Changes

Something really quite remarkable happened to me today.

As you know, in last night’s diary entry I told you about a tiresome feeling of panic that I have experienced whilst getting out of breath. Obviously I didn’t mean just a little bit out of breath, I meant the chest-heaving, lung-bursting breathlessness that comes when you are a terminally unfit person trying to be reformed.

I got into that state on my trot up the fell this morning.

There was no panic at all.

I mean really none. I was just out of breath.

Obviously this was not a nice experience, which is why people tend to avoid it if at all possible, but it was not dreadful. To my astonishment, I wasn’t scared in the least.

Something about the act of writing it all down to tell you has changed it.

I do not wish to become holistic and new-age about this, but it is true. I know, because it happened again in the gym this evening. I rowed up and down the imaginary lake as hard as I could until I was gasping: but I was just breathless. I was not at all worried about it.

It appears that something cathartic happened in the act of telling the story which took the fear away. This was not my intention in telling it, nor did I expect it to be the result, but it is true. You are at liberty to try the same thing for yourselves and see if it works. I have been trying hard ever since to think if there is anything else that I would like to change without making any effort or spending any cash.

It is a marvellous world.

The other life changing thing that happened today was more costly, but I hope will have equally spectacular results.

I have bought Roger Poopy an electric shock dog collar on eBay.

He has become adolescent, and is oozing self-confident testosterone out of every ginger hair follicle. He was such an utter idiot today that I could cheerfully have chucked him off the top of the fell into the tarn. He gambolled about and ignored me and buzzed off and would not come back. Then when he did come back he would not walk obediently to heel the way that he is supposed to, but milled about irritatingly, bumping into his father and wandering into the road and keeping just out of reach, in a tantalising sort of manner.

The last straw was a little group of other dogs on the Rec. on our way home. He charged off at high speed and cannoned into them, barking and ignoring my yells. Then he ran round and around the cricket pitch in huge circles, chasing after them, until finally their owners captured them and dragged them away.

I had no wish to recapture Roger Poopy. I would have liked to leave him there.

When I got home I ate my breakfast in front of the computer, and ten minutes later was the owner of a very useful buy-one-get-one-free dog collar, so I can put them on both dogs if I like.

These come highly recommended by Elspeth, whose dog is also an idiot, and I have got to say, the notion of being able to inflict instant revenge on a dog who is clowning about out of arm’s reach is very appealing indeed.

I know that you are not supposed to think of dog training in terms of revenge, but I have had lots of dogs, most of them considerably better behaved than Roger Poopy, and so I can think exactly what I like.

The remote control has got a volume control by which you can control the strength of the shock, they do not do them for children, which is a shame, but I am sure they could be adapted in an emergency.

Bring it on.

I have spent the day making candles, because we have run out of cash to buy upmarket sophisticated ones. These smell just as nice but you have got to not mind that they say things like ‘Asda’s Red Pesto’ on the label.

The picture is above.