This is a magical time of year. A strange observation for one who doesn’t hold much patience with spirituality, but a true one for somebody who, nonetheless, feels energised by change in season and changing of the landscape from brown to green. Nowhere is this more evident to me than down the local country park where me and the Little Dog take our daily exercise. Just a week ago, the trees were in bud, but remained reluctant to reveal their spring foliage to the world, but now we stroll within tunnels of fresh green.

The swallows have returned and I watch, mesmerised by their low-flying acrobatics.

Barring a few more frosty nights, we can just about say that spring has sprung.

Of course, I don’t get much time to bask in nature’s fireworks displays as I have to keep my eyes and ears open for the Little Dog, trying to ensure that he doesn’t annoy too many other dogs or their owners and that he doesn’t roll in goose/fox/dog/horse poo. He’s not a fussy scatophile, he’ll roll in anything that leaves a lingering fecal smell in my car and home.

Every evening we get the opportunity to meet new people and their canine companions, but last week was special: we met Wil the English bull terrier. Wil is a girl, so I think she’s a Wilma, but irrespective of sex, she’s a little honey. By some cruel twist of [can’t think of the word… like what the Nazis wanted] eugenics, English bull terriers have the sweetest natures accompanied by the strangest physical features; some might call them ugly. After just a couple of meetings, Wil now recognises me and comes plodding over to say hello and have her ears tickled while Rocky tries to touch her with his willy. I am simultaneously awash with warmth and despair.

Tonight’s new friend was a border collie puppy called Bella. She was SO excited to see me again that she legged herself up and did a stunt roll as she ran to me to say hello. Rocky tried a Jimmy Savile on her too.

Meeting other dogs makes me ponder what might have been. But without him, I’d never meet those other dogs, enjoy the recognition from Wil, the stunt-rolling Bella, the badly-behaved Bruno. I wouldn’t spontaneously take myself down to the woods and notice the changing of the seasons or appreciate the flight of the swans or the diving of the swallows. I’d be a much poorer person spiritually.

So I thank my snoring sex pest, who, despite his ridiculous behaviour, is actually OK. He’s just a little stupid and over enthusiastic.

H2Orrible
Because of this thing I’m doing this week, I’m not having any pop or coffee and the only drink I can have is tap water. As a child, I’d drink this stuff by the gallon – LOVED it. But as I entered my teens, I discovered my love of coffee, then booze, then the refreshing power of fizzy water and Pepsi to revive me when I was hungover. I lost my love of tap water by the age of about 20.

Once you’ve fallen out of love with something, it’s very difficult to go back. As I sipped reluctantly from my bottle of perfectly nice tap water at my desk today, I pondered how much of the stuff my colleagues drink. They actually enjoy it! Eurgh.

As I regressed into a minor grump, CBT Tina started having a go at me. “You’ve got to stay hydrated or you’ll get a headache. Drink plenty of water and it’ll help keep your tummy feeling full. Also, you’ve got shitbreath, you need a drink.” The bitch was right again.

She’s always right.