When Quintus Lollius Urbicus, Governor of Britain, arranged for the construction of Antonine’s Wall near Falkirk little did he know that a couple of millennia later his earthwork defences at Roughcastle Fort would provide a makeshift paddling pool for The Fatdogs. But such is the nature of Fatdogs that a paddling pool…is a paddling pool, no matter its historic or strategic importance. In fact any sniff of water is a magnet for these black hairy beasts. Fortunately, in this case, a relatively clean magnet with the grassy hollows filled with the recent heavy rain.
I’m stranded. Home alone and stranded with Maisie and Murphy. With the Cupcake Queen in France on holiday Murph has come to stay – complete with his weeks supply of food -which him and Maisie devoured on day one along with my lunch and a leaflet dropper who wasn’t quite fast enough. It wasn’t malicious; they just happened to be eating the front door at the time.
J has absconded to an outward bound camp with her class, taking my waterproof trousers and thus ensuring that I can’t abscond to do any serious walking as the weather is at best…variable. So it’s just me and The Fatdogs.
Cute photo…looks like butter wouldn’t melt doesn’t it…but don’t let it fool you. The only reason butter wouldn’t melt is because it would be swallowed whole as it emerged from the fridge.
As I type I can hear them pacing impatiently outside the study door. I hope there’s something left in the fridge because if there ain’t…it’s me they’ve come for! 😯