Getting the Shivers

It's 5pm on new year's day, but it feels more like midnight at least. Long, it's been, but it hasn't dragged by, and nor did I mope for long after my last guest left this morning. Instead I've been galvanized into action, four beds stripped, and all but one duvet cover washed and dried, and ironed! Do it when they're damp from the tumble drier and they come up lovely, they do. The kitchen looks like a Chinese laundry. Turkey soup is simmering on the Rayburn, and  thick slices of the meat have been shared out into tupperware continers and stuck in the freezer. Going by last year's experience, I know that in a month or so I'll be thrilled to rediscover them. The Xmas decos have been taken down, cards dispatched to the recycling, tree waiting for a dry day to remove it. It's been foul, raining and chilly and dull. Hugo and I have invented a new MO for days like these when walking is too miserable to contemplate. We did get a longish stretch this morning before the light drizzle turned more persistent and heavy, but since then it's been too mean to wander far. He hates being cold and wet as much as I do, and so he uses the shingle drive for what is necessary, and I go out later to clear up. For a dog without MENSA possibilities he isn't half clever.

My constant companion today has been Radio 4, and what a great programme they devised for the beginning of a new year. Throughout the day I've been serenaded by Jeremy Irons reading the works of T.S. Eliot which has been delightful. Between the internet and the wireless it can feel as if the house is full of friends.

I made a rather dismal discovery over the past few days travelling in the back of a car with him. Not only does he pant and sometimes cry in transit but he shakes and shivers as soon as the car starts up, and even my arms around him didn't help. I hadn't realised things were this bad. His anxiety is off the scale, and not just for reasons of separation. Another thing to worry about, and modify my activities to accommodate. I know he has to fit in with my plans, but how can I inflict this on him? It's very perplexing because there could hardly be a happier dog otherwise. Trying on clothes in Collen & Clare in Southwold yesterday I was shamed when the manager asked the crowded shop who owned the very unhappy dog tied up and howling outside. I confessed, saying it would just be a few moments, but she told me I could bring him inside the shop, which she'd prefer (little girl look of pleading), and then proceeded to lead him to me. Oh Hugo, could you not manage 10 minutes while mummy squeezed into a tiny sweater heavily reduced in the sale? Chuffed to bits, he strutted around the shop being petted and praised by everyone. Awful boy. Truly awful.