Herself wanted to go to the village yesterday for a pack of fags.

We drove down and I parked in front of the coffee shop. I knew that buying a pack of fags was going to take at least an hour, if not longer. Herself is like that.

So I got my mug and settled down outside. It was bloody cold, but one must make sacrifices if one wants a puff on the pipe these days. At least the tables weren’t crowded.

It was very pleasant [apart from the cold]. I even met some friends who I hadn’t seen in years.

Of course I was asked for directions.

The first was a motorcyclist. I don’t like motorcyclists since they started wearing those black balls on their heads, so I sent him up to the bogs at the top of the mountains.

The second was an old man who was even older than me. He was on foot, so I couldn’t send him up to the bogs. I told him where the place was that he was looking for, but of course sent him by the long route.

Our Sandy [the dog] was in the car which was beside me. If I leave her in the car, she moves to the driver’s seat. You can see she feels important. She sits there as if waiting for a passenger to return, looking very solemn.

Some tourists came by. You know the type – all cameras and huge backsides. What they were doing here in November is anyone’s guess.

“Aw gee Honey. Look at the cute little doggie who thinks he’s driving the autoâ€?.

Honey stepped into the road in front of the car to photograph Sandy.

I couldn’t resist it. I stepped over and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Word of advice, palâ€? says I. “If she starts the engine, get back on the footpath quick. She’s well known around here as a reckless driverâ€?.

The tourists didn’t know what to say or think. They ran.

Sandy grinned. She loves a good laugh.