Skin Deep

The view from my house has changed from golden to muddy beige now as the farmer has scored the earth ready to receive a massive boost of manure. By no means all of the fields have been harvested - I can hear a combine ploughing slowly up and down a few lanes away - but mine are well into the next cycle. With the boy firmly on his extension lead, sniffing wildly and jerking his head up and to the side as he caught a glimpse of something in the distance, we crossed from side to side for a change instead of keeping to the wide margins. I need to be prepared in case he makes a dash for it, and not allow him to pull me over or drag the lead from my hand as usually happens. He still has his buster collar on so I don't know how far he'd get. Yesterday a vet called Michael Something (the Something had a lot of v's and z's and w's in it which makes me wonder if he'll still be here next year?) took Hugo into another room to flush his eyes out and pick the scabs off, and when he came back he looked like a myopic Viszla with pale pink surrounding skin instead of black. All night I kept waking up with a feeling of dread, and each time I remembered his eyes and prayed they'd return to normal soon. This morning they looked much better, so hopefully he'll be signed off later today. And I'm hoping, too, that my Tesco insurance will be better than the last lot.

On Sunday I made a huge summer pudding for my guest, and afterwards wondered why it had to be so big. Old habits die hard I suppose. I did what any sensible person would do, and put it in the freezer for the next lot of visitors. Now I'm kicking myself, and wishing I could have a fat slice every day, and use up the rest of the cream at the same time. But I'm nothing if not disciplined, and I shall not weaken now it's been put aside for a better use. It's not as if I haven't been indulging myself. Yesterday I went to see The Prisoner of Xenda, an absolute hoot in the local Aldeburgh theatre, and beforehand I treated myself to a child's portion of fish and chips, a packet of Payne's mint poppets from the cinema across the road, and a large glass of Sauvignon. Proper replete I was afterwards, greasy and happy.