For the moment, I'm not going to waste my time describing how the bathroom is packed out with raw meat and frozen foods, how I managed to stack 27 pints of milk on top of my midget-size fridge, or even how before wheeling the Morrison's trolley around the back and dumping it in the canal, I smashed open the coin slot and recuperated my Maggie. No, sir-rhee! For now, I'm going to tell you a story about a dog...

Marlowe is Mr Bartholemew's beautiful black and white Border Collie. He has soft ragged ears, brown eyes and the most wonderful sheen to his coat. I found him sitting on my doorstep this afternoon with the fur around his mouth dyed red and clumped together with congealed blood. With his head slightly tipped to the right, he looked up at me as if he was listening to something. When I mase to move he barked. But not aggressively. He didn't wrinkle up his nose, show his teeth or snarl. He just barked once “Wooof!” then looked, listened, waited, before barking again. I had seen this kind of thing on TV. He was giving me a sign. Somewhere a child was lost or hurt or had fallen down a manhole.
“What is it Marlowe?” I asked “Is someone in danger? Hurt? Is it a child? ”
“Yes? But where? Over here? There?” I said trying to pass. But Marlowe wouldn't let me. Each way I tried to move he blocked my path.
“Hmm. So it's not an accident? No-one's been hurt? Then what? A bank robbery? An assault? RAPE? Is a crime being committed?”
“No. Then have you lost some...?”
“A thorn in your...”
“Thirsty. I bet you're thirsty! D'you want water?” I asked slightly retreating. At this Marlowe sat quiet. I went into the kitchen, hurriedly filled my watering cannister and returned. Before I had even sat it down for him: “Wooof!”
“Ah ha, so it's not water but food you want? Marlowe's hungry!” When I said that he straightened his head and back, and sat fully to attention. The only time he moved was to give his bloody chops a quick once around with his tongue.
“Meat! You've found John's trail of meat and followed it here! Ha ha ha, You clever thing! Well, Marlowe My Boy, it's your lucky fucking day!” For the second time I retreated, but this time to the bathroom. From the meat bag I pulled out two slippery bits of kidney. When Marlowe saw me coming back with the meat, his eyes lit up like full moons and the white tip of his tail batted about on the yard floor. “Here ya go, Boy!” I said tossing the kidney's over his head so he'd vacate the doorway and allow me out to water the plants. Marlowe made a kind of twisted leap as the kidneys passed over him and landed with a 'slap' on the floor. I heard a few piggish grunts, a little bit of slopping and then the meat was in Marlowe's gob and he was hurrying away, back down the road to No.6. I pulled the gate closed, smiled and thinking about drought and world hunger I proceeded to sprinkle water over my tomato plants.


  1. A Maggie = £1 coin - As in Maggie Thatcher (under whose premiership they were introduced) Also because it was said, 'it's brassy, two-faced and thinks it's a sovereign' (the then Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, had a noticeable tendency to mimic some of the more regal characteristics of Her Majesty).

    More money slang

  2. I like your art. Really thought provoking.

  3. I love this post - I've been away from Waiting for John for too long. xx

  4. @ Marlowe: John's got Brian (who shres the same name as the dog in (Family Guy) and I've got you. Wooof! Wooof!X

    @ Shane: Oh thank you and welcome!!!. For some reason it feels strange to type your name. X

    @ Helena: I'll send you a little update, skitting past the rude bits (though not the bit about Brians little toe sized willy). Hope Finland is treating its Hommecoming Queen well? X

  5. Glad to hear it Jeannie. Thank You! X

  6. Where would we be without dogs? How would they ever find the corpses of murder victims unless someone was out walking their dog in the depths of forests and fields where only serial killers and dog walkers go.

    'Thatcher, had a noticeable tendency to mimic some of the more regal characteristics of Her Majesty'.

    Baroness Thatcher (known to we in the Inn Crowd as 'The Baroness' ) is far more Regal than that sour-faced non-entity currently parked in Buckingham Palace.

    I will not allow pictures of The Windsors in any of my properties. Especially those ones of Prince Harry my nephew downloads from the internet. Why would a prince of the realm choose to be photographed half-naked with a giant banana (I presume) stuffed down the front of his trousers?

  7. Abigail, warm, warm. But don't forget that Marlowe is MY friend and dogs are notorious for being being loyal creatures... (until someone else feeds them).

    Ah yes, 'Baroness', the toilet cleaners of the peerage system. How could I forget.

    I do like the Inn Crowd though... actually regard myself as a part of it. X


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