Paradise

Well, the moral of the story

The moral of this song

Is simply that one should never be

Where one does not belong

So when you see your neighbour carrying something

Help him with his load

And don’t get mistaking Paradise

For that home across the road

Greetings my friends from a rather warm Rumpy Pumpy Court. It seems that most of the last few weeks have been taken up by the antics of the Conservative Party who unbelievably double as our ruling government.

Is the Conservative Party so blind, so arrogant and so self obsessed that it does not realise that the country is having its best laugh since the onset of Covid at their current beauty contest? 

I’ve been lay on the floor rolling in laughter since the so-called leadership contest began. For a start, where’s their dog policy I ask you?

 
What a bunch of mostly infantile cretins the Party started off offering, the majority of whom had absolutely no credibility having been sychophantically propping up that charlatan who they have just thrown out for the last 3 years. 

Him Indoors is very interested in things current and political. He finds it splendidly ironic that at precisely this moment the country is catching fire but barely a sensible word of a plan have we heard regarding climate change? Not a mention that the planet is burning us up? No words of an economic plan (cutting tax is not a plan, it’s a mindless act of vandalism on society) that might – only might – help the nation to face the on-going cost of living and the potential disaster of inflation.

His Nibs tells me that he is old enough to remember inflation. He reckons the younger generation – all of them – should be afraid, very afraid because none of the Dirty Dozen candidates seem to have any idea how to control or overcome it.

The Boss has one question that he ask’s his friends – if you owned your own business which candidate’s would you ever employ? In his case, this answer is none!

Meanwhile in the real world, I’ve been very hot indeed. You folks probably can’t imagine what it’s like walking around in a fur coat in the heat.  Fair play to Him Indoors, he’s been keeping me in a cold wet towel to help and it certainly did help. His Nibs commented to me that he can’t believe how many people take their dogs out in the daytime when it’s this hot. Apparently, so he tells me, our tender doggie paws get burnt on the pavements. Sounds pretty horrible to me.

The good thing for me is that the heat has inspired The Boss to venture across the road regularly to the Brewery. This has meant His Nibs takes me as well. Now I’m not one to brag but I’m a pretty good looking spaniel and I do have a friendly disposition, which means I’m allowed to wander around the place creating the impression that I actually own it!

The great benefit is that supplies of crisps and pork scratchings are always forthcoming to me, even the occasional piece of ham or cheese from one of the delicious rolls at weekends.

In amongst all this, His Nibs has been in full negative mode about his football team. I have no footy interest unlike dear old Dylan Dog (although I suspect Him Indoors rather gave him no choice in the matter) therefore I can be very detached from it all. 

I lay on the settee half-asleep as the poor chap suffered in front of tv whilst his beloved United were being rather stuffed by, it seems, two “smaller teams” (does “smaller” mean they were all midgets?). 

In amongst his football gloom, he does appear pretty excited about having a couple of days away with his son later in the year in Brussels to see The Maestro, Bob Dylan. It does mean he misses the final two days of his beloved Festival. I’m a bit concerned about who will be looking after me but His Nibs assures me that is all under control.

I’d best leave it at that. I’m sorry it’s a long time between writing but I’m sure you all understand.

God Bless

Woof! Woof!