Puppy love

I've been neglecting you, haven't I? Truth is, I've been feeling a little low lately, which always leaves me disinclined to write. I had a particularly draining day yesterday, followed by an anxious night with little sleep, so was in a horrendous mood when I left for work this morning. I really didn't know how I was going to force myself through the day, and wanted nothing more than to just go back to bed and nap it away.

When I took my seat on the tube, a hippyish girl got on and sat next to me. With her was a brindle staffordshire bull terrier, with a withered back leg and a leash made of two knotted together Tesco carrier bags. The girl pulled the dog onto her knee out of the way of the other passengers, and we both took out books. After a while, the staffy re-shuffled herself, yawned hugely and lay down, settling her head into the crook of my elbow. Thinking this was rather sweet, I said "Hallo puppy" and applied a tickling thumb to the back of her ear. The next thing I knew she had vaulted the armrest, and I had a lap full of large, adoring dog giving my face a tongue bath more enthusiastic than it was effective or hygenic. Her owner seemed remarkably unperturbed, but then I was laughing my head off, so it must have been pretty clear that I was neither upset nor scared by the incident. In fact, it cheered me up no end. I enjoyed doggy snuggles for another couple of stops, until we all got off the train, and continued my journey feeling more relaxed and at ease than I have in many days.

Thanks puppy. I owe you one!

How to feel ignorant

1) Take a Yank to see a typically British play and discover the absence of frame of reference.
2) Confuse yourself and her, attempting to explain Restoration Comedy and the origins of panto, despite your English Lit graduate credentials.
3) Buy her another glass of wine to stop her asking questions, and leave it to google to educate her.

Heaven is a place on Earth

I have a soft spot for independent bookshops. Particularly the kind of second-hand bookshop I found just five minutes from my new office. It's a classic. There is no discernible criteria for organising the books, and you stir up vast clouds of dust when you attempt to extract anything. I felt mildly sorry for the scowling shop owner when I took my purchases to the counter. My manic grin and chirpy comments must have grated on his nerves something rotten, but I thought I might sound like a lunatic if I attempted to explain that even his surly demeanour just added to the excitement of my discovery.

I limited myself to three books, rather than the armfuls I wanted, on the basis that I would have to carry them home, but I will be back. I have to study the set-up for my retirement plan. I'm going to have just such a shop, where I will sit behind the till all day with a g&t. Ostensibly I will be working on my own novel, but really spending the bulk of my time glaring resentfully at customers, while a fat, ugly cat sprawls on a cushion on the counter. Obviously I will need to be stinking rich already, because there is no way such a business is going to support me in my old age.

Advance warning - anyone who so much as mentions the word 'Kindle' in my shop will be conked over the head with a cheap hardback, and the body stashed behind the rack of ordnance survey maps.