What a day! Dad's been trying to finish his digging and put the rotovator across the allotments and has been dodging between the hail storms by hiding in a nearby plot holder's shed. The goons apparently run for cover and then spend the next 10 minutes waving and grinning and exchanging banter from inside their various open shed doors.
We get our walk when a particularly big blue patch of sky comes over the horizon, and we decide to "risk it for a biscuit", the Rec, the Parish Church and back down through the boat yard, where we are surprised to see S.B.Greta still moored up. Steve is on deck and Alfie is barking at us from the starboard bulwarks. He didn't want to risk the sail he says, on that dodgy weather yesterday evening, so he sat tight and they'll head for Whitstable Monday or Tuesday.
We meet Molly the beagle on the way home. As I race in circles and Molly shows every sign of wanting to join me, Dad suggetsts she is let off the lead and is amazed to find that the lady has "not yet plucked up courage" to let her off because some helpful soul has said "Oooh - Beagles - they have a reputation for taking off and never being seen again". We've not heard of that at all and don't beleive it but the idea is fixated in the lady's head and the dog is now stuck on the lead. We suggest some places and situations where it could be low risk (out in a "pack" with us, and along the levee where the opportunities to scoot are limited. We'll see
Treat tonight. Mum's cooking duck in Guinness for a posh dinner party, so we get the cooked giblets.
That's the life!
Deefs
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