Talking to humans

Last week I decided that I would return to the shops today. I have to head down to the Chantrys tomorrow for a magazine recording, so I figured today could be a test run…or walk. After talking to Mirinda, she suggested I take one more day at home. So, last night I made, what will hopefully be, my final Waitrose delivery order.

And, of course, it was Les.

He asked about my feet, saying they were looking a lot better. I assured him we’d probably never see each other again. He was oddly pleased. He also told me about his time in Oz during which he flew from Sydney to Darwin in an RAF Hercules. I said that was cool; he said it was great for the first hour but the next seven spent in netting and no windows was a bit dull.

Our conversations are quite short because he has to get to the next delivery but, in our very short acquaintance, we manage to pack a lot into the ten minutes he’s here.

Les wasn’t the only person I spoke to today.

As we left the house for our walk in the park, a woman pulled up across the road and unloaded her two cockerpoos. She’d obviously noticed the name of our house and said “My house should be called Cockerpoo Cottage!“

Her two were a bit bigger than ours and both sported very French poodle cuts. They were both still quite young.

Obviously the girls were not on a lead and went over to say hello while the woman and I ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘ahh-ed’ a bit. I told her that Mirinda said the collective noun for cockerpoos was a cuddle. She loved it and said she’d be using it from now on.

One of her dogs noticed the tennis ball I was holding above Emma’s head – it’s a great way to keep her focussed – and started yapping at the woman. She said that he’s mad for balls. She then told him she hadn’t brought one today.

“I think that’s him telling you off then,” I said, indicating the yapping. She laughed as she headed into the park before us.

Today, we sat on our usual bench for a good hour of ball throwing until Emma decided it was time to go home.

Again, the weather was pretty close to perfect, while in Oz, it is, as Mirinda said: “Bloody freezing.”