyal readers haven't seen it, it's amazing. Not the
product; the advert itself. It features some chap with a very odd
facial hair arrangement waxing lyrical about a food blender whilst a
rather hot bimbo drivels of about a rainbow of nutrition and a
spectrum of flavours.
Personally I would
struggle to spend more than a minute talking about a food blender;
they don't shut up. If I knew their address I'd tell them they could
buy the same thing for a fraction of the price on eBay.
As I drove to work I was
amazed by the news. The one-time leader of the Conservative party has
threatened the business community and told them that they should keep
their noses out of politics. Speaking about a possible referendum
about Britain's continued membership of the European Union he
apparently said “The only answer for all concerned is for big
business to keep out and not express a corporate view.”
So much for democracy. I
would have thought that those with real-life experience would be
better placed to make reasoned judgements than Westminster's gasbags,
but what do I know?
Equally amazing was the
revelation that we've just had the
driest September since records began. Was it really less than a
year ago that much of the country was flooded. I can remember going
round Ashford and photographing our usual walks which were at the
time under
copious amounts of water.
I got to work, and my new
trousers were noticed. I told the girls that they were my "Mr
Sex Trousers" and I was wearing them to show the ladies that
I meant business.
I soon found myself
regretting that foolish bravado.
I also spent much of the
day regretting having done my knee by climbing that tree at the
weekend. But (as I said to one of my critics) if God hadn't
intended for me to climb that tree he wouldn't have put it there in
the first place. He would have put a sofa and a telly there instead.
Despite the gammy limb I
struggled out to the car park at lunch time to tootle away on my
saxophone. "The Wild White Rose" sounds awful, and I
can't get more than six bars into "The Sorcerer's
Apprentice". I really struggle when I don't have a tune to
which I can sing along.
Home, and I took "Furry
Face TM" for a walk. This time I took
along his ball and ball chucker. I had given up on the ball chucker
as every time I chuck the ball he runs after it, gets it, and then
won't let me have the thing back. He would rather carry the ball for
the entire walk; which rather defeats the purpose of taking a ball
with which to play.
But (as "er
indoors TM" said) if he has his
ball in his mouth he can't be eating crap from the pavement (such
as KFC chicken bones, other dogs' turds and dead mice) as he has
occasionally been known to do.
There's no denying there
was a lot less farting from that dog this evening...
