OK, fine. Fine! I’ll post something already. But it won’t be an apology for my long absence, because really, there is no excuse.
So, what have I been doing, as I’m sure all three of you are clamouring to know? Well, for starters, living in Wales. Not permanently of course (dear God, what if I developed a Welsh accent? I’d have to boil my tongue in lye!), but just for a month to train a new employee at the company head office. We’re staying in a very posh holiday flat right in the centre of a lovely town on the Welsh border, and actually it’s sort of awesome being able to walk to shops and pubs (plural!) again. The only drawback is that Wales, unlike Cambridgeshire, has very distinct seasons, one of which is winter. Dude, it is cold. Not full-on, pray-for-death Canadian cold, but cold enough to make me think to myself every day, “Wow, it is winter,” which is something I really haven’t done since I moved to the UK, except for that one summer in Manchester.
It gets so cold in the flat overnight that I tried to come to bed last night with a T-shirt and pants on, forcing SiC to pinch, tickle and otherwise torment me until I stripped off, not because he likes me better naked but because he likes to prove to himself that he can exert his manly power over me. Yup, I’m pretty convinced that’s why. (Actually what he said was, “What is this, some sort of political statement? Have you been listening to Woman’s Hour again?” Oh har har.)
On top of moaning about the cold, I’ve been watching a lot of The Dog Whisperer (how do I fit it all in a day?). The Dog Whisperer is the most ingenious, brilliant, hilarious show ever made. I may be exaggerating here, but not by much. NOT BY MUCH, PEOPLE. I mean, it’s dog psychology as interpreted by a camp Mexican hippie, basically. What could be more entertaining? And – have you noticed this? – there is absolutely no problem, no dog so unruly or unsocialised or downright psychotic, that Cesar cannot cure it instantly by jabbing the dog with the tips of his fingers and going “PSST!” Seriously. That is full the extent of his training technique. Jab – “PSST!” – perfectly behaved dog. He is magical.
And also, completely fucking barmy. I mean, just the jabbing and the “PSST!”-ing would get a bit tired, but his explanations about why the dogs are behaving badly are fucking genius. It’s always about the owners not projecting “calm assertive energy” and not “living in the moment” and how they need to “move forward” and “achieve balance and understanding” and “create their intentions”. He’s like a dog Scientologist.
In fact, I love The Dog Whisperer so much that I’ve invented…the Dog Whisperer Drinking Game! Rules are as follows:
Every time Cesar looks ever-so-slightly exasperated with yet another neurotic yuppie who can’t get their twitchy bug-eyed rat-creature to stop jumping on the table, drink.
Every time Cesar somehow mysteriously WTFs the conversation from “The dog bites other dogs” to “You need to stop dwelling in the past and living in this negative story you’ve created in your head”, drink.
Every time you think, “Dude, I could do that,” drink.
Every time a dog owner obviously thinks the same thing and yet continues to fail abjectly to control their dog, drink.
Every time Cesar “explains” what is going through a dog’s mind and does a hilarious re-enactment of the dog’s behaviour, including growling, jumping and barking, drink.
Every time Cesar sums up the lessons of the day with a blissed-out pitbull licking his face, drink.
Every time you wonder if Cesar’s teeth are real, drink.
Every time Cesar somehow magically fucking hypnotises a totally mental dog just by going “PSST!”, have a very small sip. If you took a proper drink every time, you’d pass out before the first commercial break.