#362 to 50

I’m a bit sad today. It’s  now dark when I do my nightly returning of teenagers to their own homes so that they can plausibly claim that they don’t actually live in our house.

It’s been another day of making blue-bottomed insects look dilatory. Shopping, transporting people, more zumbaing, sorting out LDV, housework and all the stuff that goes with getting ready for holidays. AND, some more flipping birds decided they wanted to mess with me on the road. What is going on here?

I don’t often do the Wednesday Zumba class but I felt that the curry I ate last night merited some extra exercise. I am just starting to get the hang of the moves, despite the best efforts of the instructor who mixes it all up and confuses me. No doubt I’ll forget them all by the time I get back.

One thing that never ceases to amaze us about Hazel is that she apparently can’t hear “Hazel, come” in a commanding tone right next to her but she can hear the rustling of a biscuit packet from about 4 streets away. I took her out for a walk this morning and she just didn’t appreciate the urgency of getting to her appointment at the Groomer’s on time. She couldn’t possibly hurry when there are blades of grass to be sniffed.

She would like you to know that she is very unimpressed with all this pampering nonsense.


I’m just really chuffed that she still has her wee curls on the top of her head. I was worried that the groomer might have trimmed them back too far.

About caronlindsay

Scottish Lib Dem internationalist, mum, LGBT+ ally, Doctor Who, Strictly, F1 and trashy tv addict and blogger. Servant to two spaniels. She/her.
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