Good evening (or morning depending when you are reading this). Today I come to you with some disturbing news.
|Wake me when He's stopped going on with himself...|
No its not about about the Leveson enquiry, although there are some shocking insights into the goings on of what levels the British press will go to in order to sell newspapers.
Nor is it the fact that it hasn’t started snowing yet (it feels cold enough but it hasn’t. Coincidence or conspiracy - Who knows???)
It is with sad and slightly worried fingers that I write to you with the knowledge that my dog has got a tumour.
In the continuing black comedy that is my life, the dog has a tumour on his nose. This means that at some point the vet may have to operate which means I will be able to use the gag “my dog’s got no nose...” which is some comfort, but not a lot.
|After a hards sleep, it was time for a rest.|
The dog is of course completely oblivious to the fact that he has a big lump on his face and continues to demand W-A-L-K-I-E-S every time I settle down with a hot cup of tea so things aren’t too bad in his world.
The failed doctor who shall be named The Vet from here on in, says it’s not life threatening and might go away on its own, but if it hasn’t cleared by new year, we have to go back and have the dog and the tumour separated.
Things being the way they are it’s like times like these that it’s important to realise how special life is. Even if that life is relies on me to bend down and pick up its poo every time he does “his business” and to be thankful for fully paid up pet insurance.
Sympathy is not required here, because this is the same vicious beast who chewed up Mrs H's passport the day before we were due to fly off to Prague for her best friends wedding (luckily I was around to sort that one out!). Oh yes, and he has also munched his way through no less than THREE of my phone chargers, two dog leads, a carpet, two screwdrivers and one hammer. (he has now grown out of that stage and just sleeps and shits now)
|Who said Dogs can't climb trees?|
The British press however, seem to have been going through peoples bins on a regular basis in order to ascertain the slightest hint of a juicy story before they pop back to the office to make up some rubbish to print anyway.
It is known that this used to happen, but only once in a while and, as i always thought, when the reporters were on the hunt of a big scandal and so it could be justified. this week as the sticky truth dribbles out of the weeping boil that is British journalism, we are starting to see quite clearly what vile and horrible people the press are.
Shame on them.