It is with great pleasure that I can announce that we’ve had summer. The past two weeks or so have erased the memories of the cold easterly chill that cursed us and made our bones shiver for so long. There has been warmth and sunshine. The nation is invigorated… and burnt to a fucking crisp.

After spending a few hours after work and most of the past two weekends exposing as much as myself as is decent to those wonderful, warming ultraviolet rays, I am carrying a healthy glow. My intention this weekend had been to get sunburnt to within an inch of my life, but sense took over and I saved myself the agony with a good covering of factor 8. I don’t think you can get factor 8 any more.

The smell of sun cream on my skin stimulates such joy. Then I rub it into my eyes and the resultant chemical reaction between Piz Buin and contact lenses causes my corneas to melt. But I don’t care, the tears don’t worry me because my ageing skin is protected for a full day. Apart from the skin on my nose, where the sun cream gets rubbed off pretty much as soon as it’s applied because of my need to constantly clear my nasal passages.

So here in bed, there is pleasant warmth radiating from my, hrrm, not sure what colour they are, “tanned” bits.

The little dog doth explodeth
As I entered my house after coming home from work on Friday afternoon, my joy at welcoming the sunny weekend was immediately turned to dread as a familiar smell hit my senses.

“Oh God, he’s pood”

I went upstairs and approached the bathroom, which is the usual scene of such crimes, to be met with faecal carnage the likes of which I’ve never encountered. The little dog had had a major sickness-induced explosive evacuation in the bathroom. My CSI skills concluded that, in an act of desperation, he’d had to poo in the bathroom, then again in the bathroom, and some more. He thought he was safe, so moved to the landing, where his explosive diarrhoea hit the carpet and the wall, then into my bedroom… where he threw up.

I never knew a dog could projectile vomit until Friday afternoon. I never knew a little dog could produce so much awful smelling poo from one little anus.

I’ve spent a good deal of this weekend pursuing him with a toilet roll and some wet wipes so I could clean his nasty little backside before he rubbed more germ-ridden shit on the carpets and soft furnishings.

And of course throughout all of this, he was trying to clean his own bum, so I had two shitty ends to deal with.

What on earth could have caused my poor little baby to get so poorly? Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that he’s a stupid fuck who prefers to drink stagnant water instead of the fresh stuff I carry around for him while we’re out on our walks.

And then there’s his love of rolling in stuff. Yesterday he surpassed himself with a dead fish. When I bathed him, the magic bubbles released from his fur: general dirt; poo; sand; grass; moss; fish remnants; goose poo; fox poo and la piece de resistance: a cricket.

GOD!

If EVER I think for one second about getting another dog, I will remind myself of this weekend.