I
woke with backache this morning. This seems to happen if I stay in my pit for
too long. I don’t get the backache when I get up silly early. I’m thinking I’m
getting used to the new mattress. If any of my loyal readers would like a used
king-sized mattress, do let me know, or I shall have to get the council on the
case.
I
made brekkie and peered into the Internet. It was still there. Squabbles and
trivia abounded, as they do. Ironically while I’m having a week off work a new
geocache had gone live about two
minutes’ walk from work.
The
dog-hater brigade was out in force on the local Facebook page, but (to be
honest) dogs was but one topic about which people were quarrelling this
morning. I swear if I was to post on there saying “Ashford is a town in Kent”,
not one person would agree.
I
got the dogs together and we went out for a walk. We drove up to Kings Wood and
walked round. We met a few other dog walkers and the meetings passed off
without incident. We saw a herd of deer and the dogs gave chase, but all came
back to the sound of the whistle (to my amazement). At about three and a
half miles into the walk (two miles from the nearest car parks) we found
a port-a-loo. What was a turdis doing in the middle of the woods?
The
only problem we had today was when some brat (who should have been in school)
charged at Bailey screaming “DOG DOG DOG” and tried to grab her. Poor
Bailey ran in terror. Mother loudly announced that if the brat asked nicely then
the brat might be allowed to pet the dog. I announced equally loudly that I
didn’t think that would happen as the poor pup was terrified.
You’d
think children would be taught how to behave round dogs, wouldn’t you? I’ve had
other children grab Pogo by the ears and scream in its face because (as the
mother told me) the child doesn’t like dogs.
We
came home, and as I so often do I slobbed on the sofa watching episodes of “Four
In A Bed” in which some Angolan chap slagged off all the opposition until
it was his turn to play host at which point he suddenly fell ill.
Strange,
that…
“er
indoors TM” sorted a rather good dinner which we scoffed whilst watching
more “Junior Bake Off” in which the poor child with the miserable expression
got chucked out, and then we watched Paul Merton driving a motorhome round
Minehead. The Baptist minister of Minehead was one of my best friends fifty
years ago and so I followed that show like a hawk just in case he appeared.
I’m
quite enjoying these lazy days… I’m rather good at them.
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