Only our moles could dig through the permafrost that is our garden. They must be out there wrapped up in their moleskin coats, (or do you think they prefer mink?) with their little shovels, digging for all they are worth. I can testify to the softness of the mud round here but you would think there was a limit. We are now home again after the Paris weekend. When I say ‘we’ that is just my mistress and me again.
My master went straight to England from Paris. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t like living with the rest of us. He says it is all to do with some oil refinery that had a fire but I think he is making it up. Most people settle for fairly small stories to explain things rather than a full blown fire. He says he will be home again in time to come with me to see my mum on Wednesday. I am really rather excited as I haven’t seen her for a very long time. I wonder if my sister Esther will still try to roll me over in the mud. There is certainly plenty of mud to roll in so I will have to watch out. It is going to be much harder to see them when I move to England but my mistress has promised she will sort something out. Having spent all this time travelling from Belgium to England at regular intervals it would be a shame if I couldn’t make the return trip once in a while. If nothing else I think my mistress will want to visit our woods and the spot where my master proposed to her, she can be a soppy so-and-so at times. Much as my master tries to be, he can’t actually remember which spot it was!