I was up early this morning and had a nice productive day planned. Now you know if I'm saying that that something must have happened to prevent it. Other people manage to write about very successful days; I write about what went wrong with my day.
Needless to say it was George's fault. Well, I blame him for beginning it and putting me all of a kilter.
He escaped and for about 50 minutes Younger Son and I were scouring the streets - in my case while keeping an eye on our house as a Sainsburys order was due - and even had the butcher and postman on lookout duty.
It turned out he'd gone to visit my friend down the road. She'd tried to phone me but, of course, we were out searching. And George didn't have his collar on so Linda wasn't entirely sure whether it was him or whether she had kidnapped someone else's dog.
(We've been taking his collar off while he's at home because his neck was getting a bit sore, but in future he'll be collared full-time.)
And that just sort of put me out for the day. It's George's fault. Without a shadow of doubt.