Pant Pant Pant

Too hot. Heat seems to make Herbie's lumps grow, so he looks worse this week. I think the extra energy he uses to stay cool drains him - either that or heat makes cancer cells grow faster. Tomorrow I'm going to buy him a fan. He's been resisting ice packs, and won't drink water if it's got ice cubes in.

I used to love hot weather, but having dogs changed that. It changes so many things, and that's only a minor one. We've all been sitting on the concrete driveway, in the shade of the house, where the concrete is cool. The neighbours must think I'm mad, but there's no breeze in the back garden, surrounded by high fences and bushes.

Work is going to be grim tomorrow - no air-con, very little ventilation - I'm dreading it. I can't be the only one contemplating a rain-dance.

Don't Like Beans

... at least, I assume that's what Herbie's trying to tell me. There I am, doing my bit for the global food crisis, growing a few bean plants, and can I get them to stay in the ground? Can I heck.

But Herbie is unrepentant.

Holly has checked out the situation, but doesn't see what the fuss is about.

Herbie is quite amused by it all.

I am tired. I went to London yesterday, for a friend's wedding, and three separate tube lines were closed for maintenance. King's Cross resembled a scene from a disaster movie. I think I've done cities for this year.

Lumpy and Snotty

... a couple of the dwarves that didn't make it into Snow White's top seven. I've not been giving Herbie garlic capsules all week, on the basis that if garlic can make dogs anaemic, I should give him time off now and again. As a result his nose is all crusty and patchy.

I was going to be on a reiki course all day today, but it was cancelled at the last minute. Instead, I've done nothing all day, and I'm about to go and watch junk TV all evening. (I'm sorry, but Midsummer Murders is comfort TV - I know it's untrue to life and rots your brain, and is probably about to cause the collapse of western civilisation as we know it, but I'm going to watch it anyway. If Holly will let me.)

Working 9 to 5

... what a way to make a living. I can't believe it's been three months since I started work again, terrified that the moment I put on that dark suit again, and headed out the door, Herbie would give up the ghost. He's still here, and I'm the one that's fading fast. I'm only on a six-month contract, and it's coming up to the time when you start wondering if it's time to look around again. There is a mega-reshuffle going on at work, so do I stay in the hope that I get a good job in the new structure, or... I like the people here, but there's a new boss due...hmm... decision postponed for a week or two.

I started this blog when I hated my old job, and realised that all I really wanted in life was to be At Home With Herbie. Economically, however, if that home is to be something with walls and a roof, and not a caravan, I can't stay home for ever. ( Though I've been looking at ruins in Portugal, thinking, I could learn Portuguese, and roof-tiling, and plumbing, and...)

Still, if it comes to people putting their brave pants on, I could learn a lesson or two from the latest fund-raising effort at Greyhound Gap - spending a night in the horribly haunted Derby Gaol. If they can face their worst fears, maybe it's time to face mine (not having indoor plumbing or heating for any length of time). There are worse things in life than a composting toilet. (The ones at Aysgarth Falls in the Yorkshire Dales have a warning on one door: Extra Wide Seat - Children May Need Supervision. I guess someone found that out the hard way.)