I have survived the dog exercising quite painlessly. Perhaps my poor walking skills are all in the mind|? I enjoyed chats with all the other doggy walkers in the village and up on the downs, especially when I got lost.
Grand daughter M came today and gave me a first hand report on the Occupy London Protest. It is not true that they are all rich middle class kids who go home each night to warm beds and gravy dinners, leaving their tents empty. In fact M says that most of the campers are older people, not rabble rousing students and they have endless earnest meetings. I am a hundred per cent behind them and wish I could join them but have never been much of a camper, particularly not on the hard stony ground outside St Pauls.
It is White Night in Brighton, (the night the clocks go back) Cinemas, concerts, museums,clubs, even the Quaker Meeting House stay open till the small hours. Shall I go, or sit at home on the sofa and watch Strictly Come Dancing?

Dog Days

I am looking after Jumble while J and Co go off to Morocco for half term. He looks puzzled, lying in his bed in the cubby hole under the stairs. I have taken him out three times today, the first time before dawn. I worry that he is bored. It is like when the grandchildren come and feel I need to do cooking activities or cutting out and sticking. He does seem perfectly happy, in spite of the fact that I have been sternly told not to spoil him with titbits or treats.
I have a Kindle, sent from USA by son W as a birthday present. It is very light and thin, not much bigger than a postcard, and it seems unbelievable that I could read the whole of Dickens or Jane Austen on it, also the Oxford English dictionary,(which will be very helpful for the Guardian crossword)
I am listening to Poetry Please on Radio 4 as I write this. I think back to all the years and years I have listened to this programme on a Sunday afternoon and always intend to send a request and never do, perhaps I will today?

`summer nights` in autumn

Last night I went to a performance of Grease. It was a fundraising show done by the hospice in Brighton where daughter J works. (she was in it, as was seven year old Tiger)  The whole audience was enraptured. There was a standing ovation at the end. All this in spite of forgotten lines, long pauses, hardly any scenery, piped music, but the goodwill and spirit of it all made up for any shortcomings and to see those middle aged women and their children dancing away with wild abandon dressed as teenage American high school kids was sheer joy.  I loved it.   The sad thing is that the Day Unit of the hospice has had to close due to lack of funds which is a tragedy.
I am not so sure about the dog. A friend reminded me that at the end of say Downton Abbey at 10pm, I would have to put on my mac and boots and venture out in total darkness and maybe pouring rain to take it out for a walk.   In the meantime, J keeps ringing up with offers of free terrier puppies with adorable faces who need a home.