Inglorious Mud

The concert at the Jubilee Hall last night was great, an amateur orchestra performing Beethoven's 7th, inter alia, and what a buzz it must have been for them. You could see it in their faces, the excitement, the thrill. God, did they make a big sound. A professional pianist played Mozart's concerto no. 20 which must also have been a highlight for them, but fair do's, they were good. I was amazed at how many people in the audience I knew as I ushered at the main door and tried to tell them where their seats were though they probably knew better than me as I had never been there before. I got to Aldeburgh early so Hugo could have a stretch along the beach and I could eat my fish and chips in the car - they are really the best, fish fresh out of the North Sea that day, chips fried in beef dripping. Yum. No good for pasty-faced vegetarians.

When I got back to the car and greeted Hugo he started crying and panting, and kept it up all the way home. At times I seriously thought he could have a heart attack, so rapid was his hyperventilation. I couldn't calm him with my voice, and stopped once to let him out but it didn't help. Once back home he relaxed and was quickly OK. I don't know why he gets so upset, but it's awful to witness. Next morning, as sort of reparation, I took him for a long walk nearly down to Bruisyard and it had to be brisk because the north wind was a sharp knife into our exposed bits, despite the sun. The rest of the day we spent in the garden, one of us planting five blue scabiosa, an iris, two clumps opf lysmachia and two red things which I had placed behind the roses but didn't like and have moved to the bank behind the pond - can't remember their name. In between times I dug up horrible plantains that had got a hold where the hazel used to be, and cleared a space around the platycoden which had been covered with weeds. There's still so much to do, what with the rain preventing Nick from getting here, but I'm staying chilled. It'll all get done. But a huge delivery of fruit trees and bushes is awaiting planting, so I hope he can come this week.

Hugo was great, but I felt he needed a treat so I drove to the Woodland Trust about a mile away where I could let him off the lead. Big mistake. The place was sodden, boggy, saturated, and we sank into the mud with every step we took. After a couple of miles it's safe to say we both looked like mudlarks, though I at least had wellies on and he didn't. Back home I tried to contain him on the doormat while I pondered what to do. He couldn't go upstairs to the bathroom in that state, and I probably couldn't lift him into the butler's sink in the cloakroom. Not for the first time I regretted not having made a wet room. In the end I took him outside and washed him as well as I could in a basin of warm water, but it wasn't enough. So I dried him off, waited until he was in a fit state to go upstairs, and then it was into the bath. He emerged after a brisk rubbing with one of my best guest towels all fluffy and even more black. He's zonked out in his bed now, poor little fellow. It's quite done him in, all this fun. Me? I bought a bottle of Villa Maria Sauvignon Blanc on Friday and it's slipping down very nicely. It's been traumatic! I've bathed a dog! He's spark out but I have to eat before I can join him, and the wine is doing it's job very nicely. Cheers!