Monday morning. My daughter has cleared her worldly goods from the garage. Well, it's a neat stack the height of a cotton mill waiting to be transferred for transportation to a new life blocking the stepladder to the loft (it's a tall garage). As I shifted one of the cardboard boxes to climb the stepladder in search of cardboard to pack an original drawing in, to send to a client, a newspaper fell out of this flimsy open cardboard box containing a an old pair of black boots and padded with a review section of the Observer. I haven't seen this for a couple of years. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.....and I'm sticking it on here, after all this damn blog was set up originally in a pathetic attempt to raise the book's profile. I confess to checking it's Amazon ranking at infrequent intervals - a habit I am less inclined to practice nowadays as this groundbreaking book floats around the three hundredth zilllion mark...anyway the dog is getting impatient.
Yes, that's all very well but what about the boots?
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ReplyDeleteIt's early. I am visiting Shoreham By Sea. Yesterday I participated in a Wire Hair Fox Terrier Walk from Brighton Marina via Rottingdean almost all the way to Peacehaven and back, accompanied mostly by a dental nurse and her terrier. I am in another place. A long way from Scotland. Even further from Canada. Beneath the chalk cliff face and the sea, the dental nurse showed no signs of nerves when she realised that the harmless bloke she was listening to was possibly a homicidal maniac. She asked for a small glass of white wine at the pub. What a weird thing to do - turn up for a walk with 40 or so other Fox Terrier lovers. Some of whom must have been on medication. On day release from their asylum. I am the sane one.
ReplyDeleteJoyce. I had a cousin called Joyce. She died several years ago. Joyce was a good swimmer and liked a laugh. Her husband Dick from Bristol was a an accomplished piano accordian player. Thank you Roger. It was worth the effort after all.