I bathed and pruned the dog. He looks sad without all his straggly fluffy bits but he might bring less attachments into the house. He smells nice - a temporary arrangement I fear. It's football night on Tuesdays when Mr Smith and the Apprentice do their Alpha male thing and hurl abuse at the television. I do other things. I might rectify my trousers and watch a soppy dvd on my own elsewhere.
My friends keep calling to ask if Granny is dead yet - some actually still do so in a caring tone. For all of you who want to know: No she is not dead so I haven't inherited her millions, her furniture and paintings, her mink coat, her diamonds or her great big house ..... yet. Mr Smith is so bursting with anticipation it's rude.
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