It has been a while since I contributed to my diary. For this absence, I partially blame a troublesome crab apple which became unexpectedly wedged in my front left paw. It happened whilst I was scampering about one morning in the woods. This was really quite perplexing, as I had already had a ‘corn scare’ the previous week, and for one moment I thought I was being haunted by the ghost of the ‘corn that might have been’. I mentioned this to Hector after he had removed the offending fruit, but he merely shook his glorious silver mane and ignored my supernatural plight. It was this and a general feeling of forthcoming festive apathy that had seen me taking to my velvet lined bed chamber, armed with a packet of custard creams and the plans to make a time travelling teepee to bypass Christmas. I know you must think me a grumblesome hound, but quite honestly, after last years debacle, which centred around advocat, recalcitrant sprouts and Mrs Peterson’s aero dynamic knickers, I was feeling wary. To try and avoid any untoward festive chaos this year,  I have been gleefully informed that we have been invited to spend Christmas Day at the Velvet Marmoset…I know, what could possibly go wrong. Nelson is also going to be in attendance. 

Incidentally, I can now report that Nelson has finally come to terms with the ending of his relationship with Lady Hester. He has decided not to pursue his broken heart’s desire any further, after reports were made of a sighting of her and her new beau. To our great surprise, she was spotted slithering out on to the pavement, from Soapy Sid’s Ford Cortina the other evening, tiara askew and somewhat worse for wear. Surprisingly, Nelson has been quite upbeat following this news, and he has even decided to rid himself of his ridiculous buttock toupee. I am delighted to see this empowerment growing within him, there is only one Nelson after all, and this should be celebrated!

A lot has happened in the past few weeks, one of them being a visitation from people from The North! Amongst this raggle taggle band of adventurers/assorted family members was my good pal grandad Tom! As ever it was a joy to see him. Another unexpected visitor was Taz the lurcher. He is indeed a fine looking chap and I looked forward to a game of scrabble whilst we chatted about the problems of our respective humans. He however, had other ideas…and these ideas were of a most fruitsome and debauched nature. Quite honestly, I had a belter of a migraine coming on, so his advances were optimistic at best. He didn’t even ask me to dinner before he began whiffling about my lady treasures. I am afraid I was reduced to delivering a full and throaty bark at him as he made his final effort to traverse my hind quarters. After that he kept a more suitable distance, although he did keep giving me the saucy ‘eyeball’ now and again. 

I am writing to you today from a position of slight disgrace. I am in the bad books here at Spindle Towers. My copy book has well and truly been blotted. In my defence, a red bobble hat with generous ear flappage, very much resembles a squirrel, especially if you are basking in a custard cream induced stupor. My sighthound instincts are usually second to none, so on spotting this potential threat, I sprang into action, crouched Spindle, hidden ninja, ready to do battle with my tree dwelling nemesis. Well, I must say I really did teach it a vigorous lesson. It was only as I discovered that I had a mouthful of wool that I suspected there had been a misjudgement on my part. There has been not one scrap of appreciation for my bravery from the loons. I challenged the marauding devil squirrel and thus rescuing them for a certain fate of unwanted nut plundering. There is now an unfortunate and wicked rumour going around that I have a fetish for woolly bobbles. This is quite untrue. For those who know me well, will agree I am more of a tassel girl. 

The tiny terror is much distressed as she values her warming head wear, or a ‘head hug’ as she calls it. It also hides the nightmarish explosion that is her hair. She has taken to now wearing her one remaining hat, thinking that would stop me pilfering it. She has obviously not thought this through, she is 4ft 10 and I am Long Shanks the brave, lofty Lurcher hound burglar extraordinaire.

Speaking of headgear, I can report that Hector is currently sporting his winter flying helmet. He has disgarded his summer fez with rakish abandonment and has firmly buckled up the leather chin strap in place for the forseeable future. According to the Tiny Terror he looks ‘a dream’ as he strides purposefully around Spindle Towers in his hat and silken smoking jacket. She sometimes gets that look in her eye and he resorts to locking himself in the bathroom for his own safety. 

So as I finish this short update, I will bid you farewell. Nelson is on his way round for his final kilt fitting so I must prepare myself. Until next time, pip pip!