If you hadn’t realized, the other week it week was my birthday!! I was ten – apparently that means I have caught Him Indoors up in age terms. That is a worry because he keeps telling me to slow down when we are out walking. I do have the occasional dodgy back leg but otherwise I feel pretty well and see little reason to slow down doing anything.
I do confess to carrying a little surplus weight but I feel that only means we are a rather comfy matching pair when we are out together. Gives the old boy a bit of support I reckon. Makes us both cuddly, not that we get many cuddles these days.
We have been discussing football this morning. We agreed that we have lost our appreciation of a certain Mr Guardiola. The reason being that he is a man who publicly said that his club couldn’t afford this Chilean fellow Sanchez. But subsequently bought a centre-back for £60 million, then tried to buy some winger from Leicester for another £60 million just because one of his players is going to miss 11 matches. Mr G has spent over £1 billion on his football teams in his career! Even I could be a success with that amount. He’s a two-faced hypocritical conman and both of us now actually prefer our own Portugese git.
Meanwhile, Him Indoors has been absent without leave. A lot. Apparently all due to music. (He always claims his absence is due to music. I’m not so sure). This time though, I believe him. He came back on Friday raving and all inspired after seeing some bloke called Pete Williams. Now I ask you, how can you be a pop-star named Pete Williams? But The Boss, who in all fairness is a music snob of the highest order and is normally impeccable in his judgment, tells everybody “this guy and this band were in the same class as Jason Isbell” then we had all better listen! Even more impressively, he spent the weekend telling everybody he met “he was also a great bloke”. That will do for me!
But he followed this all up by coming home on Saturday with wet eyes! I tried to help by licking his toes (my favourite fetish, sorry) but he simply related that he’d been helping at some evening event where lots of kids aged between 12 and 18 were performing on stage for a Musician’s award. He told me that they were all so good they made him cry. How good is that? Young folks playing great music to a big audience from a proper stage and stuff? Genius!
It all had an effect on him obviously because then he left me again to meet up with a load of fellow volunteers the next day and came back far too cheery for his own good. That soon ended when he put our team on catch-up tv and they lost.!!
In amongst all this activity he keeps trying to prepare me for his holiday (in addition to Brexit, which I have to tell you I have utterly given up on in terms of interested). He strokes my head, tickles my tummy, runs his fingers down my back but I know his game. He is not going to smooth talk me that easily. Just the fact he’s leaving me for a whole week means he will owe me lots and lots of top quality treats.
Woof! Woof!
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