annanotbob2's Diaryland
Diary
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That Dog
Whose idea was it to write 500 words every bleeding day? Some days I’m itching to get started, other days I’ve got no idea, but my intention was to write 500 words every day whether I have anything to say or not. I’m building up to writing something proper, or extracting the good bits out of this blog. When I read back over old blog posts, I often enjoy the ones that start like this, with no real purpose. But then I remember that I used to smoke copious amounts of weed whereas now I still have most of the £10 lump of hash I bought at Glastonbury in 2022. Maybe that’s what I need, a little toke on a pipe. Do I even know where it is? I do know when that woman came to help me de-clutter my art room she found it all, the pipe, the hash, the lighter, the spare gauzes for the pipe, the grass grinder – she was all set to chuck the whole lot in the bin so I had to say, “Whoa! Not that! That’s… er… it’s – well, it’s my dope stash.” She gave me a bit of an old-fashioned look, but not much. Honestly I’ve just read a tweet on Twitter about never putting anything incriminating in writing and within minutes I’m banging on about my stash. “As a lawyer who frequently pores over written conversations that people thought were "private," I am once again asking you to exercise some effing restraint. "I can't believe these idiots put this in writing," is something I say a lot.”
I can’t quite be arsed to go upstairs and get it, so instead I’m going to have a moan about Bloke. I have this dog, Shirley, who is very friendly and easy going apart from never coming when she’s called, or only when she’s good and ready. I’m not about to spend my life chasing a fucking dog so I only let her off the lead in places like the woods when we’re well away from roads and even then she still plays silly buggers sometimes and really pisses me off. When somebody comes to the house she’ll be out of the front door and off down the road in no time, so we have this system that before we open the door, we open the door to the front room and shut her in there till the visitor has either come in or gone. She knows this is the deal and goes into the room without any aggro, wagging her tail and sitting looking excited. But Bloke keeps forgetting and she keeps getting out, which happened again this evening. We had a curry delivered, Bloke just opened the door, she shot off down the road and I went mental. When we were kids one of our dogs, a Scottie called Mackie was killed by a car so I know how suddenly, how quickly and how irreversibly it can happen. I hardly ever moan at Bloke, he is what he is and he ain’t gonna change now unless he wants to, which he doesn’t, but I was full of fear for my little dog and, “For fuck’s sake, why can’t you just do what we’ve agreed?” came out of my mouth louder and more angrily than I would have chosen. He replied very calmly, “Speaking like that isn’t going to make it any better.” Well. He did catch her in the end, I didn’t ask how. When I call her in these circs, my voice is too full of anxiety – I can’t hear it but Daughter has been very full and frank on the subject so I came in and ate my dinner. Prawn biryani and tarka dahl. Very nice and enough left over to have for lunch.
12:04 a.m. - 06.01.24
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