As I survey the world, not from the pavement but from my position atop of my settee, I get to both hear the world (via the rather excellent new Times Radio station amongst others) and see the world (via Sky News, Aljazeera and similar). My views are obviously prejudiced by both the source and by Him Indoors, with his regular ranting keeping me suitably entertained. But, my dear friends, I must ask you all to explain to me how the culture of incompetence is seemingly regularly rewarded and promoted.
This thought has been provoked by the recent news that a certain Mr Chris Grayling (known to his kinder friends as “Failing”) was thankfully rejected as the chairman of a very important parliamentary committee. When I heard that our Bumbling Boris was trying to shove him into position, my rather handsome jaw dropped. I had to listen twice to be sure I had heard correctly that our Prime Minister was actually attempting to promote him to yet another position of influence and prominence. Fortunately some gentleman with loads of experience highly suitable to the available role was voted into place by the committee and so “Failing Grayling” was thankfully consigned to the political dustbin once again. Now I have a rather good memory I must brag, and I can remember throughout my doggie life of hearing many times about his frequent and regular cock-ups that have cost this country many millions of pounds. Hence my question, how does incompetence become so well rewarded? Answers on a postcard please or even to my blog page.
To go alongside those thoughts, any body possessing any idea wtf is going on with Covid? It seems folks are trying to go on holiday abroad whilst this evil disease is increasing its rate of growth throughout most of Europe and all our favourite holiday countries. What’s all that about? We went into town the other day and it was like Blackpool by the river. “Why aren’t people at work” I asked The Boss. “On furloughed holiday”, he replied. “Furlough?” “”The official phrase for preparing for redundancy” he blandly stated, with a hint of sadness.
I’m a bit worried because His Nibs has started extending our walks (hang on matey, I’m getting on these days. I just want to stroll gently, deliver some quality poop and chew some grass, nothing else any more.). Then this week, he’s started using his exercise bike!!!! Well, I tell you there is definitely something strange going on here. I do wonder if there is an ulterior motive that he’s hiding so I’ll let you all know if I can wheedle it out of him. Perhaps I’ll play the sympathy vote with my back legs, see what he says.
Meanwhile folks, we’ve had visitations from the lovely Lizzie (Moretti) and Simon. I can report there is more to this than meets the eye. They are, of course, good friends and have been for years ever since another good friend of mine, Neville Farmer,(what a good man, he always fusses over me and plays ball when he calls) introduced us all on a glorious summer’s evening sat outside The Mug House by the river. I digress down memory lane.
Anyway, we’ve enjoyed several visits from this pair of creative folks and each time they turn up armed with gifts. I can reveal these are not normal gifts, these are very specific art gifts! Yes, His Nibs has taken to the brush and started slapping paint on cards, paper, canvases – all sorts of things. Our dining table is no longer dedicated to food consumption, it is dedicated to an easel and lots of acrylic paints.
What I must tell you, The Boss can’t paint. Or draw. He can’t create anything like a matchstick man. What he can do, so it appears, is put lots of swirls and lines and colours and create something from the depths of his mind. I’ve had a look and I’m really not sure if it’s safe for me to stay here alone with him anymore. If these reflect his subconscious mind, how safe is as springer spaniel I ask.
The upside of it all is that he is back to his pre lockdown cheerfulness. All his anxiety has disappeared as he swishes the brushes about delivering lots of colours to the free world. Who knows, perhaps he’s been a hidden abstract genius for years. I don’t think so, but he’s received surprisingly positive view points from those folks who have taken a look. They could of course just be being kind but I suspect not because when Adrian & Andrea called they are not known for “kindness” against “truth” with him (plus Adrian taught art so he had his own reputation to guard). We all had a super afternoon, Mr Bridges arrived as well, and much beer and wine was supped as our football team swept to an inglorious (we are Manchester United and we expect to only ever win things) 3rd in the league. It was good to hear laughter ringing out again after so many months of misery.
I also have to report that my ageing legs have let me down a couple of times on the stairs. His Nibs was behind me to make sure all was well but, to all you young pups reading this, let me tell you ageing is a proper pain in the arse and is no pleasure. Him Indoors puts me on the lead now because not only are my eyes a bit iffy with the cataracts but I’ve got a touch of “convenient deafness” which means I don’t always hear him saying “wait” at the kerbside. Bah humbug I say!
Woof! Woof!
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