Post 402. BUDDY HAS BEEN BACK.

YOU DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW.

BUT I THOUGHT I'D TELL YOU.
Sue, his new guardian, brought him here last Friday: a daughter was getting married on the Saturday so it was all systems go in their house and if Buddy had remained there he would have had to spend long spells on his own. He is no recluse. He likes people.
So he had a break at his weekend retreat.
It was lovely to see him again. I had quite forgotten the delight of scooping up poop off a wet lawn. It was worth the trouble. He still enjoys chasing a ball on that lawn. I get worn out throwing it before he does retrieving it, but we are one man and his dog for as long as the game lasts. Afterwards he has a biscuit and we both have a drink: then he has a nap with his 'baby.'
Daft? Of course it is. It's the English with animals.

He cheerfully went back with Sue and her husband, John, on a damp Sunday morning. His demeanour suggested he still liked our company but was not unduly sorry to be leaving us. That's fine. We shall still see him occasionally and he obviously gets spoiled rotten where he is now. Sue, John, and family are clearly the right people for him. He is happy and so are we.
Oh, the wedding went well and was blessed with ample sunshine.
THEN CAME THE RAIN

ON SUNDAY.

When Buddy departed the weather was unpromising but no more threatening than it normally is in this weather obsessed country during July.

We then received a welcome visit from one of Roz's childhood friends, Wendy, with her daughter Lyla. Wendy and family were over here from Brighton on a short camping holiday. Her widowed father still lives here. A pleasant afternoon was spent reminiscing and our guests departed in similar unpromising but unthreatening weather as that earlier experienced by Buddy and Pals.

Then came the rain.

Our semi-relatives and pals Daryl and Sian - voluntary dog walkers for Buddy when we most needed them - live in Binstead, the next village from us on the way to Ryde. Sian's house was badly flooded, and Daryl's decidedly dampened, in the drain-blocked shambles (pictured) that followed the most damaging downpour ever to hit that nice little village.
Mo has a brother-in-law who still believes there is no such thing as global warming.
But he did believe in Margaret Thatcher.

Yeah, I know.

SLOWLY BUT SURELY.

WE ARE DECLUTTERING.

Apparently the shops are running short of stock again and that seems to be down to thousands being pinged by the latest NHS App (another disaster) and a 'let's grab more of everything than we need or some other bastard will have it' attitude that re-emerged in this country during the Thatcher years and will not go away. There is no end to some people's selfishness. You just have to live with it.
Decluttering our house might also be described as selfish. We are gradually parting with Roz's collection of footwear and clothes. Quite a lot of her furniture and household gear has gone to family and friends. We want to see the remainder gone as quickly as possible. While it is here it is a constant reminder. We shall pass on the residue to cancer charities. That will be what she would have wanted. Perhaps we may then be less starkly saddened. Sadly there is no end to deep-rooted grief, either. You just have to live with it.
A SENSE OF HUMOUR HELPS.

WHY AM I THINKING WESTMINSTER AGAIN?
We just have to live with it.
Cheers.