I’ve had a bit of a dirty Easter weekend one way and another. First I got knocked down by thunder thighs Lady Doodle and her over enthusiastic girlfriend a black Labrador called Ebony. One minute I was standing there chatting to Ebony’s minder the dog walker next I was flat on my face in the dirt staring at his muddy wellies. Knocked the wind right out of me – and talking of wind these new meds seem to have no side effects. Yes, you heard me right no side effects whatsoever, unless I’m just so used to feeling like this I don’t even notice anymore.

The main difference I’ve noticed, aside from having more energy, is that I actually feel hungry. This is a double edged sword because having my appetite back is good but not being able to afford tasty snacks is not. Mmmm what shall I eat (searches cupboards dolefully) Oh yum a bit of stale bread and half a mushy banana. Lady Doody eats better than me aside from when she’s eating horse and sheep poo.

Maybe that’s why she got sick and when I say sick I mean as sick as a dog can be. I was up and down with my rubber gloves and a bottle of Dettol mopping up. In the end I had to whizz her to the vet’s and he gave her an injection which completely zonked her out. I couldn’t bear her being so subdued, it just wasn’t normal. I kept talking to her like a sick child. Who knows where this daft doggy language comes from? It just pops out of my mouth like a kind of dog tourettes.

‘Oh my poor precious boobies, do you want me to ticky your tum tum titties? Good morning my willy wosers, my lovely bum box.’                                                                                  

Bum box? Where the hell did that come from?                                                            

In the park the other day I said to this guy who normally walks round with a tiny terrier but who this day was also accompanied by a huge Great Dane – my word you’ve got a big one today. I had to hide my face in my anorak hood.

I’ve got a new car – well I say new. It’s a new old car but everything works. It locks for a start; I don’t have to climb in through the hatchback, the electric windows work, even the CD player works. It’s a Peugeot Roland Garros but I call it my Roland Royce and I couldn’t be happier if it was a bloomin’ Rolls.

Roland’s got a bit of an unsightly bump in his bonnet and a few scratches and dents, but hey – that just shows character, like my wrinkled face, or maybe I should say bonnet.

I think my friends gave me a very good deal to be honest – a case of what goes round comes round, instant karma, only in this case its car-ma!


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