I was out with the dog last night, and our walk took us down towards Allesley Park: a large grassy field slopes down towards the small brook that runs along the bottom, and being a nice warm evening, lots of kids were out on the field playing football. Now, I don't know why, but for some reason, the sight and sound of this always winds Raggs up: she whines loudly and pulls and tugs like mad as if wanting to go and join in. I suspect she must as a puppy have spent some time with a family with kids who played with a ball with her: one of the snags of getting a dog from a Rescue/Rehoming Centre is that you never know what's in their past.
As we got down to near where the brook is, a football appeared in front of her, closely followed by a young lad. Too late: she darted forward and grabbed his ball in her mouth. "Oh, shit!" he exclaimed, but I persuaded her to relinquish the ball and apologized to him. She didn't want to keep it, just to play with it, and although I got her a ball of her own at one time, she doesn't find that nearly as much as playing with other peoples'.
Born in Hornchurch, Essex, I lived for three years in Hong Kong before returning to the UK in 1959.
I was a pupil at Leamington College for Boys and have recently written all about it in the story of my schooldays.
For eight and a half years altogether, I reviewed piercing and tattoo experiences and article submissions for BME, eventually clocking up a total of some 27,500 reviews.
I learned to speak French, German and Italian, but although I can still remember the basics, I'm sadly nowhere near as proficient as I once was.
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