Not Bitter

The dog and I are both looking a bit glazed - him because he's recovering from being sedated and me because I've just paid the vet's bill, all £405 of it. In the end there was nothing serious wrong, just a strain and some swelling, though his pads are cut in places. He's on house arrest for 2 weeks so that he can make a full recovery, and I'm on spending arrest for the forseeable future. The insurance won't cover the bill because apparently I only have emergency cover, and the vet can't complete the claim forms honestly because I rang him the day after the accident occurred. It feels a bit Kafkaesque, and I'm fighting a touch of paranoia, and cancelling my world cruise so that the vet can take my place. At least the boy is OK, though I regret that his days of galloping wild and free are over. What a fragile little thing he is! He's lying beside me, very still and quiet, not quite focussed, but put his food down for him and he's immediately alert.

In his absence I got down to my least favourite task, that of renewing insurances and phone contracts. After half an hour of this I felt as if I'd downed six espressos and a box of chocolate cherry liqueurs. It's the most stressful job there is, what with going on comparison sites and filling in online forms. I didn't make the sort of savings I did with the house and contents, but the car was slightly less than last year. BT have Cransford residents by the short and curlies because no other supplier can offer an alternative in such a remote location. Or so they say. At least my broadband is very cheap, because the service is so poor, but paradoxically mine is better than almost anyone else's in the village. At Christmas all of us were using the internet at the same time and we were still watching Netflix movies on the television. Across the lane Sarah can't even view BBC i-player without a million pauses. Something to be thankful for.

Once Hugo was home (and the bill paid - grrrr) I needed a treat but had nothing in the house, not even a biscuit. So I scraped the bottom of the barrel with a hot croissant drizzled in golden syrup. In half an hour the sun will be over the yardarm. It happens at 6pm or later, but never, ever earlier. There's just under half a bottle of wine in the fridge. It won't be there for long.