That's it, Stalag 49 awaits. She is running around like a demented I don't know what, all my stuff is packed on the kitchen table. It's a weekend of hard rations for me whilst they frolic around having fun by the sea, the tight bastards. I can only hope and pray that there's an opportunity to "get jiggy" in the exercise yard or my weekend will be a truly dismal one. Pooh count 1, a very poor show.

OK, so I did muddy the lounge carpet a bit, but what is their problem? The tight bastards? You know, I mean there's all these problems going on in the world, like Egyptian unrest and a global sausage shortage and that, but come on, give me a break. Did you see that Gypsy Wedding thing last night? Lordy, Lordy. Are those girls for real or what? Even so did you see the raspberries on that Jack Russell?

They are going away, she's been upstairs packing since she got in from work and is now running around cleaning and dusting as if her life depended on it. Even barking at the hoover has failed to cheer me up today. So it definitely is Stalag 49 for me in the morning by the looks of it. They don't even have WiFi for Christ's sake. Think Butlins but without any glass in the windows and a large incontinent yet amorous Staffordshire Bull Terrier called Bruno for a cellmate and you are about there. Pooh count: only 3, think I've got constipation at the very thought of what lies in store, the tight bastards.

Had a restless night dreaming about the labrador up the road, it's only a matter of time before we become better acquainted you can be sure of that. I'm not entirely shallow though you know, spent the other half of the night contemplating the complex geo-political implications of the Egyptian situation. And sausages. I love sausages. Sadly there were none of them on offer this morning. Walkies was a swift one round Jacob Smith Park, he kept me on the lead all the way round, the tight bastard. Needless to say the chance of an impromptu alfresco breakfast of terrier truffles sur l'herbe is heavily diminished when you are on your lead. Didn't get so much as an arse sniff or nothing. Convinced they are going away this weekend as we stopped off at Morrisons on the way and he bought even more beer and wine than normal. Stalag 49 for me then. Still at least I'll be guaranteed a warm breakfast there. Pooh count: 2, a modest start to the day.

They certainly put me through the mill round here. The two legged's went for the Chinky option tonight, just to keep me on my claws, so it was prawn crackers instead of poppadoms for me. Not that I'm bothered like, I mean I WILL and frequently do eat anything, but it's just nice to know where you are sometimes isn't it? Barked at the delivery driver, obviously, just to keep me paw in like. Red hot excitement of the day: the people up the road have just acquired a new labrador puppy, bloody gorgeous it is. All blonde, silky, and gullible if you know what I mean. Might have to clean up in the winnit department for a couple of weeks if I'm gonna "mark my territory" so to speak. I can't wait to get to sleep tonight. Oh, baby... Pooh count: 4, a very quiet day. Wonder if I'm ill or is it lurve?

Nothing pressing to attend to now until tea-time, and that's three hours away yet. They won't even watch telly as "he" is working in the corner of the lounge, the tight bastards. Got shouted at for putting mud all over the lounge carpet earlier, but I'm not that bothered, it's all water off a ducks back to me. Decided to have a little sleep in the hall, the blanket on the bean bag is full of dog hairs. Let's just say that housework isn't a strong point round here. I think it's Wednesday - the calendar on the wall is a bit high up and I can't quite see. If so that means there's a fair chance it's an Indian for the two-legged's tonight, which means a few extra poppadoms for me. I sneaked a bit of chicken jalfrezi once, but it gave me a right dose of the Erthas. So I'd better keep my nose clean, as they say, which is easier said than done on my diet of what I like to call "terrier truffles" I can tell you. Pooh count: 3,

Down the Nidd Gorge with her, quite pleasant, the usual crew were about. Ate a couple of Minstrels that were lying about. The chocolate-covered confectionery item, we don't have wandering musicians round here you muppet. Sniffed a few arses and came home again. Badgered him until he gave me a dog chew. Barked at white van man. Time for a snooze. Pooh count: 3, can't be bothered today.

Didn't bother pissing in the kitchen overnight, too tired worrying about Egyptian situation and rising UK inflation. Woke up to semi-heated "discussion" as to whether the big kid was alright to go to school or not. "I'm so ill I can hardly Facebook," I think she said. The other kid immediately also developed a sore throat and a cough, but was dispatched muttering to himself anyway. I sometimes think that it's only me that holds this place together. No sign of MY breakfast yet, looks like I may have to go foraging for my own again, the tight bastards. Pooh count: 2, already and it's not even 9am yet. Nice.

Christ! Forced to go through the regular nightly humiliating rigmarole of "backward meerkat walking" just to get my dentastix tonight. I really don't know how much longer I can put up with this, the tight bastards. Is there an Esther Rantzen hotline for dogs? To top it all off the two-leggeds insist on watching that Gok Wan and his so-called fashion tips thing when there was an interesting documentary about Mahler on Sky Arts2. Please get me out of here. Pooh count: 6 - probably finished for the night now.

Dried biscuits mixed in with the remains of last night's turkey roast dinner, vegetables and lots of gravy. Northern dogs love gravy. Time for a nice sleep in front of the fire. Might watch University Challenge on catch up later - I got three right last week. There's not many border terriers know the atomic number for rubidium I reckon. Paxman is such a loathsome oik though I find. Might squeeze in (or more correctly out) a swift number two before decamping to the lounge. Not had my dentastix yet, they make me do paw for that, the tight bastards.

Was so worried about peace in the Middle East today that I could hardly sleep. Only managed to squeeze eight hours in on the bean bag this afternoon. Who is this Mubarak bloke anyway, I've never seen him down the park, and is he any relation to that other Barak fella? Maybe he hasn't got a dog, and likes cats or something. I hate cats. They cover their shit up, which makes it harder to find, the tight bastards. Twenty minutes to tea time, yum yum, bring it on.

Walkies in the Valley Gardens with Him. Slipped the lead, rolled in some shit and then ate it. Result. Met "Jazzy" a five month old border terrier, nice tits but a bit young for a dog of my mature tastes. Slept on the settee and in front of the fire when we got back. Barked at the postman, the guy shoving leaflets through for that new Indian on Kings Road, and the fat bloke from up the road. She came home early, then they both went out for lunch, the tight bastards. Heard some mutterings of them going away this weekend, you know what that means - Stalag 49 for me. They never take me anywhere, the tight bastards. Might piss in the kitchen again tonight, that'll teach them. Wonder what's for tea, hope it's a roast dinner. Pooh count: 4 - so far.