Its been a week of sport on television. The boss loves his sport, in fact he is pretty much a TV sports addict. Judging by his shape he would be better off taking part in sport than simply watching it. Amusingly he claims that walking me constitutes serious, committed exercise but I know better than that. In truth he does walk about a fair bit, but he always, but always, sits on the bench to throw the ball for me. He never ever runs along with me, throwing it for me, whatever he might say.
This week (and actually for two previous weeks) he has been on the settee watching Chris Froome cycle round France. He seems to know quite a bit of the geography, because he regularly tells me (as if I’m interested because he has never taken me) that “we’ve been there” or “I recognize that village”. He was very excited when they were going to some old place called Nuits St George. Apparently he knew “every bit of the route ” that day. Judging by the amount of wine he quoffs, he bloody well should do.
As for the cycling, I’m not sure he understands it all. There seems to me lots of tactics that are typically French, utterly incomprehensible to the rest of us. When he said it was “interesting” about the peloton (wtf is a peloton) I simply turned over and gave him a very gentle, delicate but vicious fart. I barked at him the one day that he should ride the bike laying dormant in his garage, but he kicked me up the backside and told me to go chase a ball.
Then the golf started. Am I the only person who fails to understand why whacking a little white ball around a long walk is completely uninteresting? Why can’t they use a ball-wanger and have chaps like me chasing the balls down the stretches of grass. It is always a good looking piece of ground, and the bits of sand are a real laugh, but a dozen chaps on four legs haring after a decent tennis ball would be much more fun. I well remember when I lived at our other house the boss used to do that for me because there was a golf course at the top of the garden. Until some bloke on a tractor told him to clear off one morning otherwise he’d “shoot the dog”!
Anyway him indoors likes watching it, which has meant my days have been thoroughly boring this week. Jeez, they start early and finish late at golf.
Finally and even worse, he has discovered the “art” of making marmalade. Where this idea came from I have no idea. I suspect it’s part of his delusions of grandeur that he can actually cook! Mmmmm. He turned up the other morning with a saucepan I could almost sleep in, plus oranges, lemons, grapefruit and bags of sugar. Next thing its all squeeze, chop, boil and measuring. He was so smug when hours later he poured it in jars of various sizes. He’s told everybody!
He wouldn’t let me try it, so who cares? If it was roast chicken, or a rib-eye steak then I may be interested. But no tasting for me equals no interest from me. Settee and TV, here I come.
Woof! Woof!
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