Milestones

More of a contrast between two days there could hardly be. Yesterday I went for a river trip when the sun shone unexpectedly - "Congratulations for picking such an unlikely day, forecast to be dull and grey!" laughed the boat's captain, Trevor - and there was almost no wind, perfect sailing conditions. My companion and I sat next to a jolly-looking lady from Milton Keynes who filled her ample dress to capacity. Teased for coming from such an awful place she refuted its poor reputation and entertained us with tales of the town's famous concrete cows which often get arty makeovers during the night, pyjamas, painted stripes and the like. Still nobody much fancied going there, and who could blame them when Suffolk boasted the sort of scenery we were passing through. Trevor had plenty to tell us about the history, social and economic, of the landscape we passed, but there was almost no sign of habitation now, and none of the old industrial workings that brought prosperity to this very rural area. My friend is writing an epic poem about the river, and she had a detailed drawing of the creeks and long-neglected piers we passed. We met her partner for lunch when we got back, the pub packed with people lured to the water's edge by another lovely day. I could have stayed all afternoon but I had to rescue Hugo, left with Penelope and Roger who kindly looked after him for me. He loves being there, with them. I don't have a moment's anxiety about him.

And so I wasn't expecting to wake up today feeling ill, headachy, heavy and lethargic. Apart from having to cancel my duty in Leiston it means Hugo can't have proper exercise, being limited to being let out in the field and urged to go as far as he likes, ideally at top speed and always productively, leaving behind a generous pee and a mighty poo. And that is a shame because, drum roll, he has been with me now for six months. Half a year. And I would like to have had a celebratory walk with him, maybe taken him out for lunch, a few glasses of bubbly. He doesn't know of course, and nor does he complain at the loss of his usual privileges. Happy anniversary dear Hugo. The pleasure has been all mine.