And the Irish Wolfhound wins.
For those interested in hound dogs. A gorgeous Belgian bred Wolfie, of all things.
It is Hound Night at Crufts.
I am beside myself. Now I just want one of each type of Basset, a couple of doxies, a Bloodhound, a Foxie, a Deerhound, an Otterhound and of course a Wolfie. And the space and money to look after them.
They never pick a Basset for the short list, they’re eyeist and this year’s girl is gorgeous.
If a woman makes tea and her husband goes out leaving half of his, how soon after his return will the divorce papers arrive if she drinks the remaining tea?
Oh, no reason, just you know, wondering.
It’s not that half a mug of tea is singing me a siren song from the kitchen.
In completely different news.
Earlier this week someone in town thought they found a bomb. So what did they do? They picked it up and took it to the Police Station.
People, no one beyond childhood should have to be told this: -
DO NOT PICK UP BOMBS OR THINGS YOU THINK ARE BOMBS.
DO NOT CARRY THEM AROUND WITH YOU EVEN TO TAKE THEM TO THE POLICE.
DO - RING THE POLICE AND GET THE HELL AWAY FROM THE BOMB.
Very bloody hot.
Part of me wants to write.
And part of me wants to swear a lot.
I’ve fluctuated all day. Fluctuated between laughing and almost silliness to utter rage.
I can feel my force fields being erected. I want no one in. I want no one near me. I don’t want to be sidelined or left out.
Someone described such behaviour once in someone else as being a brat. So be it, today I am a brat. And yesterday. Who the hell knows about tomorrow, there might not even be one.
Dear goodness I am angry. At everything. I am at the don’t look at me, don’t blink at me, don’t even try to talk to me, angry.
I read something earlier, to paraphrase, if we look inside for too long with no view to taking action we are merely navel gazing for navel gazing’s sake. You have no idea how much I agree with that.
Think about it, talk about it, get your head around it and then bloody well get on a do something or accept you love being where you are.
See, told you I was angry, I just don’t know of I’m talking to someone else or to me or a combination.
I can’t see too well at this time of night. It could be a good post for count the typos. Sod it.
Night all, as the policeman almost said.
The days run endlessly into the next. One the same as the previous and the next and this week and last week.
It’s time for the season to change. It’s time for something different to happen. Some life, some action, some something that isn’t just the same as all the others lives and actions and somethings.
Time to shake myself. Or sleep.
It’s raining really heavily.
That seems to fit.
I am absolutely exhausted.
My mother isn’t well. Really isn’t well.
I hate that I’m not there. I hate that I was stupid enough to let my passport expire in July.
I heard that voice, that sense, as clear as day, get that passport sorted. I’ll be honest, that has scared me more, it suggests it is needed urgently.
Let’s hope not.
Time to switch off everything and go back to pretending to read while I worry, which is about the world’s most pointless activity but what are you going to do?