2: Clean the dog hairs out of the car.
My daughter has two dogs both of which moult like there’s a serious attack of global warming. She has also borrowed my car quite a bit lately and so the back seat was covered in what I was about to say was loose hair.
It was so not loose. It might have been loose from a dog, but it was stuck to
the seat, and the blanket that’s supposed to catch it. The dogs tend to runckle that up and get underneath it. It sticks to the carpet and anyone who cares to give them attention. 
It gets up the nose and into your mouth if you dare to open it to speak to anyone. If you attempt to sweep it, it just flies about looking for a new place to settle, preferably ever so slightly out of reach of the vacuum nozzle.
Perhaps you think it a tad silly of me to try and clear the dog hairs out of the car while I was looking after my son’s dog. She was a very old, sturdy little staffie who expected to be picked up and put in the car. I thought I was safe.
It’s amazing what a dog can do if a dog is determined and you’re ignoring her!
Unfortunately, she died a few days after this picture was taken.
She went to sleep in her own bed and just didn’t wake up. She was a little sweetheart and very loving.
R.I.P. Lola
One of my New Year’s Resolutions was to decorate as much of my home as possible this year. The provisos to this being;
I also had a dog. Not my dog, who would most likely have been used to me, but my son’s. He was on holiday with his family and the dog was being spoilt at my house.
Walking backwards across the bathroom while gazing at the ceiling as you paint is not the best thing you can do if you, a) don’t want to fall over said dog, b) spill paint everywhere, including on the dog who then runs off daubing other parts of the house with her paint covered coat, c) miss bits of the ceiling in order not to do a) or b).
I’d try again but I have my daughter’s dog at the moment and I’ve already fallen trying to avoid her as I came down the step into the living room.
Before you all reach for your phones and report me it was not a sweet little fur-ball with whiskers, sharp claws and a meow.
She’s a sweetie and I would not microwave her even though I want access to my own computer. In fact, there are times when she’s helped by editing my writing and passed comment. My daughter says she must love it because she’s left so many kisses.
You would think that living alone in an old house would cause me a few uneasy moments. My home has been around since Cromwell’s Commonwealth and has the obligatory ghost who prowls the old path to the side of the house and disappears when he reaches the spot where the original door used to be.
It was the Festival of Books at Delapre Abbey and as I was born at the hospital nearby I took the opportunity to join Corona Books on their stall. It also meant I was able to visit with relatives while I was there. All for the price of one journey.
Gardening is brilliant. It provides exercise in the fresh air and sunshine and leaves you with a glow of satisfaction of a job well done. That is until you turn on the hose you haven’t used since last year. For some reason a split has appeared in the nozzle and cold water sprayed all over me rather than the garden. I now look as if I’ve wet myself and I do have to say that a wet t-shirt on someone a tad over, shall we say, 21 really isn’t the sort of picture I need to show anyone.
