Liverpool

Mum and Diamond have abandoned us again, headed north for Liverpool and another meeting of the chums from what was GU-Talk but is now, I believe called "Not the Talk". We know they arrived safely and have not heard from them since, and the only rioting on the News has been in London, so we assume all is well.

While the cat's away the mice do stuff that's not a bit mischievous. Dad takes the ancient and venerable rotovator up to the allotment and knackers himself chopping up the pre-dug ground for onions and then planting them. It's a job that's long overdue but the barge has tended to eclipse all normal rotas. However, Cambria's 'Boss of Volunteers', Basil, has emailed all the painting gang and laid them off for Saturday, so other jobs can come back into the 'to do' list.

Returning from the allotment and refreshed with a cuppa, Dad heads for the shed again and emerges with the ominous tupperware box, bit of pond liner and extension lead. No, not some weird 'grown-up' game, but the tools of a dog grooming session. The sheet of rubber gives us a non-skid surface to dance about on at terrace-table height, and the tupperware box contains dog clippers, spare blades, clipper oil, scissors and brushes. The clipping was fun - achieved at faster than normal speed as it started to rain. Nobody wants to be waving around 240V clippers in the wet.

We are now as skinny as new born lambs, from being solid woolly bear dogs with shaggy heads. We were also, briefly, fairly white. Haggis still is. The clipping, though, was followed by a walk round the Creek side. We were a bit damp from the rain but the ground was dusty. I found a tennis ball. Dad kicked it ahead for me so I could chase it. I went to grab it, missed my footing going sideways at high speed and barrel rolled in the dust, much to the amusement of some onlookers. I emerged from the spill covered in dust, adhering to my damp fur. Ooops.

Having a good weekend despite the lack of Mum.

Deefs