You won’t be at all surprised to hear that Roger Poopy, who knows he is in terrible disgrace, was as good as it is possible for a dog to be when we went out this morning.
He walked sedately by my side, only running about when he was told he could, and wheeling round and coming back the very second I shouted for him.
He knows perfectly well how he is expected to behave. He simply doesn’t sometimes. And he is horribly racist about black spaniels.
I praised him extravagantly, albeit through gritted teeth, and gave him some good dog sausage for being so perfect. He looked a bit surprised about this.
I do not want to reassure him too much. He is being very good now that he is ashamed of himself. I would quite like this to last.
I took the dogs out this morning because Mark had gone off to install rural broadband in some rural places. We set the alarm for a ridiculously early hour and he departed, sleepily, with a bag full of restorative sandwiches and chocolate biscuits.
I took the weekend’s takings to the bank, and then promptly spent the whole lot on reckless boring things like the mortgage and clearing the credit card. I was pleased about this last but expect it will fill up again very quickly. Gordonstoun has helpfully sent us an invoice which is considerably higher than the sum quoted, along with the cheery news that the fees have gone up. I was not impressed by this, and have written and told them so, but of course we can hardly change our minds now and so we are just going to have to think of some more economies.
With this in mind I did some economical cooking. I dragged every depressed, limp vegetable out of the drawer where they have been quietly composting in the bottom of the fridge, and chucked them in a pan with a can of corned beef and half a bottle of truly dreadful wine. This was so bad that even in our undiscerning household nobody would drink it, and so I have been saving it for cooking.
The result was improved by half a jar of smoked paprika and plenty of garlic, after which it was quite palatable and will feed us at work for a few days.
I was pleased with this no-waste environmentally friendly politically correct move. Even if it tasted rubbish it would have been a virtuous thing to do and I could have been satisfied in the knowledge that I was a Good Person. Also it is always helpful to our ever-pressing financial predicament not to spend money.
I spoiled this shortly afterwards when I discovered that Sainsbury’s didn’t have any fruit left, and I had to go to Booths and buy the ethical sort. I am sure it is far better for the planet to have a picture of the farmer on the stand, but personally think Booths would do far more for the planet if they moved down the hill. The thing about being at the top of a big hill is that I am almost always too idle to walk up it, and so went in the taxi which promptly ruined my carbon footprint for the day.
It was worth it, though.
I filled the fruit bowls with ethical fruit, and told myself what a health-giving parent I was. I summoned Oliver and Lucy and told them that they were henceforth expected to eat at least one dietary item which contained Vitamin C, every single day.
Oliver pulled a sick face and wondered if just one strawberry would be enough. Lucy nodded vaguely and said: “Whatever,” but it did not matter. If they get scurvy and all their teeth drop out the blame cannot be laid at my door.
I am pleased with my virtue today.
I am becoming a Perfect Citizen.
Have a picture of the family holiday.
