Friday March 7, 2008
We’ve done a splendid job here, Dolly and I, since Graham went off to Wales on Tuesday. Not a thing out of place. No mess. All the basics kept up to standard. All I need do today is to clean the litter tray and walk round the house with my feather duster.
I even did my duty yesterday and placed a toe, firmly, under the estate agent to prod them into action. My inclination was to leave well alone but then I had visions of Graham’s reaction when he gets home if nothing’s been done. So the HIP energy survey man is to come do his stuff on Monday and the house details are to be ticked into action on Rightmove. [Ah. I just checked. The house details are up now and can be seen by clicking here.]
I wasn’t joking yesterday when I said that Dolly and I had been sleeping through Graham’s absence. She’s still at it. I woke up about two hours ago bright as a button and raring to go. I think I’ll get my chores done and then go for a little walk in the park. Haven’t stepped outside the front door since Tuesday so the use of a little petrol is justifiable.
The last surviving British Tommy from WW1 was on TV this morning. He’s 109 years old, physically frail but mentally bright as a button. I may, as a result of his example, revise my lifespan expectations up a little. Tell you what, though. If the Poet Laureate of the day writes a poem like that about me I shall hit ‘im with me stick. Repeatedly. In Iambic Pentameter.
The author, webmaster, and minder of the cat
