If the British weather doesn’t improve soon then I’m going back to live in Belgium. I know what you’re saying. I know you’re trying to remind me that the summer weather in Belgium isn’t exactly up to much, but if I have to spend my life looking like a drowned rat then I could at least get to do it in my homeland.
My Mistress reminded me of the summer two years ago when August was a wash out and tried to encourage me with the thought that if July is this bad then there is hope that August might be better. Given that I am spending half of August on a boat on the Norfolk Broads then I can only hope that she is right. If she isn’t then I will certainly be seeing more water than should be inflicted on any dog in his lifetime.
James now has loan of a horse. It means he gets to look after it and then ride it sometimes. This whole idea is worrying me just slightly. I don’t know how far the arrangement goes but I am not giving up my spot on the settee for a horse. For that matter I have no intention of him sharing my bowl either, besides a bowl with bones on is probably not appropriate. He’d probably want one with grass on it, or maybe bails of hay.
I am alarmed to discover that next week my Mistress is going on a course on how to write crime novels. She is going to be learning about ways of killing people that are a little more subtle than a knife or a gun. I hope it isn’t the sort of course where they give you homework to practice out of hours. I think there are some things it’s better she doesn’t know. Why couldn’t she study something nice like First aid or innocuous like needlework?