One man and his dog
Grandad August 5th, 2007
I had to go into town the other day.
Not the near town – the other one.
It’s a long drive, but Herself had ordered something over the phone and had packed me off to collect it. It really annoys me when she does that. But I suppose it’s better that bringing her shopping as the waiting around drives me mad. Anyway, I had Sandy for company.
We took the main road there, but they had changed the road around and I got lost. The b*st*rds keep doing that to me. I swear they do it on purpose. Why can’t they leave the damned roads alone?
We got there in the end, and I collected the stuff. I got back in the car to drive back and probably to get lost again.
But Sandy insisted she wanted to go the other way. The back roads. That takes hours. But Sandy pointed out that it was better than getting lost again, so she had a point.
I let her drive.
I dozed quietly in the passenger seat. Sandy is a good driver. Very careful. But she has a nasty habit of suddenly jumping into the back seat and curling up and going to sleep.
Luckily I was able to slide over and regain control before we went into the ditch.
Shortly after, we were pulled over by a motorcycle policeman.
He strode up and glared at me. Then he looked at Sandy. Then he looked at me again.
“Was that dog driving the car?” says he.
“Don’t be silly,” says I “dogs can’t drive cars.” I heard Sandy snigger on the back seat.
There wasn’t much he could say to that so he let me go.
Last I saw of him as I drove over a hill, he was breathalysing himself.
We got home eventually. Of course the back roads had about ten sets of temporary lights on them. And they all turned red just as I reached them.
That f*ck*ng council is out to get me. I know it.
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