Shovel Not Required

L has arranged the collection of our Christmas Day goose for around 7am this morning. Which she was going to do herself but she’d asked me to be on standby with a shovel in case we’re under a foot of snow. She was convinced that if the weather thinks she’s driving, it'll snow. Well we’re under about a few millimetres of the stuff, so I drag my hangover out of bed and help out anyway. Shovel not required.

That confuses the dogs, a trip out in the car at 6.30am before their morning walk. Our resident sock destroyer is probably relieved, not that we’re speaking. He’s been struggling a lot with his paws icing up. Someone has advised us to put baby oil on them. Baby oil on his paws would freak him out probably just as much as ice and can you imagine the mess on the kitchen floor. We’d need to leave a towel and a bowl of warm soapy water by the door for after his walk, which MD would probably drink.

My mid-morning my hangover is relenting. I should be 100% by the time I get to the pub at lunchtime. Which turns out to be quite a good session. Apart from having one of the seven dwarves behind the bar. Grumpy. Food service was slow as well which meant we had to have a ninety minute lunch and a second drink. Which was horrible as I’m sure you can imagine.

None of which is particularly good preparation for squash tonight. Not that I’m particularly bothered. It is Christmas after all. My present to him will be very little resistance on the squash court and so it proves. 5-0.

That’s despite my opponent complaining of multiple injuries obtained whilst ten pin bowling... back, arm, forearm, knee... Sounds like somebody chucked a bowling ball at him.

After getting home I concoct this year’s eggnog, just to add to the forthcoming, or has it already started, Christmas alcohol fest.

(Thursday 23rd December)

Life In The Old Dog Yet

L races again this morning, taking her hangover on the bus to the Long Eaton 5 miler. Where she proves my point that alcohol is the perfect sports drink and clocks a great time. Particularly impressive with yesterday’s 10k still in her legs. For some reason though she can’t face the free post race Marston’s Pedigree.

She gleefully informs me that there are cakes, a decent t-shirt and a goodie bag which contains chocolate rather than just hair and shower products like yesterdays. There was nothing to eat in yesterdays goodie bag at all and a rubbish polo shirt. I knew I picked the wrong race to do and what’s more she having to eat her goodie bag all on her own. This is very irresponsible of me.

I’m at a dog show, of course. This doesn’t start well as Doggo misses the penultimate jump on his first run. MD though does lovely first run, not clear but still really good, quite smooth. So hoping we’re on a roll, I go straight over to do his next one.... Ah, nope, we’re not on a roll. That was rubbish. Just like an England world cup performance. Well perhaps not quite that bad.

Then later, he puts in another excellent run, regrettably one pole down but he’s only five seconds behind the winner which is good. That’s the closest we’ve been to being on the pace. Progress.

Then, not to be outdone, Doggo puts in two excellent runs. Both clear. His last run was particularly good. He looked quick and he was. Three seconds off the pace of the winner, this is really good for us at this level and checking back it’s actually his best for a jumping course at this grade. Unfortunately it only bagged us 8th, one place outside the rosettes. My father offers his congratulations and the observation that there’s life in the old dog yet. I’m just not sure if he means Doggo or me.

So four super runs from the two boys, yet nothing to show for it but still I’m pleased. At least I get home to find that L’s saved me something from her goodie bag.

Then in the football, a team finally puts in an impressive performance. Of course it just has to be the Germans. Cue horrible premonitions of them going all the way again.

(Sunday 13th June)

The Smell Of Bacon

The smell of bacon, the sound of Daughter’s vocal chords (still going strong after twelve hours) and the beginnings of a hangover get me up fairly early this morning. After serving notice to the hangers-on from last night’s party, I head off on to the park with the dogs and also fetch the car back from where we left it last night.

When I get back home we still have guests but the last few stragglers finally leave around midday. Son summarises the evening on his Facebook, his post apparently done using the on-screen keyboard because his got damaged mid-party, along with his bed and several other things. A pretty good night he reckons, hmmm.

We stay in for the rest of the day, to dry out and clear up. The amount of empties is staggering; I have a serious amount of glass recycling to do. Meanwhile my hangover appears to be working in reverse and getting steadily worse.

I am thrilled for one Derby County stalwart who has been named in the New Year Honours list and awarded an MBE. Gordon Guthrie has been at Derby for as long as anyone can remember. He certainly appears in every team photo taken since I’ve been supporting the club. Guthrie was formerly on the playing staff but then in the late sixties returned to serve as first second team trainer before becoming the clubs physiotherapist. Consequently he has served under over twenty different managers and was given a testimonial in 1988 for 20 years’ service. He is at the club now as kit manager. Gordon will probably never retire and he probably knows too much for anyone to dare to ask him to leave. If he did ever write his memoirs it would be a very revealing read but it won't happen, he’s not the sort of chap to dish the dirt.