As the days get shorter, I face a race against time if I am to get the little dog down the woods for an off-lead run before darkness sets in. This evening though, despite an horrendous journey home (thanks to Salford Council fucking about, putting a bus lane where are there are no bus routes on a major road out of Manchester), I got home in time to grab a quick cup of coffee before grabbing his nibs and taking him for a nice run in the warm air of the early autumn evening. He repaid me by trying to have sex with a collie’s face. That wasn’t the worst of it though, he also took himself off into the undergrowth, where inaccessible to me, he found great pleasure in rolling in undefined animal excrement.

One of these days, I will leave him there, but knowing my luck, he’d find his way back to me.

Why are dogs so vile?

Anyway, I’ve taken myself to my bed and he’s curled up next to me, snoring.

Hibernation
I don’t know what it is with this time of year, but until I grow accustomed to the change in seasons, I always find myself coming to bed as soon as possible after all my evening activities have been accomplished. I use the word “accomplished” loosely. What I mean by this is, get home from work, walk dog, feed dog, feed myself, close curtains. It’s about all I can manage at the moment, with a little bit of housework thrown in. Once all these tasks are out of the way, there’s nothing more to do other than make myself comfortable and the most comfortable place in my house is my bed. I suppose I could sit in the living room for a while, it’s certainly nice enough there, but I can’t really be bothered with the television during the week, I’m not really in the mood for listening to music at the moment, my Kindle is by my bedside… my bed is more comfortable than the sofa…

So here I am, the bedroom window is open and I am being serenaded by the rain and the snoring, stinking dog.

Come winter, I might make this my default living space. Do like they do in stately homes and close down the rest of the house to conserve energy. I could set up a little kitchen in my back bedroom: coffee making facilities and a two ring electric hob. Maybe I could even bring my barbecue up here. Try to explain that one to the insurance company after I’ve destroyed the west wing of Rocky Towers in a greasy inferno.

This will be taking “loft living” to a whole new level. I could refurbish my outside toilet and let out the whole of the ground floor of my house, leaving me to enjoy the luxury of upstairs. I’ve already started drafting plans for a dumb waiter to be installed outside my bedroom window so that accept takeaway deliveries and offer rides to Rocky when he gets bored.

Winter: sorted.

I wonder what the John Lewis Christmas advert will be this year. No doubt, the first commercial break of the X Factor live shows will be given over in its entirety to showing it. I’m betting, and I might be going a little off-piste here, that it features something cute that portrays a non-faith-based true message of Christmas, accompanied by a pared-down folky version of a classic rock song (I’m going for Gary Glitter’s Rock and roll Christmas.) Call me mad, I know it’s never been done before, and it’d be a big risk for them, but it could be a winner! Never knowingly going to beat the Liquor-saving Kwik Save Christmas adverts.

Gosh, one thing about hibernating is that you’re actually supposed to sleep for a bit longer, something that I’ve been failing to do, even though I’ve been taking myself to my bed while my evening meal is still in my oesophagus. It’s now 9.30pm and I’m sure that if I got to sleep in the next hour or so, I might actually feel refreshed when the alarm wakes me at 6.25 tomorrow morning. Alas, the best way of enjoying the comfort of Apartment 1a, Rocky Towers, is to remain awake and marvel at the neutral decor, become one with the memory foam, settle into feather and down.

Bon nuit, lecteurs.