On Vestment

While I look forward to the wedding I have to confess that aspects of the Hallett temperament have been tested to the point where a few more days will find it wanting if I am not careful.
I made a mistake you see. She Of The Townhouse asked me what I thought of the outfit she had chosen and I gave her an honest opinion modestly expressed.
I know what you are going to say…. I said it to myself….You would think that a man my age would know better. And indeed I do know better, I really do.
At the first hint of preparation I should have remembered an elderly relative. One who needed repatriation after a spell in a hospital yurt somewhere on the Mongolian Plain. Somewhere with very poor communications in regard to the western world and its expectations.
I was trapped though. Caught like a rabbit in the full glare of a military spotlight. As she uttered the dreadful words. I was stuck in a corner and could see no line of escape.. . . .
“What do you think of it then?”
I am going out now. I may be gone for some time.

Attention To Detail

I toss him one of those crunchy sticks he likes. He swallows it after one bite and rests. At ease but alert for the next one.
Asbo understands you see. Or at least he listens, which in my observation is probably all of us need anyway.
I have taken a short break from the reports, we are taking an easy round of our favourite marine walk, here at the chair, for a short while we put our feet and paws up and set the world to rights.
“Its about the shoes mate.”
And he is my mate you know, the dog and I have a bond….
“Its taken me ten years to get these how I like them.”
Asbo gives me a sympathetic glance and so I toss him another of the crunchy sticks he likes. It disappears again in the same manner of the last.
Others; people who would do well to walk a mile in a mans shoes, have been looking at my footwear and figuring that I would benefit from a change.
Change the shoes that have grown to fit me like a second skin.
We sit on and look at the tide run against the boats, evening sunlight dappling the stumps of the Vadre opposite.
“I don’t know what to do about it.”
After a minute or two, I toss him another of the crunchy sticks he likes. I am amazed by his capacity for these little gravy bones, especially as they never seem to touch the sides.
Down by the river a lone heron stalks through the rock pools, picking morsels that we cant see from the bladder wrack. Taking the last hour of the long daylight for his suppertime.
“Ah well mate, lets catch a pint on the quay before we go back shall we?”
In anticipation of a possible share in some pork scratchings Asbo stretches and we both stand.
As we turn homeward bound I dig into the pocket for the last time and absent mindedly toss him the memory stick with my reports on. It disappears in one……