I arrived at the gathering with a sense of trepidation. It was 4pm and they were moving on to a different pub. Approaching the bar, I looked at the drinks options: Illy coffee; no soft drinks on tap; a confusing selection of bottled beers that overwhelmed me. Bottle of diet coke, an espresso and, oh fuck it, a Duvel, please.

So it began, late afternoon drinking. The warmth entered my blood quickly and soon started to numb my senses, a most delightful sensation tinged with naughtiness that only comes about from drinking before eating an evening meal. Sticking to beer though, it was quite easy to moderate the alcohol intake so that I just became sleepy and pleasantly drunk, so much so that I felt able to round off the night with a couple of G&Ts without running the risk of it coming back to bite my arse today.

I don’t know what’s happened to me, but I’m liking this new found moderation that’s appeared out of the blue.

Go me!

Islands in the stream
During the course of the evening, my brother kept me updated with what the little dog was up to. “He won’t touch his food”, “He’s scared of the cat”, “He’s not had a poopy”, “He’s not eating, is he OK?” That’s just the way he is.

Having a dog that’s not particularly motivated by food makes for a little dog that’s very difficult to train. I remember trying to teach him recall, with a piece of cheddar or hot dog sausages: nothing. Always sniffing at things that were more interesting to him than me holding a piece of cheese. “Mummy, I get to see you every day and you give me cheese at home, this is a BRAND NEW smell, it’s amazing.” Eventually, I brought out the big guns and he finally submitted to braised lambs hearts. With the additional aid of a whistle, these got him to come running to me, grab a piece of offal, then scarper again. Now when he comes running to me, he stops just out of my reach to have a sniff, always watching how close I am to him, ready to run off if he’s not quite ready to go back onto his lead. No amount of braised offal can compete with a distant dog though, I just have to leave him to it and hope that the dog and its human companions don’t get too pissed off with him.

He frustrates me, annoys me, defies me, embarrasses me, but I think he kind of loves me. I miss him terribly when we’re apart for a while, he pines for me when I leave him for the shortest amount of time. And this is one of my best weapons: his separation anxiety. Those few words “See you then, BYE!” have him come running from any distance. Cruel mummy.