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Mad dogs and Englishmen...

I thought you'd like to hear what Percy and Reg thought about Schnauzerfest on Saturday...
The Outfits
Percy: 'Dear God, Reg, old chap. Have you seen what the old girl is making us wear?' (This said in a Noel Coward tone.  Percy is a 1950's throwback, and ever so particular).  'It's an orange onesie for Heaven's sake.  Real men don't wear orange or onesies for that matter'.
Reg: 'Well Perce, me old mucker,I fink it suits us luverley'.  (Reg likes to pretend he's from Essex, when he actually hails from Bath.  If he was human, he'd be in a correctional institution by now).  'At least me knackers are still on show.  Can't 'ave any of them other dogs finkin' I'm not a real man'.
Percy raises one eyebrow a la Roger Moore.
The Walk
Percy: 'I remember this from last year Reg.  Do you know, I got rather close to a deep and meaningful relationship with a lovely chap called Hugo.  He was so handsome'.  (Up till this w…

Be careful what you wish for...

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I'm going all deep and meaningful on you this morning.  This is a tiny blip and normal fluffy nonsense will be resumed tomorrow, but for now, well here goes..
When I walk the woofers in the morning, I am generally singing whichever song happened to chance upon my ears before leaving the house. Yesterday, it was 'Just Another Day' by the Beatles.  As I was trilling along to myself, it suddenly dawned on me how awful it is to label a new twenty four hours as 'just another day'.  No day should be classed as that, as it assumes that no new friends will be made, no exciting things will be learned and nothing will surprise you.  Surely every day has the right to be a blank page rather than something which has been scribbled all over and used as a bookmark?
Going on from these rather deep thoughts for a Monday morning, a similar topic was raised in Binland.  I'd been in the Transport Office looking for a lamp (yes, I'm still in the dark at work) and Mr W quipped, &#…

I can't stand the rain...

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The weekend finale came to a juddering halt yesterday morning when I peeked through the curtains to see what the weather had on offer.  I'll be honest with you, looking out of the window wasn't really needed when you took the noise on the roof into consideration.  It sounded like the entire pigeon population were doing the conga across my roof tiles and I knew without looking that the weather was having a 'bad day'.

If you remember, I was booked in with my best friend, Mrs S, to go to London yesterday.  Plans had been changed slightly with the Tate Modern being swapped for the Victoria and Albert (more befitting of a couple of ladies in their prime we felt) but Mrs S and I were both looking forward to a day out together which didn't involve dogs, children or husbands

However, looking at the torrential rain, I bottled, and sent a particularly wimpy message to Mrs S asking for a rain check (no pun intended).  I suppose that going to London for the day is quite special,…

I'm walking...

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Having been knocked flattish by a sore throat and all of its accompanying delights, I was quite anxious as to whether I'd be able to rally for Schnauzerfest yesterday.  I'd pulled out all the stops with cakes and dog biscuits, and was desperate to do my favourite good cause justice.  

But oh happy day... I woke up yesterday feeling quite normal (stop laughing, you know what I mean) and I loaded the car and drove to Wittenham Clumps (yes, it's a real place!) Getting there early with Miss R and Mrs S we gave the dogs a quick walk before all the other walkers turned up.  The sky, which had been threatening an apocalypse, finally decided to show its good side, and the sun shone as we got ready for everyone else to turn up. 

Now I have been doing some serious whistle training with my two for the past month or so.  This basically means blowing a whistle and shaking a bag of cheese cubes, and I was optimistic about finally letting my two off so that they could run free with the res…

Culturecide...

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I seem to have spent the last three weeks hurtling towards the weekends, and this one has been no different (except I'M POORLY this week).
On Tuesday night, Mrs S (the Binland one) and I went off to the cinema to see the latest Marvel offering.  If I said that it contained Tom Hardy, a motorbike and a battered leather jacket, you'd understand completely why I went.  I had pretty low expectations as far as the film was concerned, but it was surprisingly good.  
Even if you take away the fact that I genuinely believe that Mr Hardy and I could have been the perfect couple (just a shame I met the husband before Mr H was actually born) it was still a blooming good two hours of entertainment.  Thinking about this, I do sometimes have this irrational lust over famous gentlemen.  I have refused to leave my current mobile phone supplier just in case I happen to be the millionth customer to sign a contract with them, which will mean that the gentleman who voices their adverts (Sean Bean -…

Hot and cold...

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With Schnauzerfest getting closer and closer, I roped in the husband on Monday night to help me bag up sixty bags of dog biscuits,
This was the last thing he did before finally succumbing to the cold which has been skirting around him for a few days.  I call it a cold, but the way he was going on you would be hard pushed to believe that it was anything lesser than Bubonic Plague.  He sat on the sofa in his dressing gown, snivelling and spluttering and generally answering every question with a grunt (it was a bit like having teenage boys again).
What really hacks me off is that I had been very careful this week to avoid anything which might pass the germs over to me.  These have included:
No smooching Relentless hand washing Having the car window open at all times when he's been in the vicinity Sleeping in the spare room (not that spare actually, as I share it with the two furballs) Holding my breath when he was in the same room
Despite all of this, as yesterday wore on, my throat began to…

Light my fire...

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I'll be honest with you.  I'm surprised I've made it to Monday morning after yesterday.
The husband, who is off on a mini jolly for a few days had suggested that as it was his last weekend at home for a while (better check how long he's actually away for now I come to think of it) then it would be an idea to 'put the allotment to bed'.  
This would be the allotment which has yielded very little this summer unless you allow for Donald Trumpkin and the thieving rabbits who have had to widen their burrow entrances  because they snaffled all my beetroots, parsnips, carrots and onions, so as you can imagine, I wasn't too enamoured about spending what was left of my weekend up to my neck in nettles.
But go I did, and spent six hours doing a passable impersonation of a Kirby Grip as I was doubled over with my fork.  The husband, who has a sore neck at the moment, did some light tree pruning, followed by a smattering of strimming, and as I finished digging over and we…