For once the two-leggeds didn't book me into Stalag 45 whilst they went away on holiday, they actually took me with them this time. I reckon that the fake cough I put on the last time I came back from kennels must have done the trick. Either that or the fleas. Any road up, I had a bracing week away on the east coast to recharge the old batteries and enjoyed plenty of walks along the beaches of Redcar, Saltburn, Staithes and Sandsend. For some reason the two-leggeds get all excited about fossil-hunting on these walks, with the air frequently punctured by an excited "come and have a look at this one" and such like. Exactly what is so impressive about finding a 70 million year old ammonite is beyond me. It's inedible for one thing, so where's the excitement in that? Still, whilst they are walking along with their heads almost literally in the sand I get plenty off opportunistic truffling opportunities so everybody's happy at the end of the day. Pooh count two, one a perfectly coiled walnut whip and the other a dangleberry that contained a green house from a game of Travel Monopoly! It's true, and it adds a new meaning to the expression shit houses doesn't it? For some it's a derogatory term, but for me it's an instruction.
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.