Life is full of mysteries. The one that is perplexing me this morning is why the dog’s lead was lying halfway up the stairs. Not at the bottom in the thing we have for his lead and his harness and his cloth muzzle that we have to take with us everywhere because German Shepherds are classified as a ‘restricted breed’ because this is one of the many ways our government are very stupid indeed – but right there in the middle.
Well, mostly the middle. There are 10 steps, then a slight return, then two more steps, then the landing between the rooms at the top of the house, and there, on step 7 (from the bottom) is his lead. Just sitting there in an accusatory fashion.
I don’t know necessarily what it’s accusing me of, but I don’t appreciate the way it’s looking at me, as if I haven’t taken the dog out but in fact I did take him out last night when I got home. We went around the block and we saw an injured fox. Poor old foxy was pretty lame on one leg and he was very thin, which made me feel sorry for him, but Archer was not quite as sympathetic.
His focus was very much on catching the fox then getting the fox and then killing the fox but I’m a pacifist and there’ll be no killing on my watch unless, as we go for our late night walk, there’s a lame, very thin former drummer from Genesis going down the road ahead of us, scurrying over garden walls and so on. In that case Archer can do what he wants.
Will we ever know the mystery of the dog lead? Probably not. It is one that will fascinate mankind for ages. Or as long as we’re alive which may not be as long as we’d like to due to World War III being imminent so we might as well just enjoy ourselves as much as possible in the meantime. Ever wondered what a cheese and onion crisp sandwich would be like if you added peanut M&Ms to it? Now is the time to try because as the mushroom clouds envelop the earth you’ll be regretting it.
The other morning someone sent me three WhatsApp messages at about 4am and I refused to look because I was sure that these messages were from someone who was telling me the world was at war and that we were all going to die. As long as I didn’t look at those messages, then it couldn’t be true, so I just turned over and went back to sleep to dream about Theo Walcott and whales.
In the end it turned out to be information about Jordan Pickford which was much less cataclysmic and, I have to admit, far preferable to being blown up. I mean, would Dublin be a target? I guess if the bombs were launched you’d see London, New York, Paris, Munich and so on targetted, but would we be left alone?
I know we inflicted Conor McGregor and Bono on the world, and all we can do is apologise for that, but mostly we don’t get involved in any of the hoo-haa that goes on. It’s a European capital city though, so chances are somebody has got a nuke trained on us, and I live quite close to the city centre so I’d probably get blown to bits.
I guess that would be better than being one of the walking dead, afflicted by radiation sickness, and unable to pass the time by watching episodes of Rick and Morty on Netflix because Netflix wouldn’t a thing any more because you can be sure there’s a bomb that will target THE INTERNET and people will evolve and grow tails and probably learn to live underground like moles.
I don’t want be a mole, they are such arseholes.
Meanwhile, Mesut Ozil isn’t worried about the big things, but more about whether Arsene Wenger is going to be boss next season. He says:
It’s important to know if he stays or if he goes. We need to think towards next season. When I went from Madrid to Arsenal, I came for him because I told him at the time he’d be my first option. That was the case. We still have a super understanding today.
I have his trust, he’s a superb coach. He’s been successful for many years, he’s been here for 20 years and has always managed to get Arsenal to reach the Champions League, making Arsenal a big club. He deserves to be shown respect.
Typical footballer, not caring about whether or not we’re about to become mole-people living in dank caves and eating worms and radioactive cattle. Will we also become cannibals? Probably. When you’re denied spicy chicken wings there’s no telling how far you’ll go when hunger takes over, so you’ll excuse me if I don’t pay much attention to the trifling issue of whether a man keeps his job or not.
I’m off to build a shelter and fill it with tins of Heinz baked beans but the ones with the ‘sausages’ in them, because they’re delicious, made more so by the shame you feel when you eat them. You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t pretend otherwise.
Have a good one.
