One of those weeks

... when everything seems to break down at once. First I was carless for several days, which could have been a disaster, or very expensive, until the garage kindly lent me an elderly car to get to work in. I think they mostly did it to stop me phoning twice a day.

Then I couldn't get online at all. Given that my tax return is due 30 September, this was another disaster in the making. As of today, I have a shiny new router, shiny new phone-point, and I've done my tax return. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that everything else continues to work. It's nice to have an upgrade on the router, and I wouldn't have bothered if things hadn't actually broken down - I'm used to maintaining a series of technological antiques, rather than being at the cutting edge. The BT engineer looked at my set-up and said, "Yes, we do occasionally see one of these - did the help-desk have to look everything up online?" Er, yes, actually. "You'll find with an upgrade, the help desk are actually able to help." Well, that will be a novelty.

The dogs liked the BT man a lot, and Holly was convinced he had come round specially to play with her. It was rather sad when she finally realised he hadn't, and she sunk down onto her bed with her face on her paws.

Happy 4th Gotcha Day

Tomorrow it will be four years since I picked Holly up at a service station off the A1. She had been in a council pound for six weeks and her time was well and truly up. If I hadn't said I could take her, there wouldn't have been any options left. Via a complicated chain of people and events, she ended up with me, skinny, wormy and semi-feral. (Er, she was, not me - think I need to do something about that last sentence.)

She still has her semi-feral moments, particularly when she spots a cat, but she's considerably chunkier. On the plus side, she had no expectations about living in a house, so when Herbie told her what to expect ("Oi, that's MY bed"), she went along with it quite amiably. Four years later, she's still here, still stealing tissues to shred, and still the sweetest little weasel-face.

Autumn Already

Judging by the berries in the hedgerows, it's going to be another harsh winter. The haws, sloes and elderberries hang in heavy clusters, and this morning we met the grit-men, leaving piles of rock salt in little heaps along the roadside. We're on top of a steep hill here, and at every bend in the hill there is now a neat pyramid of salt.

Herbie's recovering from his dental, and no, he can't whistle through the gaps in his teeth. Holly probably could though - the middle two of her bottom front teeth were worn almost to stubs when she came to me, aged almost two. The vet said she'd probably been chewing the wire of a kennel to achieve that effect, out of sheer boredom and frustration.