Will it ever end? Can anybody explain how losing 60 seats is a “win”? Why do I have to lay on the settee listening to endless journalists discussing what “might” happen…or “could” happen…or “won’t happen for a few months”…etc etc etc. My pavement view is that there seems to be a bit of a row going on, although I thought in my dog-like innocence that there were constitutional rules that the wooden woman was following correctly.
My king Charles pal Timmy, with whom I regularly confer in Jubilee Gardens, was of the same opinion when we met this morning. He’s as bored with it all as me.
However, Timmy is not a woofter with whom I can discuss football. No interest. Probably because his master is actually a mistress for whom tennis is her game. He could talk about Andy Murray ok. Who’s he? I wanted to tell him indoors seemed pleased that his United were signing some Swedish geezer he made me watch play last night.
There was a carnival in town yesterday. You wouldn’t know it though, not a poster to be seen. Funny how in such a small town the local shops don’t seem overly interested.
Him indoors is outdoors and delivering invites to a Traders “Hello Evening” for this Festival he goes on about. Very unfairly he doesn’t take me with him. You would think I could be a sales aid for him, a handsome chap like me. But no. I’m “too much trouble”. Trouble? Me? I’m never trouble. He tells me I would have to left outside all the time when he went into the businesses. It would give me a chance to catch the eye of the odd bitch or two, not that I can give them much pleasure seeing as how I’ve been “done”. That’s a bloody polite way of putting it!
After enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon whilst the boss imbibed rather nice looking wine, he gave up the ghost of being civil when our rather lovely guest left. Caused it would appear by Trump trying to tell us how to behave if he came here. My main man swore with such effect I retired to my bed, complete with two tennis balls and a bag of Tyrells.
Woof! Woof!
Leave a Reply