The sun is, if not exactly high in the sky, certainly above the horizon as I write. It is five o’clock on Sunday morning and I am looking forward to going to bed.
I have had no time at all to write in these pages tonight, because we have been very busy. Stories of mad drunk people might follow tomorrow night, but not now. I am squinting and yawning and my eyes are closing.
All the same, I am pleased to observe that despite the gloomy predictions of the august Daily Telegraph the world around us, at least as far as the Lake District is concerned, does not appear to have cracked into bits.
Indeed, not only have we had one of the busiest nights for a long time, but the price of diesel in Troutbeck Bridge Garage has dropped by four pence a litre.
This is a magnificent thing when you are a taxi driver, I can tell you. It is still almost two pounds, and so not exactly a bargain purchase, but it is a hopeful sign that perhaps the world might just improve a bit.
The sun has shone, the washing has dried.
It is indeed a splendid day.
It has also been a busy day.
Rosie the tiresome puppy has come into season.
I was not expecting this. She is far too small even to think about flirting, being barely six months old, and a puppy in every other way.
She was not expecting it either, and has been dumbfounded, and a little upset, by the sudden attention she is receiving from every other dog she meets. Certainly Roger Poopy’s father has over ridden his haughty contempt for all things female and puppy-like, and is treating her as if she were a new blonde intern at 10, Downing St.
Really he is horrid. He is far too old for her. If he were a person he would be in prison by now.
Roger Poopy has had the necessary equipment removed, a sad event in his younger days when he kept getting into terrible fights. Hence he has not fallen in love with her but is very upset with his father. Rosie was his best friend, and his father is monopolising her attention. Rosie would rather be with Roger, because she is still a puppy and is not yet of an age where an older, father-figure might be appealing. She is finding the whole event a bit troubling.
We think that she is far too young to have puppies and are hoping that it will turn out just to be a bit of a non-event this time. I jolly well hope so. I do not see how we can separate them whilst we are at work if not, we will have to ask Oliver to chaperone.
It is going to be a complete nuisance for the next few days.
Perhaps we should have left her at Elspeth’s.
I am going to bed.
