Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"
Of course there was a Met Office amber warning out for the venue. But we were going anyway. One of the party decided against, and was teased about melting in the rain. How right he was!
We got in dry, and settled with coffee, watching the others arrive in the downpour that hit just as soon as we were in.
And it rained on and on. The judging was.....well, none too remarkable. Fidget, as usual, began to frizz round the edges in the damp. Angel, who couldn`t care less, was second in a class she should have won. And it got colder and colder. And the wind got up. I was really chilled, and shivering in deep shudders. I decided that I would wait in the car, where at least the wind and horizontal rain couldn`t reach. I got soaked to the bone just getting there. I sat in there shivering, as gusts rocked the car and the rain hammered down. My kind friend fetched the dogs - and with his usual great sense of occasion, Fidget had had diarrhoea. He received no sympathy at all.
The venue was by now flooded. The rings were under water. So was the car park, and towing out was underway. But we were on hard standing and had no trouble.
We headed home with the heating on full, steaming visibly. The malodorous Fidget was shoved well to the back. Gradually we dried off a bit. We did not know that behind us, the show had been abandoned, and the whole area was flooding, the West Coast rail line was cut off, and villages were being evacuated. We just knew we were dreadfully wet. I haven`t been so wet since my sailing days, years ago.
Home and straight to bed with a hot water bottle.....