Oh Dear.
Herself has just chucked away a selection of manky socks, which is fair enough. They’re clean – but old, tired, and in need of chucking away. However, Hound has found them in the bin, and they’re now scattered all over the house, where she’s been playing with them. She particularly likes them when the socks are still bundled in pairs, as it means she can also undo the bundles, but once they’re undone, she likes playing pulling.
When doing this, I can actually lift her front feet off the ground completely. I’m currently debating the wisdom of trying to lift her completely off the ground, and how she’ll handle that…
I’ve actually no idea whether I’ve spelled that correctly or not.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about some of the places I used to work. One of them was the Black Horse in Woburn, which I loved. Well, I loved most of it. The exception was the manager, who I clashed with epically.
However, I was wondering what happened to him. Google knows fuck-all when his name’s entered (well, with the exception of stuff that I already knew, such as the Carrington Arms). So – and I know it’s a seriously long shot – has anyone who reads this heard of a publican called Eddie (or Edwin) Cheeseman?