If I can dream...

Elvis was brilliant.  Apart from a touch of man-flu ('Excuse me while I blow my nose' was never one his more famous taglines as far as I remember) and the fact that he didn't sing If I Can Dream ( what was he thinking of?  Surely it's the law according to Elvis that this one should be sung by every tribute act) he was pretty darn good, and I even came home having received a kiss and a cheap scarf.  Mind you at my age, I would class that as a successful night out...

I had a rude awakening yesterday morning with a hangover courtesy of the husband's measures of gin the night before, and this was rapidly followed by a fry up with the obligatory fried bread (once a year I need to resort to this, and yesterday was the day).  After all of that, I was ready for whatever Saturday wanted to hurl at me.

As you all probably know by now, I support a great charity called Schnauzerfest, and each year, us owners get together in parks, woods and on beaches to walk and raise money for this wonderful cause.  I am hosting a walk this year, and am offering doggy goody bags (for a small fee naturally) before we head out.  For some strange reason, I decided that I would make some of my own biscuits, and having trawled the internet, finally found a recipe recommended by a golden retriever called Sugar.  Now in my defence, the recipe didn't say how many biscuits it would make, so I decided to err on the side of caution and multiply everything by four.

By 5.00pm yesterday, I was the proud owner of over 600 cheesy bone biscuits.  The dogs, who can smell a cube of mature cheddar from 200 yards, had been gazing at me lasciviously all afternoon, and once the biscuits cooled down, I passed one over to each of my two canine guinea pigs.

Well they were a huge success, so I am hoping that this endorsement will ensure that the other 598 go to new homes next week.

Now you all know me pretty well by now, and because the biscuits took almost three hours to cook, I rattled off twelve or so cakes to sell at the walk next week in between biscuit shifts.  As the coffee cakes came out of the oven, the husband, who had been pretty scarce all afternoon up till he got a whiff from the kitchen, said to me in a pathetic little voice, 'They're not all going to the dog walk, are they?'

Most certainly...