Dear Diary, I am becoming slowly bored with the build-up of expectations and excitement. Niece has persuaded that man of hers to dig a new patch of garden and extolling him to plant it with vegetables as, she fondly imagines, Karen and Jake would prefer fresh home-grown vegetables to those purchased at the supermarket.
The house has had a spring clean, and it isn't spring. I was of the understanding that Karen and Jake were going into a home of their own in the vicinity. I sincerely hope so!
As a protest I wheeled my tricycle onto the footpath in search of adventure. Cleaning and gardening in excess is detrimental to my good health.
Freewheeling along with nary a thought in my head, the breeze flicking at the small piece of hair peeking from underneath my helmet, slowly my irritation cooled as I contemplated a destination. The beach was too far away; anyway the breeze would be almost gale-force there. My legs baulked at the thought of a hill climb. One day, I imagined, I would pack a small bag and cycle for days, stopping where an interesting view presented itself. Maybe I could buy one of those small tents that folded as small as a decent sized handbag? Smiling to myself I pictured Niece's face when she found out I fancied camping out. Her camping experiences fitted around large caravans and caravan parks that had all the mod-cons. Seldom did Hester and Phil cook on a BBQ; never were they tempted to cook with a camp oven, or over a tripod on an open fire.
The mental picture of them sleeping around a campfire and showering with a bucket of water elicited a loud laugh from me. The situation was enough to make most, who knew Niece, titter. As the ideas swirled in my imagination no real reason as to why I shouldn't, one day, attempt a camping trip rose to mind.
Hardly aware I had cycled beyond the town boundary, a barking dog alerted me to a situation that cyclists detest. Dogs chase cyclists! A near disaster of my youth crossed my mind ... as I had cycled to meet a friend one particular house that I had to pass had barking dogs. Usually a short 'shutup' deterred them. This particular day nothing I said worked. Quickly panic set in. Those in the know insist a dog knows when a person is afraid of them; I think they are correct.
As the dog continued to bark and rush towards the fence I was cycling by, and my earnest entreaties were ignored, it became obvious I could be under attack. That particular time, as the dog jumped the fence and came running towards me I lashed my feet out, swinging my legs in a wide arc in the hope the dog would not attack. I was lucky. The dog didn't attack; the owner noticing the pending altercation, called it to heel.
Today as I peered around for the source of the barking I became aware of a beautiful dog that had half a dozen gorgeous puppies tumbling in the yard behind a strong fence. Mother dog was simply guarding her offspring.
I slowed down, finally hopping off my tricycle to take a closer look at the puppies. Dear Diary, I remembered I had promised myself a dog after the demise of Greensmith and Redshaw. Perhaps one of these little beauties would settle with me? Should I knock on the door, though in doing so I would need to negotiate the gate and path that was obviously the domain of Mother Dog and the puppies.
The house has had a spring clean, and it isn't spring. I was of the understanding that Karen and Jake were going into a home of their own in the vicinity. I sincerely hope so!
As a protest I wheeled my tricycle onto the footpath in search of adventure. Cleaning and gardening in excess is detrimental to my good health.
Freewheeling along with nary a thought in my head, the breeze flicking at the small piece of hair peeking from underneath my helmet, slowly my irritation cooled as I contemplated a destination. The beach was too far away; anyway the breeze would be almost gale-force there. My legs baulked at the thought of a hill climb. One day, I imagined, I would pack a small bag and cycle for days, stopping where an interesting view presented itself. Maybe I could buy one of those small tents that folded as small as a decent sized handbag? Smiling to myself I pictured Niece's face when she found out I fancied camping out. Her camping experiences fitted around large caravans and caravan parks that had all the mod-cons. Seldom did Hester and Phil cook on a BBQ; never were they tempted to cook with a camp oven, or over a tripod on an open fire.
The mental picture of them sleeping around a campfire and showering with a bucket of water elicited a loud laugh from me. The situation was enough to make most, who knew Niece, titter. As the ideas swirled in my imagination no real reason as to why I shouldn't, one day, attempt a camping trip rose to mind.
Hardly aware I had cycled beyond the town boundary, a barking dog alerted me to a situation that cyclists detest. Dogs chase cyclists! A near disaster of my youth crossed my mind ... as I had cycled to meet a friend one particular house that I had to pass had barking dogs. Usually a short 'shutup' deterred them. This particular day nothing I said worked. Quickly panic set in. Those in the know insist a dog knows when a person is afraid of them; I think they are correct.
As the dog continued to bark and rush towards the fence I was cycling by, and my earnest entreaties were ignored, it became obvious I could be under attack. That particular time, as the dog jumped the fence and came running towards me I lashed my feet out, swinging my legs in a wide arc in the hope the dog would not attack. I was lucky. The dog didn't attack; the owner noticing the pending altercation, called it to heel.
Today as I peered around for the source of the barking I became aware of a beautiful dog that had half a dozen gorgeous puppies tumbling in the yard behind a strong fence. Mother dog was simply guarding her offspring.
I slowed down, finally hopping off my tricycle to take a closer look at the puppies. Dear Diary, I remembered I had promised myself a dog after the demise of Greensmith and Redshaw. Perhaps one of these little beauties would settle with me? Should I knock on the door, though in doing so I would need to negotiate the gate and path that was obviously the domain of Mother Dog and the puppies.
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