The second time, we took her dog for a walk. A white Boxer bitch she was, deaf in one ear. 'She don't like the grass', I was told. I liked her already.
We walked across the Heath, and for the sake of the dog's sensitivities we stuck to the path. She wasn't at all enthusiastic, not like she'd been in Kentish Town.
Then at the crest of Parliament Hill she picked up her paws and it was lunge, pull, scrabble down towards the streets across the railway line. Happy as Larry up and down Haverstock Hill and we went back through Gospel Oak.
You can't really - and it would be wrong to, anyway - e-mail or text a dog to say, remember me, I was that bloke the other day, you sniffed my hand, beer and falafel you'd recognise me by. Well, if you ever want a walk I've got some decent pavement round my way. Just, you know, if you're ever at a loose end, no-one to cop hold of the other end of the lead...
It didn't work out. That was a while ago.
Words, from a mostly metrocentric perspective. See Metrocentricity for pictures.
09 November 2008
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