Monday I sat in the lounge sofa trying to make sense of my map and some tourist brochures, when one of their golden retrievers came in and promptly demanded attention. I petted the animal, but soon returned to my maps. Uhm, no. Not having it. Using her head as a ram, the dog shoved my arm away and then put her adorable face on my leg and looked up at me. So how could I resist? For the next ten minutes I kept petting and scratching and cuddling the dog. Every time my attention drifted too much to the maps, she would give a little sigh and nudge me with her snout until I returned to my main task in life, which was apparently to give love & comfort & cuddles.
Tuesday I got a pic of her as I was parking my car for the afternoon, and she came running right up to greet me. I think you'll all agree it was ten minutes well spent.
The cat was extremely friendly and came right up to me and started purring and rubbing. Later I saw him outside, having fun with some canvas that was flapping in the wind. It was hilarious to watch him run back and forth, trying to catch and kill a piece of rope attached to the canvas, and to see the terrified look on is little face when the wind became too strong and the canvas started really flopping around and making noise.
Pwetty little cat.
Playing with the edge of the canvas.
Ah killed me shome rope!
The drive there is a bit of a drag, as it's outside a small village, essentially in the middle of nowhere - but what a place. Every night as I drove out and back again, there were rabbits and pheasants in the road, so I had to drive very slow.
I've also had some nice chats in various pubs around eastern Britain. One example of the quick, British wit... Sunday I was stuffing face in the only pub in a small village in Suffolk (which, incidentally, is pronounced "sahfuck"). Next to me was a table, where four people were chatting away and also stuffing faces. When time came for dessert, one of them spilled some sauce on the edge of the table, and not having any more napkins, he tried to scoop it up with a coaster. Seeing his predicament I offered him my lightly used napkin, which he gratefully accepted. When he was done, he returned the napkin and said in as forlorn and sad a voice as he could muster "they don't let me out very often". The pub also had this little sign by the bar:
Another time, I was having breakfast and got to chatting to this retired couple from Grimsby. The guy was reminiscing about his work days and how everybody who worked on the docks had a nickname. One of the names given to a guy was "Ed Bungalow". Why bungalow, I inquired. "Well", came the answer, "he didn't have anything upstairs, did he?"
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