It could have been a bad weekend beginning as it did with the regular Friday rejection. I've said it before but I'm convinced that, come the end of the week, agents take the next ten submissions on their slushpile and send off a 'no, thank you,' regardless, just to cut down on their workload. I may be doing agents a disservice here but it's odd how often rejections arrive on Friday afternoons.
Saturday saw 'the old enemy' England beat Wales. Wales only came to life for the last ten minutes of the game and, to be fair, came close to pulling off a remarkable turn-round. If they'd managed it they would have deserved the win but they didn't really deserve it. Less said the better.
But two walks in the sunshine followed on Sunday by pieminster Moo pie, mash and mushy peas to celebrate the end of National Pie Week was a happy relief.
George hurt his paw on Monday and felt very sorry for himself ...
but when he was supposed to go in for an x-ray he was much better. Or would have been if the anti-inflammatory tablets he was given hadn't upset his stomach. He pooped and puked for about 48 hours - mainly in the middle of the night. It must have been some sort of sixth sense that stopped me walking in a pile of vomit when I went downstairs in the dark. Sadly, all six senses later deserted me as I knocked over the open-topped bottle of disinfectant ...
So yesterday's gentle little stroll was his first in six days.
Oh, and do you like the cake I made?
It was a special request for someone who loves woods.