Our electric power suppliers, British Gas, via distributor EDF (mais oui!) seem to have lost the plot lately. 6 times since the 4th of Dec, the house has been plunged into darkness and the humans, who have poor night vision compared to we dogs, have been reduced to candle light and early nights. Fun and romantic the first time - candle lit supper, coal fire, chatting etc (weh heh!), this has now lost its novelty value. I can't get on here, and Mum can't get on with the fast-encroaching Open Univ assignment deadline.
This leads to Mum on the phone last night giving out (politely and sweetly, natch) to 6 different "Customer Services" (Hah!) types of increasing rank and decreasing ability to pass the buck. The buck, in this case, a feisty human female with her posh voice turned on, and her previous studies with the OU concerning contract law, Provision of Goods and Services Act, the Sale of Goods Act and a raft of case law with names like "Bloggs Electricity supply company vs. Forsyth, 1992" etc. Go Mum! Lambs to the slaughter.
We're off out that night anyway, over to visit Mum and Dad's chums Guitar Man and "The Groomer", plus Norfolk terriers Dylan (who we've met and has featured in this blog before) and newer pup Molly, 9 months old. The Groomer (as I can now call her) was formerly "The Refrigeration Plant in Supermarkets Service Consultant" (not such a snappy title), but we're happy to report that she's now jacked all that in and set up in business as a dog groomer / dog creche in their village.
She is rapidly building a client base and has many pics of poshly groomed dogs, including westies, on the cork-board. There is hope for me yet! The Groomer has a newly fitted out extensive summer-house as a workshop with hydraulic tables, huge-dog sized bath with walk-in ramp at one end, along with racks of lotions and potions, clippers, combs and scissors plus, of course, dog treats.
Mum and Dad have promised us that we will be treated to a pampering day after Christmas, as soon as the weather starts to warm up. We will, of course, let you know how you get on. Diamond, too, is interested on behalf of Rags, though if Groomer can make either Ragworth or myself look like posh show-dogs, then she will come heartily reccommended, and we will shout her name from the roof tops.
It was a good evening. We three dogs packed it with Dylan and Molly (I only had one scrap with Molly, but you do, don't you. Can't have everyone thinking I have become an angel), while Mum and Dad, plus Guitar Man, Groomer and a couple of chums of our hosts, ate, drank, crossed the road to join in the proper carol singing on the church green and wandered down to a superb micro-pub called the Butcher's Arms (Real Ales are us!) - they weren't even too rude in there about Dad's Shepherd Neame sweatshirt !
Back at the house all dogs collapsed on furniture while Dad and Guitar Man played guitar (brilliantly) and sang (badly), while Mum attempted to master the intricacies of the computer game Wii Sport (Tennis). Apart from wanting to call it "Why -Aye!" instead of "Wee", it was amusing to see Mum thrashing at thin-air with her gadget, while the player on the screen completely missed the incoming baseline volley. The screen even did the whistle of the "racket" through the air like a Zorro sword-slash, without the accompanying "thwack" of ball on catgut.
Wet weekend on the cards, though there is talk of us buying our Christmas Tree.
Have a good one