The week has swung to extremes. There have been the highs, laughing at my Mistress as she went cycling off on her bicycle for the first time in six years and there have been the lows, sympathising with my Mistress for spending a train journey to Birmingham sitting on what turned out to be a very wet seat. She only realised just how wet when she moved her leg and felt that cold damp feeling that gave the game away. She spent the rest of the day telling herself that it had only been a cup of coffee that she had sat in and hoping that she had been right.
During her train journey, my Mistress was made familiar with the difficulties of one poor woman whose son had bolted the back door and then locked himself out by closing the front door. Sadly, it wasn’t only my Mistress who got the story, as the panicking woman was shouting into her mobile phone telling Aaron what an idiot he was. Between that and the lads singing tunelessly to their walkman, my Mistress remembered why she prefers to drive rather than using public transport.
The day was rounded off perfectly when my Mistress fell over and badly bruised her leg. At that point she was sorely tempted to do the little girl thing and sit down where she was and burst into tears. She decided that on balance, as she was in the middle of a busy station and is now forty-three years old, that wasn’t the thing to do. I wouldn’t have minded if I had been there to see the events unfolding but it was another of those times where the dog doesn’t get to enjoy the fun and instead has to wait at home and hear about it all second-hand.