I get up, make a fuss of George, let him out to wee.
I switch on the computer, put on the kettle, get his breakfast.
He comes in, eats his breakfast, I make tea and start on my bran flakes.
He goes out to poo; I say to him, 'Don't you dare run away.'
So this morning the second thing he does is climb over the front fence; I run out and drag him back.
He sits and sulks; I return to the study and watch.
He rushes over the fence and heads for his escape route.
I dash upstairs, pull jogging trousers and jumper over nightie and bedsocks, grab his lead and make for the gate.
He is halfway down the road. I call him, he looks round and speeds up.
I start trotting and catch up with him as he's about to go in someone's garden. I try threats and treats. He prefers a new garden. The Terrier's garden. I follow him so far but feel it won't really do for me to be seen running round their back garden, so I go back to the road and wait.
Now comes my brilliant idea. (Oh, how many times have you read that?)
I crouch down outside the garden wall, where he can't see me, so I can grab him when he comes out.
Seconds pass. Then minutes. I am wondering whether I should check what he's doing when I hear the tinkling of his collar. Behind me. I look round and he's further down the road, watching me.
As is the man in the portakabin set up, a few yards along the road, as our polling booth for today.
The tone is set for my day.