It was a crisp night last night, and it wasn't raining, so I decided to take our little doggie for a walk. Readers may remember the fiasco that was the melon-fuelled diarrhoeal nightmare called "walking the dog", but little Samo hadn't been near any type of fruit for some days so I felt reasonably safe.
My beloved was sitting watching TV and knitting and my dear son was occupying that device of Satan called the computer. I had a pile of marking to do, but after the hours of echoing boredom at Teacher's Only Day at Nuova Lazio High, I needed some mindless, non-cerebral task to occupy my tired body.
It was too early to suggest a little bit of hanky-pankie with my beloved (anyway, any mention of sex in front of the boy was a big no-no), so a walk with the doggie would do instead.
|bullet proof tweed|
I went through my usual pre-walkies procedure. Warm flat cap (imported from Scotland, and made from bullet-proof Tweed), sensible walking shoes, thick woolen jacket, MP3 player and earphones.....I was forgetting something, what was it....oh yes, the hipflask of whisky.
Clipped the doggie to the lead (from which hung a container holding a copious amount of poo-bags) and of we went. Down to the bottom of the driveway, quick refresher from the hipflask, plugged in the headphones and set the player to "Random". The strains of The Proclaimers "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" was filling my ears as we dawdled off down the hill, doggie sniffing everything in sight. As we headed up the side road, I was listening to Paul Robeson singing "The Minstrel Boy", and as we cam back down the side road, I was marching briskly along to "The Black Bear" an old Scottish pipe tune used as a regimental march.
I had almost finished the hip flask by now, and was feeling absolutely no pain as we reached the bottom of the driveway. We would normally head back up toward home, but the doggie seemed keen to walk a bit more, and as he had been well behaved, and hadn't pooed even once, I allowed him to lead me up the other side road for an extra 10 minute extension walk. I completely drained the hip flask and settled the earphones more snugly as the random selector flicked to the next track. It was Chris Brown's "Forever". I am not really a great fan of hiphop, but I had seen the amazing video of the famous wedding using this track to precede the bride down the isle, and thought it was amazing, so I had downloaded the music.
I must admit it's quite a catchy tune, and as it boomed into my ears, I began to move to the infectious rhythm as we walked up the hill. I was great. Spinning, reverse steps, vigorous arm movements, knee bends and swoops. It was a dark night, with only the widely spaced street lights giving much illumination, and as I swooped and jived up the hill, the night gave a great feeling of security, almost like being invisible.
I say almost advisably, because as I reached the top of the hill and was preparing to walk back down to our driveway, I spotted a girl leaning on a balcony of one of the houses lining the street. I can only estimate her age as a teenager, and she was laughing.
I had thought she was leaning on the guard-rail, but she was actually doubled up with laughter. She must have been watching me for the last 5 minutes as I had danced (very badly) up the hill. The sight of this slightly portly semi-elderly figure hip hopping up the street had obviously been giving her great amusement, and as I gave her a very sickly grin and prepared to retire rapidly (definitely without dancing this time) down the street, I saw to my horror that she (like almost all teenagers) was holding a mobile phone. And it was pointing at me.
I know that many of the modern phones can take video clips, and I know how easily they can be uploaded to YouTube, so if anyone sees a video of a man dancing with his dog in a street at night, just don't tell me. I prefer to live in semi-blissful ignorance.
It is a catchy tune though.