I woke feeling rather grim; I’ve been doing that recently.
I wonder why? I got up and did my usual morning farting about. The plughole in
the bathroom was running rather better than it was last night; I would ask how
does a bathroom plughole bung up so often, but perhaps the copious amounts of
mud being washed off of dogs isn’t helping. It has been suggested that I hose
them off in the garden, but that would just involve chasing three of them all
over the place. Having them in the bath means they are captured for their
scrub… even if the plughole is slowly filling with mud.
Dogs, eh?
I made toast and had a look at the Internet. People were
quarreling about Lego, dogs, fishing, last night’s “Star Trek” episode… But
one thing boiled my piss. The pub run by someone who was nice-next-door
two neighbours ago was having a fundraiser. One of their regular customers had
croaked, and they were trying to raise money for his funeral. Whilst I realise
that funerals aren’t cheap, neither is drinking in a pub so regularly that the
landlady feels obliged to fundraise your funeral.
Perhaps I’m in the wrong here? Perhaps I shouldn’t have
bothered making provision for when I croak? After all I shall be dead then.
Perhaps I should spend it all in a pub as well?
I chuckled as “er indoors TM” did dog
breakfast. Treacle is funny. She doesn’t eat hers. She stands by it in a
shallow attempt to convince us that she is eating, then when the puppies have
finished theirs she stands back. When they come over to scoff a bit of hers so
she moves forward and growls at them. She really does use her brekkie as bait
to have a go at the littluns.
We loaded the dogs and ourselves into my car and drove
round to Dog Club. The organisers were away for Easter and so I’d volunteered
to be on the gate. I’d been told that all I needed to do was to unlock, but
there’s been issues with dogs escaping before so I guarded the gate. I can’t
help but think that it needs someone on the gate; not only to stop escapees,
but to welcome people. Especially new people. There were quite a few people who
turned up today who’d heard there was a dog club but didn’t know much about it,
and so I was able to let them know what was going on. I didn’t scare anyone
away, and all the newbies said they would be back again.
It was a shame that Treacle saw my being on the gate as a
way to avoid all the other dogs by being with me, but we got her to socialise a
bit. Bailey didn’t do her usual escape-artist trick, but did find a dead mouse
to eat. And Morgan was just in the thick of it all.
As we drove home I had a minor sulk. Steve announced on the
radio that the answer to the mystery year competition had been 1983. Had he run
the competition early this week, or had we been late out of Dog Club? We hadn’t
heard any of the questions, and driving home from Dog Club guessing the mystery
year has become part of our weekly routine. Thinking about it, we did stay and
chat with quite a few people as we came out of Dog Club today.
We came home and had a cuppa. As we cuppa-ed so we heard
the sound of the letterbox. An invitation from the local Baptist church to their
Good Friday service that had happened yesterday(!) Mind you the local
Baptist church are an odd lot. When we moved to Ashford (all those years ago)
we went to it every Sunday for six months. In that time not one other
churchgoer so much as said hello to us.
We then got ourselves into the “er indoors TM”-
mobile and set off to Sittingbourne. Yesterday I wrote “I went to
Biddenden Vineyard to get some beers for tomorrow. I got what looks like an
interesting selection. Is it though? I will find out tomorrow (hopefully)”.
Well, the beers weren’t too shabby at all.
We all sat in Karl and Tracy’s back garden and put the
world to right for the afternoon. Then sent out for KFC, then watched a few
episodes of “Diddly
Squat”. I can’t pretend to be a fan of Jeremy Clarkson, but this show
was rather good.
As was the bottle of port we saw off whilst watching it.
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