Happy Birthday To Me

It has been a very low-key birthday, not least because it was short.

This entry is going to be very short as well, because I have got a good book and am planning to return to it soon. I can do this because it is my birthday and so self-indulgence is the order of the day. I have got a bag of chocolate buttons as well, hurrah for self-indulgence.

We did the usual weekend thing of sleeping until lunchtime, after which Mark went to do some mild extortion from a regularly non-paying customer. This was surprisingly successful, although we think we are going to have more problems of this nature once the Government’s benevolence really starts to bite.

I never have non-paying customers, only Mark, because he is just not that ruthless.

I would have liked to spend the day loafing about in the conservatory drinking gin, because it is not warm enough for the garden, and indeed I have donned my thermal vest once again. Obviously we did not do this because of the ever-present necessity to earn money.

We are hoping to rake in some reasonable cash tonight, because next week we are going to go to the theatre in Manchester, to watch a musical called Sister Act. This is my birthday present to me, Mark will have to count the York Mystery plays as his birthday present.

Apart from working it has been an uneventful day.

We have discovered that our new neighbours, in the holiday house next door, are dog owners. That is to say, Rosie has discovered that they are dog owners. She has taken to squirming underneath their gate and dashing into their garden to make its acquaintance. She is determined to be sociable. She was bitten this afternoon by a spaniel who thought that she was not taking the hint about respecting its personal space. She cried pitiably, and although no marks were visible, we discovered an alien tooth stuck in her fur afterwards.

We were not sympathetic. It is not difficult to understand dog-language for Go Away You Irritating Little Squirt, probably she will pay more attention next time.

This afternoon she dived into next door’s garden to visit the holiday dog, and refused to come out. In the end we extricated her with the simple ploy of standing in the road outside, and saying loudly: Isn’t Roger a good dog? Roger’s such a good dog. Well done Roger. What a good dog you are.

At that point she came belting out, because obviously if anybody is getting Good Dog attention and possibly a bit of cheese, she does not want to miss it.

Right, that is my attention span worn out. I am going to read my book.

Happy birthday to me.