Retail Therapy

I had to go to Woodbridge today, and it being so sunny and nice Hugo and I walked along the riverbank by kind permission of Steve, the chatty owner of the boat club. A friend of mine has just bought a houseboat on the river and I was eager to see it. Images of long boozy summer lunches lounging on the deck flashed before my eyes. I then parked in town, but I had no cash for a decent stay so had to settle for half an hour, 50 pence. I left the boy and headed for the shops. But as usual I was quickly at a loss. I do all my shopping online, and I mean all. I browse, I buy, and if necessary I return, usually to John Lewis or Amazon. It's so easy, I'm in perfect control, and I don't have to negotiate actual shops which I hate. (I make an exception of Waitrose. Waitrose is god.) But every time I do this I forget that I don't even know how to shop in real time any more. I shuffled into the shoe shop and had a quick look, I glanced into the new Co-op, I bought some Q-tips in Boots, and some takeaway lunch in Honey and Harvey. And then I didn't know what to do next and so returned to the car with 11 minutes to spare on the ticket. Hugo was pleased to see me, or at least to smell my lunch, but I felt a complete pillock. My friend Helen is always asking me to go shopping with her, to massive malls like Blue something, but I tell her Helen, I promise you you don't want to go with me. She loves to shop till she drops, a whole day of it. So do I, but I drop before I reach the first fancy boutique. It wouldn't work. I love Woodbridge, but I must remember not to hit the shops with any sense of keen anticipation again.

I've been continuing the play classes with Hugo, getting him to chase the ball and catch it in his mouth, or marmalise teddy with me pulling on one end. He'll join in with relish, and then he's done, and when I throw the soft squeaky ball for him again he'll ignore it bouncing off his nose, and just give me an old-fashioned look. I took some photos of him in action and was shocked to see how big he is. I thought I'd got an Italian greyhound, a tiny skinny little thing I could carry in my pocket. I think I'll ask for my money back. He gets more like a racehorse every day.

A beautiful bouquet of flowers was couriered to me last week. I thought I'd photograph it from outside, through a rain-spattered window.