A political joke

Oh, what a beautiful morning! The sort of morning that makes you want to go and knock on the door of the Kremlin and ask, 'Is Len in?'

What? You didn't really expect politics from me, did you? I apologise for the joke. It's the only Ken Dodd joke I remember; in fact it's the only joke I remember except for a shaggy dog one involving a rary bird that my cousin told me when we were about 10. And now I come to think of it I only remember the punchline of that.

But it was a glorious morning, still and quiet, warm and with that lovely clear spring light. Just me and George and the birds.

And the people chatting on the path.

We were heading down the hill from the wood when I spotted some dog-walkers on the main path below us. I knew that as soon as George saw them he'd be off like an express train. He only wants to say hello and play but the people were old and their dogs were old. George is young and big and bouncy. I had a sudden vision of a bowling ball with George's face getting a strike.

I decided we'd stop and play fetch until they finished talking.

I was not allowing for the talkability of some people. We gave up and carefully manoeuvred our way around them. I bet they're still there.