It all seems to happening in the political world. It appears, so Him Indoors tells me, that some bloke called Boris – is he Russian? – is now Prime Minister (I thought there were elections but it seems Gordon Brown abandoned that ridiculous idea) and he is now in charge. Of what? I asked The Boss. The Conservative Party, he replied. Is that the Government I asked? Well, yes and no he replied. I am VERY confused.
Since this apparently important change in our lives – can anybody please tell me what difference it will actually make to my life – we have been away on holiday. Most people would simply refer to our trip as “visiting the family” but it seems the week was “our holiday”.
We did indeed have a rest but I found it destroyed my routine. You should all be very clear, I am a creature of routine. It is why I nag The Boss in the mornings. I need to go out to deal with my calls of nature preferably no later than 9.30. After that these things are beginning to become a little urgent.
I need the routine of my safe places to sleep. At home these are (1) on the top of the settee behind his lordship (2) resting my head on the speaker stands and (3) upstairs in our bedroom despite the climb up the stairs on my elderly legs of nearly 11 years.
The lad’s house had the builders working at creating a Grand Design kitchen. The lovely lady of the house Pippa had to be dealing with that chaos and I had to deal with having no safe places of my own because the best places were already taken by Mollie the Labradoodle. I suppose it was her house, and she was actually very generous and accommodating, but there really is no place like home for an elderly springer spaniel.
The main reason we went down was because it was the boy-man Oliver’s 21stbirthday. There was a party – to which Mollie and I were not invited I should tell you all. I gather there was some small rat-like creature present (Pomeranian breed Him Indoors told me) but I was really quite miffed, especially as there was a bit of a spread and I always do well at those, especially on the pork pie side.
One of highlights one evening was the boy-man (I use this phrase as an expression of Him Indoors wonderment that the little chap whose photographs are all over our cottage is a fully grown human being MAN) playing his music. His new electric guitar (Gibson Memphis ES335), to which me & Him Indoors were proud to contribute, is truly a work of art and delivers a wonderful sound as confirmed when he played us some of his recordings. He really is good (and let me tell you after living with Him Indoors I am a serious expert on what is good singing/songwriting) so I just have a notion we’ll be talking to our pals Jack & Luke about doing some stuff in their studio.
The boy-man’s sister is now, of course, virtually a girl-woman being 17 years of age. My Master adores her, I really think he’d sell his own soul for her. He has to take Bewdley Butcher sausages down to her every time we go. Not easy for me to cope with their presence in the car, let me tell you. In return, these amazing cookies arrived one day from girl-woman Hattie, even if there was virtually no kitchen in which to work. No wonder he’s an over-weight luvvie!!!
I loved meeting their pals – boy-man has an adorable girl-friend named Holly who is a real wowser for this chap, I tell you. Girl-woman’s mates all stayed after the party, oh I was popular on the Sunday, when they eventually surfaced at some hour during the day!
We’ve come back in order to now really wind-up the pressure for Festival. In anticipation, the unthinking selfish old so & so left me for six hours one evening a week ago in order to indulge his passion for Lucinda Williams, who was appearing in Birmingham. He came back (with his mate Zynia) and not a word of apology for leaving me so long. Not a glimpse of a sausage. They sat and had a bottle of wine and raved about Lucinda. Not a bit of fuss did I receive. There wasn’t a “sorry my boy” to be heard. I was properly put out.
Revenge is sweet though. This weekend he couldn’t move. His right hip. Agony, it appears. He got out of bed on Friday and nearly collapsed in a heap, screaming in pain. I didn’t understand, thought he was playing and set about trying to lick him in the unmentionables, as we doggies do sometimes to each other.
It seems we weren’t playing and I haven’t been kicked that hard for some time. Anyway, it seems according to the doctor yesterday (it’s the first time he’s been there for four years since his stroke and needed directions across Bewdley to the new centre I understand) he’s got arthritis and he’s been sent for x-rays. I sense another drama coming my way, so I’ll let you know how he gets on next time.
I must conclude by reporting that it is easy to see that we have school holidays occurring. The town is full of visitors with strange accents, speaking words neither of us understand. But worst of all, they bring loads of dogs walking about everywhere on my manor. They have no respect for this senior statesdog of the parish and I intend to raise the issue with the other local woofers.
God Bless you all
Woof! Woof!
Ps: If Him Indoors has a big smile on his face when you see him, and looks a bit short of a shilling, just bear with him. United played well. Its about six years since that happened and so he’s just a tad excited!!!!
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