But if you do right to me, I’ll do right to you, too; Ya got to do unto others, Like you’d have them do unto you

I’m still hot. Not quite so hot and The Boss has ceased covering my back in a wet, cold towel to make sure I don’t boil up! But, let’s be honest here, whilst it’s all very nice this heat-wave, we British folks aren’t designed to deal with it. Our lifestyles are all about rushing and working full pelt, especially during the midday sun. Not like the Latins (or Far Eastern) cultures where they pack it all in at 12.00 and lay down (or in the case of our French neighbours sit down) to enjoy a little nap or a leisurely three hour lunch. Meanwhile Brits all sweat blood, sweat and tears trying to hit impossible dead-lines and achieve “success”, whatever that means.

The Master (hahaha some hope he has of achieving that status with me) went off to a reunion recently for the 20^thAnniversary of the start-up subsidiary company he managed. He came back full of tales of how good it was to meet lots of his old team.  He told me how proud he was of them all because so many had gone on to be so successful in life. I heard him telling his pal Mr Bridges (he of the “let’s go for just one pint” sales pitch) that he became quite emotional at it when asked to say a few words and rather mumbled those few words and didn’t really say what he wanted to say.

He hasn’t been sleeping very well. No doubt the heat has played a part in his restlessness. He can be a real pain, he’s like a jumping bean getting up and down through the night. I am always stretched out on the bedroom floor but him, well. Downstairs we go (I have to go to check he is ok of course) making tea and putting the tv on at 3.00 in the morning. The other night it was worse because he had a bit of a cough and cold. He’d been pumping down paracetamol with big mugs of honey & lemon all day but please! Why do blokes always make such a fuss? Anyway, these middle of the night episodes seem to coincide with mild anxiety attacks, goodness knows what he’d be like if I wasn’t around for him.

Such nocturnal activity manages to give him the opportunity – as if he needs it – to catch up on the latest news. As he fed me some treats that night (ginger biscuits, I love them because they are so crunchy) he observed to me that if time was so short with this Brexit stuff how come all the politicians in Europe have cleared off on holiday? He remembered when he was working if something was that important to get finished then holidays got cancelled. His actual words were something like “these idle bastards screwing everything up every which way you look”.

He isn’t too impressed with his mate Corbyn either, let me tell you. He smugly remarked about all this anti-semitic stuff that “your past often catches up with you”.  The Boss may be getting on, but his memory is pretty undiminished it appears as he recounted to me a long list of dubious organisation’s JC had supported over his not so stellar career.

We’ve had a few evenings out recently as well. In the heat he has taken to the odd glass of Peroni for comfort. It appears I am welcome to join him, but only if I behave. He turns nasty if I wander off. I do normally get a few crisps but he’s banned scratchings, he reckons they have adverse effects on my bottom! No idea what he means!

My favourite places are The Brewery because I can wander about there or a new riverside pad called The Courtyard. I like this because I can sit and look very superior as all the other dogs walk by. I reckon I look like the real Top Dog of the town.

Woof! Woof!