I have seen the future and it works - for dogs

When I go up town for my morning coffee and medal-winning sprint around the park on my stalwart rollator, I notice 2 things, both about dogs. Please accept that I do like most dogs and had a beloved one myself who, before her departure to that great kennel in the sky, enjoyed roaming the countryside, sniffing at unspeakable objects. If they were sufficiently disgusting to the human eye and nose, she would roll voluptuously in them and refuse to be bathed afterwards, because that made her an outcast from other canines. She also loved playing with her unfortunately odourless, clockwork mouse. A superb animal who led an animal's life. (The dog, not the mouse). 

Now that my eyes have dried and I can read what I have written, I realise that I have strayed from my theme. The first thing that I observe is that dogs are now going to cafes, although maintaining a sardonic distance from human coffee culture. It won't be long before they have their own urban venues and meet their friends there.

How will they get to Canine Cafe? In the doggy prams that I have also observed. The owners will take them, give them the right money and leave them to chat and socialise. 

 

One hour, and no gossiping about me, please.

You wait: it will happen and all you can do is restrict your pooch's pocket money.

Toddler chariota

When I go up town for my morning coffee and then whizz around the park on my trusty rollator, I see parents out with their infants harnessed into push chairs. (I never encounter those aristocratic, sprung, huge, black prams that Nannies parade in Hyde Park - my town does not do elite). 

What I love is the modern version of toddler transport: those impressive chariots that carry 4 children at once.

I say, did you see that little  dog over there chasing a big ball?

The occupants always look chirpy and inquisitive, looking around with curiosity and sharing their observations. The big plus is that they seem heavy enough to ensure that the person pushing does not have a free hand to hold his or her mobile. How many carers actually talk to the children, encouraging their interests and improving their vocabulary? 

Size ratio of dog to owner

 When I walk round my local park on my sturdy rollator and look at dogs with their owners, I am often struck by how mis-matched they are in size. Tall men have tiny pooches and little ladies have massive hounds. It is discombobulating.

The big dog knows he looks silly with his vertically challenged mistress.

I think it would be a better world if everyone, by law, had to choose a dog their own size. It would make for easier conversation between them if both were at the same level and there would be a pleasing orderliness in modern life which is sadly missing.

Look how ready they are for meaningful discourse.

Please vote me in as Minister for Pooch Co-ordination and I will pledge to do my utmost for the ultimate good of the country, drawing a line under the past, learning from my mistakes, encouraging communities and reaching out on my new journey to those who ... Where was I? Ah - yes. Something about canines. More dentists perhaps. Next Parliament for that little problem.

My posties

I am very fond of the men who deliver my mail. There are two: a short. rotund, smiling one and a tall, thin lugubrious one. Both are efficent and courteous - but shy. That is why I cannot show you a photograph of either; here is their mail trolley instead, safely attached to a convenient lamppost. 

"Letters of thanks, letters from banks ..."

Grateful though I am for my daily visit, I also recall that, in the days when Anthony Trollope revolutionised the service, there were up to 10 to 12 deliveries a day, starting at around 7.30 a.m. and ending at 7.30 p.m. George Bernard Shaw sent off a thick MS of a novel in the morning only to have it returned the same day, rejected. Trollope, during his 33 years as a civil servant, brought the idea of the post box to Britain, although they were sage green at first before becoming the familiar bright red we know and love. Of course, he was also writing many fat novels, drafting them before starting the day's work for the Royal Mail. I wonder what he did with the rest of his time.

 There is no need to show you a pillar box but here is a warning that you should never attempt to drive through a red telephone kiosk just because it looks faded.

Modern annoyances

 The internet and AI are useful and have become a modern necessity. It is difficult to know how we could manage without them. Yet there are aspects which are deeply irksome.

1) Being asked to review a delivery. A person walks up my short, front garden path and places a small package in a box marked "Parcels here". I am then asked to review this amazing achievement by rating the courier's manner, promptitude, courtesy etc. Mostly I have never seen him or her but I feel obliged to do the review so that they will keep their job or even get promotion. One day I'll be asked how kind they are to their great-aunt and I will find myself giving them 5 stars for looking after the old lady so compassionately.

2) Being offered services that I have not asked for. I make a simple Google enquiry about something and AI leaps in and asks me if I would like help exploring it further and in writing about it. If we all said we would, a whole ghastly, bland, unispeak language would take over the world and all quirky individuality would be lost. I make a point of looking for and pointing out a solecism in their use of words. I gather that AI uses a great deal of water and I deplore any unnecessary waste. Just give me the information I ask for and only that, I mumble. Even the BBC is joining this trend by suggesting that I might like to listen to mind-soothing, soupy music when all I want from Sounds is The Archers. The unctuously pseudo-helpful tone is so irritating that I am in need of my own calming remedies like a strong cup of tea. 

That's all for now but there will be more to come! Much more.

Mother, father and child.

 Have you heard those words recently or seen them written on social media? Or even read them in a solemn context such as a person writing about a funeral? 

Neither have I. They have been replaced by Mum (not always with a capital), Dad and kid. People talk about grieving for their mum or sending their kids to school. I know I am old-fashioned but I think it's a pity to lose the more formal tone entirely.  Let's keep the subtle distinctions of different registers. 

"Upset" and "incredibly"

 These two words have a profoundly disagreeable effect on me. "Upset" is a bland umbrella term used to mean anything from mildly bothered to deeply distressed. "Incredibly"denotes the exact opposite of what is meant: the speaker expects the listener to believe what s/he has just said cannot be believed.