I cannot begin to tell you, Readers, for how many miles I’ve been dragged this weekend. It really is unacceptable. Yesterday I was taken with She and Young Lad to meet Young Lad’s friend, their Cockapoo and Pack Leader and we went for a walk to a pub. This seemed like an excellent idea to begin with, but what nobody had discussed with me was that it would take an hour to walk to the pub, and the same back again. This is TWO of hours of fairly sharp walking pace along a track. It was completely exhausting. Yes, it was nice sitting outside in the sunshine at the pub having a drink, but that is not the point. At the very least we should have got a taxi back home. It was FIVE MILES in total!
So of course I slept like a log last night and really needed that lie-in this morning. You would have thought that any walks today would be more sensible in nature, but no. She dragged me out this afternoon needing to burn off some stress or God knows what, and we went not just to Top Field, but to Top, Top Field then round Top Field then up to Far Field and all the way home. Utterly ridiculous. I was on my knees by the end of it. Nobody considers my welfare.
Well apart from the absurd distance, the walk yesterday was in fact quite pleasant. It was a new area to me, and there were plenty of countryside smells to interest me plus a strange number of flattened squirrels on the path. This was odd, Readers, as it was simply a footpath and therefore no vehicles passed along it’s entire length. I wondered to myself what on earth was flattening the squirrels, but could not find an answer. I can only assume they are suicidal and throw themselves out of the trees from a great height. I tried to roll in a couple of the more ripe bodies but was pulled sharply away and didn’t get to eat them, either. Another interesting occurrence was the odd gunshot or two. Blow me down, this kept me on my toes! It appears the farmer was out shooting and it seemed to be jolly close to the footpath. This made me cross as farmers are not allowed to shoot near footpaths in case there are small children on bikes, but this farmer had a cavalier attitude towards everyone’s safety. We didn’t actually see the farmer but there was a little old man on a bike, and he may well have been concealing a fold-up shotgun in his shopping bag, so the friend we were with stopped this man and accused him of illegally shooting too close to a footpath. He didn’t seem to know what we were talking about and wobbled off but well done, I say, for firm citizenship. We can’t let the blighters get away with it.
Come to think of it, the mystery of the flattened squirrels might be less of a mystery now.
Anyway, we carried on and finally reached the pub where I lay down for a much needed sleep. I perked up a little after this, and on the way back I found a dead animal in the ditch – the jury’s out as to whether it was a mouse/vole/rat or bird such was the level of decomposition – but I grabbed it and ran off. She gave chase and was shrieking ‘biscuit’ at me, but the rancid corpse in my mouth was way tastier so I ran away and ate it. Nice.
It was a very pleasant evening, after all that, as He was out and Lad had gone off to the town far away again to see his friends as Lad hadn’t seen them for 17 hours and needed to catch up with them. So it was just Young Lad and She on the sofa for dinner, arguing over whether to watch a Henry Trotter film, or Strictly Come Dancing. Henry Trotter won on this occasion, and with the heating on low and a candle lit, all was very peaceful and cosy. I was in a very, very heavy sleep, Readers, when Gingercat did that annoying thing of digging his claws into my chair with a scratchy sound – it frightened the life out of me, and I jumped up with a high-pitched yelpbark thing. I meant to sound deep and menacing as I thought it was an intruder, but it came out effeminate and scared. I had to sit on Young Lad’s lap for protection.
Today has been the usual dull Sunday of housework and homework. I tend to stay in my chair and ignore all the shouting and moaning that goes on. To give him credit, Young Lad has completed four pieces of homework today, and they weren’t easy, Friends! No indeed. For music Young Lad had to listen to Gustav Holst’s ‘Jupiter’ and work out what the very first and second instruments were. This was tricky. Then he had to think of some Italian terms to describe the tempo and listen to how it changed throughout the entire bldy seven minutes thirty-five seconds. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever listened to Gustav Holst’s ‘Jupiter’ but there is a lot of very brash brass instrument playing and it just gets LOUDER and LOUDER. It got on my nerves, to be frank. I was very relieved when the bldy seven minutes thirty-five seconds was up.
Lad has been doing some Philosophy this afternoon. He has written an essay about two different types of wall insulation. I kid you not. Lad has written this in the style of a philosophical debate, considering the concept of utilitarianism. About wall insulation. Lad is very, very clever and we should not underestimate him or say “are you taking the piss?”
On my ridiculously long walk today in Top, Top field, I rolled in something dead. Thus I had streaks of pinky brown all down my back and under my neck. I was shouted at and scrubbed down rather roughly with a flannel and some shampoo in the garden. This was uncaring, and you would have thought a warm comforting bath might have been better. But due to the five bldy loads of washing and the ruddy school uniforms to iron not to mention the blasted raspberry bushes to cut down and bastard hoovering to do, there was no time for a comforting bath. Yet again my needs are bottom of the list.
Well here begins another week. I’ve no idea what’s going on – I just settle into a routine and then working hours change and I’m left very confused. The gist of it seems to be that I’ll mostly be at dear Pippa and dear Ebony’s houses yet again which suits me fine. So long as Ebony stays in the small bed and lets me have the big one, as I am the guest.
Golly what an exhausting weekend.
Bye for now,