Work has been rather busy of late. The Autumn and Spring tend to be dominated by lots of events, workshops, press trips and exhibitions. This week I've been traveling round Scotland with a group of journalists from North America, Germany and France, inspiring them to write about Scotland. It's a tough life having to stay in places like this:
It's not all fun. We were forced to do land yachting on the West Strand in St Andrews, which is perhaps more famous for featuring in Chariots of Fire.
Then we inducted the group into the art of caber tossing at GOSFORD House in East Lothian. I don't think Horatio will be chasing after sticks this size any time soon.
I digress however. This post is pondering the depths to which love for your canine friend can go. My travels have meant that Horatio has had to come to terms with a few changes. I hasten to add these aren't monumental. Essentially I have been away the last two weeks and unable to do our usual routine of walks at 6pm. Luckily though HHH's favourite dog walkers, Fran and Ellen have treated him to a second walk each day in my absence. What a lucky chap he is.
Now, this is a tricky situation. How does a WFT express such gratitude for the love I have bestowed on him? A massive welcome on my return? Much jumping, licking and general happiness at seeing me? Eh no. I'm afraid to report some serious damage. I had to return a hire car through work, so popped Horatio in the boot of said car, carefully placing the parcel shelf in the boot with him. It's the same set up in our car and the way in which he is accustomed to traveling. We were in the car barely 40 minutes.
Words fail me. They didn't at the time. The air was blue. The excess on the brand new hire car is £500. I'm still not speaking to him and am concerned our relationship might not get past this. How far can love go?