It started predictably enough with a forage for something to eat round the bird table in the garden. Why she insists on feeding those bastards is beyond me, but she seems to like it for some reason. Then managed to scrounge some toast off me Mum. Then went for a walk and ate loads of grass and rabbit shit, terrier truffles as I call them. Then snoozed in me bean bag. Then barked at random passers-by, some of whom passed-by a little too closely for my liking. Woofed my head off at the little lad over the road, the one with attention deficit disorder, who promptly shat himself. Which amused me, as I thought it might distract him from his regular problem by replacing it with a predicament of an entirely different kind. Which it did. Now looking forward to tea. I do hope it's sausages. Pooh count: only two (not including the one from the lad over the road as that would be cheating). Miliband and Balls I'm calling them. Smug little bastards they are.
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.