It’s all go down here in Rumpy Pumpy Court. Its manic. I’ve barely found time to collect my thoughts to keep you lovely folks up to date with our adventures. You see, Him Indoors is working almost full-time having meetings with potential Sponsor Partners and Patrons for our Festival. As a result, I am inclined to the grumpy way of life because I am being left alone far too much for my satisfaction. He tries gamely to make it up to me by magically finding special treats for me but…..where is my ball chasing time,eh?
He tells me that the programme for the October Festival has been released at www.bewdleyfestival.org.uk and it appears there is a lot of good reaction taking place. The Boss has been particularly happy because the initial sales have been excellent. He reported to me it has exceeded all his expectations, which explains the broad smile he is carrying around with him.
In addition to all this, I’ve had to cope with extreme heat as potentially summer has arrived. The Boss keeps me indoors a lot because our living-room is pretty cool but it is a nightmare upstairs when I go to bed. It is just too hot everywhere, and as I have mentioned before, the sight of Him Indoors wearing not very much is a sight that, frankly, should not be allowed.
The sun brings out the masses visiting Bewdley. I must tell you, I have never seen so many folks on the riverside as last Bank Holiday Monday. Thankfully, we weren’t out long (too hot for both of us), but it was the number of people. Even worse, they all seemed to own dogs. This is my town, and they should behave with due deference to me but oh no, do they not!! I have to duck and dive around The Bosses legs as we weave through all these people who stop in the middle of paths blocking the way whilst their dogs leap about around me expecting me to play some damn fool game with them.
Of course, there are the others who walk with their head down tapping at a telephone whilst being utterly oblivious to every other person on the planet. This ignorance resulted in them constantly walking into us, kicking me on the way I should add. They are lucky I am such a gentle creature, otherwise I would bite their ankles leaving them with a lasting impression of their visit.
Him Indoors (or actually at the moment, Him Outdoors) cleared off the other night to the town’s “Mayor Making” evening. It seems I wasn’t allowed to go, which bearing in mind I live in this town and have a position of importance within it, seems extremely unfair. He arrived home full of beans (or, in reality, sandwiches) talking about observing English traditions in action.
Thank goodness the footy season is over. United have a Cup Final to play but that is it all over for a few months. No more shouting at the TV, or his anguished cries of “this is sooooo boring Jose” as United induce the crowd into a coma. We were very upset when God (otherwise known as Sir Alex) was taken ill but the recovery news has been good which pleased us both.
He has warned me that we are going to become monks for about a week around the 26th, closing all blinds, turning off all outside contact with the world in order to escape, in his words “all the ****ing glorification of the ****ing scousers being in the Champions league final”. He blames me, it should be said, because he reckons if he didn’t have me he could arrange to be sent to a desert island to miss it all! It appears The Boss is not a man to forget tribal loyalties when it comes to Cup Finals.
Turning into a monk may not be easy for me, I haven’t worked out if I am willing to survive with sackcloth and ashes. I am rather partial to decent food and a warm bed. I console myself that it means no news programmes to upset him – Theresa, Jeremy & Co can relax, if somebody could let them know.
Woof! Woof!
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