So, Graham’s off on his two-day Muse trip to London and Dolly and I are left behind to play our own tunes. Dolly is zizzing on her cushion in the living room and I’m here, happily digesting my Atkins diet breakfast. Well, you try getting a low-fat breakfast in the Neath Morrison’s. Soon enough now I shall creep upstairs to take a little nap and, shortly after, I shall hear the pitter-thud of Mega-cat paws on the stairs and along the landing as Dolly comes along to snuggle up.
We know how to manage our time alone, do Dolly and I.
Everywhere is grey and damp and ankle deep in fallen leaves. Apparently there’s a great scandal story on in the tabloid press because, shock, horror, while leaf fall from parks and commons is collected for composting, the leaves swept up from pavements and roadways, all polluted, littered, and dog-messed, are sent off to landfill. Well, blow me down. What on earth do the eco-fascists expect? I have this amusing vision of eco-warriors parading under the trees with protest banners urging the trees: ”Do not dump… recycle.”
Oh. Boy.
