I've got a cult following in Romania. I'm the Norman Wisdom of the canine world me. He was big in Albania for some unknown reason, and I'm correspondingly big over there for reasons that nobody can quite understand. Me Dad has a cult following him too, always behind us in the park he is, scruffy looking bloke, looks a bit like Richard Branston.

Not much to report today, took longer than normal to do the Telegraph crossword this morning as they took my pen off me for weeing in the kitchen again overnight. I could have held on a bit longer I suppose, but hey, I don't have to clean it up do I? Downloaded the latest Lady Gaga album onto my iPod, I'll listen to that later. Is it true that, you know, she used to be a bloke like? I can normally sniff out s shemale at 500 paces me. One of them took me unawares in the park last week, I was none too happy about that I can tell you. Pooh count: 7, and that's without even trying too hard. I am as they say: "on top of me game"

Elizabeth Taylor has got divorced again today I see. Only this time it's from life, aged 79. I wonder if they'll bury her in an Adidas shoebox at the bottom of our garden too? It's getting a bit crowded down there, it'll be standing room only before long. Still there's no point getting all maudlin about it is there, so I'll tell you a joke: What's red and invisible?.....No tomatoes!!!!

Just had a nice walk in the beautiful North Yorkshire countryside up near Ripley Castle. It's a walk we do quite often, but today it was particularly lovely with all the sun shining and all birds singing. There's two large blackbirds that live in the hedge up there, Venus and Serena me Dad calls them, I don't know why but he seems to think it's amusing. The start of the walk offers ample truffling opportunities for the non-too discerning diner like me, but they kept me on my lead for that bit, the tight bastards. Pooh count: just the one. Maybe not impressive in terms of number I'll grant you, but you should have seen the size of this rascal. Have you ever seen one of them wildlife documentaries on the telly where a large boa constrictor has just swallowed a fully grown goat? I feel about two stone lighter. Right what's for brunch?

Doing the interpreting for Gaddafi's feller, the one who looks a bit like that celebrity chef geezer with the gammy arm, Michael Caines. How do we know that he's actually really saying what the other punter IS saying? I mean he could be saying "I ordered a kebab with everything on it and large chips two hours ago, now where the bloody hell is it?" couldn't he? Maybe he's upset that the Michael Caines punter has incorrectly told him that the West are introducing a no fries zone, and so he thinks he can't have chips any more? Just a thought. Pooh count: 4 nice firm ones.

On my daily constitutional this morning it became quickly, or is that quackly, apparent that everybody else is at it, except for me that is. The ducks, pigeons, sparrows etc are all going at it hammer and tongs, or is that thongs? Unfortunately I'm not, on account of the two-leggeds having had me "done" before I even reached the grand old ago of one, the tight bastards. There's a bright side though, I just can't think of it right now. Rolled in "stuff" in a vain effort to try and make myself feel better, but it didn't work. So now I'm smelly and miserable. Pooh count: 1, a very modest showing by my prolific standards. Still it's more than Fernando Torres can manage.