Trimmed

At the time of writing I do not yet know how Oliver is going on at his first day in his new job.

I will update you as the evening progresses. I do not think that he is likely to finish before ten at the earliest, and so it might turn out to be something of a last minute stop-press.

I can, however, update you on Number One Daughter’s magnificent progress.

She has learned today that she has been awarded a First for her degree.

I am very pleased and impressed indeed. What a clever child I have produced.

Let me remind you that she has achieved this in between qualifying for the finals of Cross Fit world championships in America this week, holding down a full time job and being a largely single parent to a small rascal whilst Number One Son-In-Law is off on his oil rig.

I am always an insufferably smug parent but tonight I am worse than ever. How everybody else must wish that their children were as perfect and wonderful as mine.

I expect my own parents wish that all the time.

It has not been entirely plain sailing even today. They called me this morning to tell me that poor Number One Son-In-Law was stuck at Heathrow because his name was not on the right list of people allowed to leave the country. Presumably these lists have become current since Kim Jong Un came to power in Westminster.

In the end his name turned up on the right list three minutes before his plane was due to leave, and so, presumably with pounding heart and stress levels so high they were squirting out of his ears, he collapsed into his seat and jetted off the the Land of the Free.

I don’t think he is planning to defect when he gets there, but you never know.

In fact he has gone ahead of Number One Daughter to smooth her path and make sure that when she arrives all problems are solved in advance, and she can relax and concentrate on becoming the fittest person in the world.

She is very close to that glorious title.

I am impressed all over again. I am not even the fittest person on the taxi rank.

I have just had a quick look round, and actually I might be at the moment. The competition looks as though it might have had a lot of beer and cigarettes.

Whilst they have been busy trying to get exit visas, I have been giving their poor boiling dog a haircut. Our own dogs have been boiling as well, but they have already had haircuts and so there was not much more I could do for them.

I could not even take them for an emptying walk this afternoon, because the pavements were too hot and would have burned their paws. Fortunately, fortunately, our house is built of stone, and is half underground, which means that it stays cool even in the most extreme of heatwaves, probably because they never really last long enough for it to get properly warmed up. I am prepared to concede that it might not be the same if we were, for instance, in Florida.

The dogs flopped in the cool shade at the back of the house, especially Tonka, who was exhausted after his prolonged anti-haircut battle. This involved a great deal of yelping and wriggling, and at one point, being when I was trying to trim around his gentlemanly bits, I thought he might bite me. Unlike his father and brother, he did not curl into a resistant ball, but became rigid with his legs sticking out, opening and closing them like scissors.

To be honest he was quite fortunate still to have his gentlemanly bits left after the fuss that he made.

He was very pleased indeed when it was finished, and danced about excitedly, trying to see his tail, which had obviously taken on a new appearance, but which was only visible in tantalising glimpses. 

He was very much happier when we took him out this evening, however, and rushed about for ages, barking his head off and leaping on Roger Poopy to relieve him of his ball. Hot days are not nice for dogs.

We are home now, and I am pleased to tell you that Oliver has managed his first night of being a kitchen porter very well indeed. He has washed up and washed up and washed up, and resolved never again to trust a knife and fork handed to him in a restaurant. He is going back tomorrow.

It will be good for him to work in a kitchen. He will learn all sorts of creatively bad language. In my experience chefs are good at this.

Have a picture of a naked dog.