Role reversal

My dog is a wimp and I suspect I’m overly aggressive. Well, actually that’s not strictly true but Pluto didn’t want to go for a walk today because of the rain. We actually stood outside with me trying to gently encourage him and him looking at me in the most pitiful way. In the end he huddled round my feet under the umbrella and I let him go back inside. He was – if you pardon the pun – as right as rain when we got back inside. I know he’s not keen on rain but I don’t ever remember him refusing point blank to go out in it?
Anyway, why am I too aggressive? Well, because I don’t let little punks and bad dog owners push me around it seems. We all know about the incident at Dulwich Park and frankly we’ve all moved on, but yesterday I hopped on to a bus to ask the driver if he went down to where I worked. He replied that he didn’t, but in the meantime this yoof had got on and was doing all he could to push past me and another woman so I swung round and all I said was, WAIT! To which he told me to ‘go suck my mother’ and some other things besides. Quite ingeniously using the word fuck as an adjective or as he probably knew it, a ‘doing’ word. I exited the bus muttering things like it wouldn’t happen in my day. Anyway, he went up the stairs, stopped and shouted a challenge or some such and I laughed and turned away because I don’t know about you but the day I start being dictated to, and frightened of, 16 year olds with tourettes, poor fashion sense and a future stretching before them consisting of poverty, waste and crashing disappointment, is probably the day I should seriously think about moving to the Outer Hebrides and living with 60 year old crofters and a handful of sheep.

We went night driving on Tuesday. There’s a whole new bag of pixies. All my senses seemed sharper – but almost to my detriment as everything became a potential hazard! Anyway I soon pulled myself together and drove around with confidence. I took my partner out for a lovely dinner but I have to say, the evening was a little more exhausting than I would have liked. I had to do every bloody manoeuvre you can imagine; three point turn, tricky parking, reversing back on to a street etc., etc. All good practice I suppose.

This evening I’m going to say goodbye to a friend who is going back home to the States. It’s going to be a fun but sad evening. I hope it’s the best thing for him, but selfishly myself and his other friends wonder if it’s the best thing for us.