It was a rather chilly 1C when I took my morning stroll round the Valley Gardens this morning, I have to say that the new haircut does give me a certain sartorial eloquence that the ladies seem to find irresistible. Met Holly, a seven month old jail bait border/cairn terrier cross with curves in all the right places if you get my drift. Seven months, that's what in two-legged terms? Four. Christ, I really must get a grip. And another thing, is it just me or does Gadaffi bear a striking resemblance to ageing Middlesbrough rocker Chris Rea? The Libyan despot certainly wants wiring up to something, but I feel that the moon isn't it. Auberge. Pooh count: a bracing brace so far, although the day is yet young.
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.