I take Sid out for his early morning ablutions.
The cottage doesn’t have a rear garden and the front door opens directly onto the street. So I have to get out of bed, throw on a few clothes and get Sid outside as quickly as possible to do this because he needs the toilet and wails loudly when he’s awake and isn’t allowed out of his cage.
Man and puppy stumble into the street. There’s no time for caffeine or wake up toast or any of the essentials that I take for granted at home. It’s all very disorienting.
Sid takes a piss on the nearest thing to a patch of green very near our cottage. It’s an historic moment, because he’s only ever pissed on the lawn at home before. Or a puppy pad. Or the floor of whichever house he’s in. Or all over the person who has picked him up to say ‘hello’. Like I say, historic.
Sid also does his number two on the path. This too is a landmark moment, as it’s the first time he’s defecated on hard landscaping. I clear his landmark up.
Sid and I return from our morning jaunt and we settle down so that I can conduct a telephone interview with a national TV presenter and radio broadcaster for the book I’m working on. As well as the dodgy phone signal and the ongoing chorus from the seagulls, Sid decides that I should have a squeaky toy as background accompaniment. My interviewee must assume I’m sat in a lunatic asylum, but he’s too gracious to mention anything. Plus he works at the BBC, so he’ll be used to it.
Kate and Hattie are heading for the beach and Jack has a telephone interview for a job, so we all go our separate ways. I take Sid for a walk along the shore. Since Sid’s idea of a walk involves stopping to sniff almost every object he sees, this takes some time. We reach the beach and meet a dog who growls ferociously at Sid. The dog’s owners say, ‘He’s never done that before’, which is usually a precursor to a full out assault. We take a wide berth.
We reach the ice cream parlour, share a cornet and retire to a bench looking out over the sea, Sid sheltering in the shade beneath and me slathering myself in sun cream. It’s hot, hot, hot.
I have arranged to meet the rest of our gang in East Looe, but Sid has been exposed to the heat for some time so we return to the cottage so that he can have a snooze and a drink of water and I can have a swift half of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord. Kate texts to ask, ‘How long will you be?’
Considering myself summoned, I take the dog to where the others have gathered. It’s a beer garden adorned with flowers. It could be beautiful but the customers are all fat, shaven-headed men and there are two big England flags hanging down the side of the building. I feel like I could be stepping back into 1930s Germany and greet my companions accordingly: ‘Seig heil.’
Hattie and Jack take Sid off our hands, leaving Kate and I free to wander the streets of Looe and visit the many gift shops selling tat that you instantly regret when you get it home. We also visit one of the two amusement arcades in Looe. Sadly, it’s lacking any pinball machines.
Our evening meal is at a quayside restaurant. It’s very pleasant, and dog friendly, and we manage to eat our meal and leave without Sid or anyone else causing uproar.
Back at the cottage, Sid wants to be entertained. The cottage has a beautiful faux wood burning stove. The hearth is surrounded by an array of beautiful seashells. Since our arrival, Sid has made it his mission to remove the shells one at a time and eat them. Kate, Hattie and Jack’s response to this is to leap up shouting, ‘No, no, no!’ My tactic is to let the dog eat the shells. I figure he can’t eat the whole lot in the remaining time, and if we can’t spread out what’s left to hide the gaps we can always pick some new ones off the beach before we leave on Saturday. Sid realises that I’m not treating this game seriously and begins chewing the wooden fireplace surround. I leap up shouting, ‘No, no, no.’
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