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 driverâs 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 â all cameras and huge backsides. What they were doing here in November is anyone’s guess.
âAw gee Honey. Look at the cute little doggie who thinks heâs driving the autoâ?.
Honey stepped into the road in front of the car to photograph Sandy.
I couldnât resist it. I stepped over and tapped him on the shoulder.
âWord of advice, palâ? says I. âIf she starts the engine, get back on the footpath quick. Sheâs well known around here as a reckless driverâ?.
The tourists didnât know what to say or think. They ran.
Sandy grinned. She loves a good laugh.