Walking round the park with him the other day I heard him talking on his mobile phone thingy to some geezer or other who commented that despite the UK supposedly "running dry" of wheat there seemed to be plenty of it coming out of the woodwork. So much so that end-user homes for it were just starting to become a bit more difficult to find than they'd have expected. I wonder if that's got anything to do with a certain bioethanol refinery that was going to start up during this marketing year now not doing so? I mean they must have had some wheat put to one side for it surely? It wouldn't surprise me either if those muppets at Defra have got the carryover figures wrong every year since Lassie was a pup, so there might just be a lot more wheat sloshing around out there than the official figures show. There's always some supposed clever sod who's going to carry his stuff right up until the last minute to make a killing too isn't there? I wonder how many of ...

That's what it was like plodding round the Valley Gardens this morning, I hate the smell of damp dogs too and now I'm it so to speak. That Mubarak fella finally binned it I gather from watching Newsnight last night - I do insist on keeping up with current affairs - and not before time too if you ask me. Is that bullish or bearish (or neither) for wheat I ask my damp doggy self? Personally I don't see it making a jot of difference either way. They still have 84 million bread eaters there don't they? Pooh count: 3, a nice morning's work.

Archimedes endured a tragic fate at the hands of drunken Roman soldiers. After forcing him to cut off and eat his own nose, they boiled him in oil. The tight bastards.

Nice walk down the Nidd Gorge with mad cousin Paddy, out for almost two hours so cream crackered now, time for a nice snooze. Feel about two stone lighter after curling out an enormously satisfying log whilst out on my stroll, so all is well with the world. It's a Friday, what could possibly go wrong? Bit concerned about President Mubarak's embarrassing dilly-dallying, and isn't it a bit undignified for a man of his age to still be using Grecian 2000?

Who are these people? I've never met anyone like that down the park. Maybe if he was to take me down the park at 11.30 at night then I may encounter some of these "ladies" and their heavily tattooed brethren. There was a cute little border terrier pup on there though who caught my eye it has to be said, although she was wearing more clothes than the "ladies" involved. "Oi love my Paddy so I do, he can get jiggy with anyone he loikes down the pub as long as he comes back to the caravan to me, to be sure, so he does, God love him," said Shaboom, aged 16.

Quick scoot round the Valley Gardens at 8am, not too many sniffing opportunities at that time of the morning. They said on the radio on the way that the computer game Guitar Hero was to be axed due to a slump in interest in music-based games. I think it's more likely to be due to that incredibly annoying advert that they have on the music channels on the telly. You must have seen it, with the Ainsley Harriott lookie-likey on drums? Christ it's annoying. Settling down now for a snooze in watery winter sunshine on the settee. There's a hint of warmth there, the old sap is rising if you know what I mean. Pooh count: 3 so far, but it's only early.

Decent walk down the Nidd Gorge, met up with Banjo and Wombat, me and Banjo used to have a bit of a thing going and we still meet up for old times sake now and again. Sniff buddies that's what we are in two-legged speak I think. After that it was the usual stuff, a six hour power nap, a bit of indiscriminate barking at various passers-by etc, etc. Reasonable tea of some leftover steak from last night, although he was a bit heavy handed on the seasoning I'd say and his presentation skills need honing somewhat. Enjoyed the last minty chew in the box after that, they'd better not forget to get me some more tomorrow, the tight bastards. Watched a bit of footie and then crashed for the night pondering the merits of employing a 4-2-3-1 formation and how remarkable it is that grandad shirts are back in fashion. Pooh count: 5, about average, just like my day.

Or does Robert Preston get on your two-legged nerves as well? Who does he think he is the arrogant condescending bastard? I'm a border terrier for Christ's sake, I don't need everything explaining to me in words of one syllable. Fiona Bruce is nice though, has some lovely jumpers she does, and that bloke with the funny eye is OK too, I'm an equal opportunities dog. But that Robert Preston, nah. pooh count: 6, a personal best, thanks Robert.

Had a nice relaxing first full day "back at the ranch" as they say, lots of snoozing in the winter sunshine, barking at the odd passer-by, nothing to strenuous. Gutted to hear that the local corner petshop is closing down, another victim to the multi-national out of town superstores. Have you ever been to one on a Sunday? It's like all the cheapskate parents in the neighbourhood taking their kids to a free zoo. In there for bloody hours they are, dithering over whether to have an iguana or a house rabbit the size of a small deer, only to find that Mummy and Daddy have left their purse/wallet at home by "mistake" - the tight bastards.

There's nothing quite like sleeping in your own basket is there? Had a nice lie-in, begged for a bit of bacon, brisk walk round the Valley Gardens, bit frosty on the old paws today, curled out a couple of very satisfying logs, back home for a dog chew and now about to settle down for a power nap. All is right with the world again. Apart from that annoying itch that I seem to have returned from Stalag 49 with, she told me she was clean too. Pooh count: 3, nice business if you can get it.

What IS the point of tidying up before you go away anywhere, it can take me fifteen or twenty minutes sometimes to get things back to how they should be. They must be feeling a tiny bit guilty as I was only modestly chastised for rearranging things earlier. Made extremely short work of my tea tonight, bloody starving I was, a border terrier can't survive on the meagre rations dished out at Stalag 49 I can tell you. Might have a bit of a laugh later by putting on my fake limp, shivering and pretending to have kennel cough, I always do that when I come back from Stalag 49. Walkies with him in the morning, which means the chances of getting let off the lead are probably quite slim, the tight bastard. Pooh count: a respectable 5.

I'm back! I suppose that things could have been worse, there was quite a foxy little Cairn Terrier in the cell next to me and we got let out into the exercise yard at the same time, so we decided to get in plenty of vigorous exercise if you know what I mean. Managed to roll in some fox shit (or Paco Rabanne as we call it) whilst we were out on a walk to ensure that she only had eyes for me. I had hoped that the two legged ones might get me a present just to make up for leaving me in the lurch, I've had my eye on the new iPod Touch, the one with the camera, but all I got was a pig's ear. A bloody pigs ear, if I wasn't so hungry I'd have thrown it at them, the tight bastards. Pooh count: 3 1/2 (the other 1/2 is still "hanging on in there" as they say).