Bad Hair Day

Literally - in a weak moment I allowed my lovely hairdresser to apply straighteners to my already naturally lank locks and emerged looking like an Afghan hound - a rather elderly Afghan hound. After I'd been almost run over and then verbally abused by some p***k-brained youth in Sainsbury's car park, I was a very cross, old what-they-called-me which bore some relation to the female of the aforementioned species.

Sir William has also had a bad day, in fact, make that a bad fortnight starting with a horrid eye infection (trip to the Vet), Mum and Dad going away for the weekend (trip to l'hotel etc), an infected bite on shoulder and bursting bladder owing to difficulty in getting down from his sleeping platform (trip to Vet), check up (trip to Vet) and snow, snow, snow, effing snow. He has just begun to get out and about again in the last couple of days only to be confronted this morning by a fire engine with full crew (thankfully no siren) turning into Twitcher's Turning and making stately progress to the end of the cul de sac. Sir W was upstairs and back in the duvet bunker before I had comprehended his return. Some 20 minutes later, the red monster cruised back up past our window and out to the main road. I reckon someone's Mum had the coffee on - or perhaps, with any luck, Sir W's arch enemy (perpetrator of the wounded eye and shoulder) had got himself stuck up a tree.