Something To Resign From

The weekend ends with me on the Velodrome and the sad news that Doggo’s twin brother has died at well over sixteen years old. We raise a glass to him.

While Doggo is officially old, it seems that MD is also slowing down fast. L says he can barely manage double figures in ball chucks on the park these days before wanting to go home. He could of course just be trying to keep his fur white in this appalling weather but somehow I doubt it.

I move my Dog Training night to Tuesday as I’m in London on Wednesday. For which I don’t have any problem getting up early for, what with Doggo’s dodgy bladder now issuing an early morning alarm call every day.

After the obligatory progress meeting, which hinders progress for an hour or so, we finally start work. It’s a more successful day than expected but not as good as it could have been. I am driven down but get the train back as my colleague goes on to visit another customer.

I do manage to get some cycling in this week, on Tuesday and Thursday. Thursday is also pub lunch day, squash and L’s casserole night. This comes with crinkly chips and a swift retraction because you can’t go around using ageist words like that these days. Now she’ll have to find something to resign from.

At least they've scrapped the Presidents Club where rich men were relieved of huge sums of cash by pretty young women flashing their chests. Thankfully this exploitation of rich men will now stop and all men-only gatherings will be banned. Hopefully the scourge of town centres, hen parties, will go as well.

Friday I have the afternoon off work, we are setting up for our dog show on Saturday. Which doesn’t go that well as we’re all almost an hour late due to the shocking traffic.

(Friday 26^th January)