Rumours Of My Death Have Been Greatly Exagerrated

They've been away on holiday (yes, a-fucking-gain) and me and Knocker have been confined to Stalag 45. So there's been a distinct lack of blogging going on. (they won't let me use my iPad in Stalag 45 "for security reasons"). If that wasn't bad enough, when me Mum and Dad finally got round to coming home me Dad hit upon this brilliant new idea. To make walkies easier for him (fuck me), he's only gone and bought a length of chain about 3 feet long which attaches to the end of the flexi lead. This means that he only needs one hand to hold the lead (the lazy fucking twat). It also means that I'm permanently never more than 3 feet away from Nutjob on any walk we now go on. That's like me being in one of those prison-break movies. The sort where the nice bloke, wrongly convicted of murdering his wife (like in Shawshank) gets chained to some homicidal maniac, like Hannibal Lector or Reggie Kray. When the prison van accidentally crashes, the good guy (me) and "Regibal" escape but are unfortunately chained together. Nice guy then has to run in time with Psycho (which is aright fucking pain). Nice guy wants to go to the police station to prove his innocence. Regibal wants to kill labradors, eat their liver (with a nice Chianti) and chop them up into bin bags and have me help him chuck the dismembered body parts off Putney Bridge. That's what an average day's walk for me is like at the moment. Still, I did piss on his head today.