Saturday 1st August 2015
This morning started early for me, early being I was up and dressed and feeding myself by 9am. On a Saturday, who does that? Anyway, I watched some TV and about 10am I decided it was time to take the dog for a walk, so I got on my coat and my highly hipster painty Vans and put the lead on the dog: but I couldn’t open the front door.

I had locked it the night before to keep us safe and to feel secure but I couldn’t unlock it. I kept trying and trying but I was starting to have a freak out.

I called Robyn, having completely forgotten that she was travelling to her holiday, and she had to try and calm me down. Cathy and Caroline were giving some advice but nothing was opening the door. I told Robyn that I was going to call Mark but she told me to calm down first: I ignored her.

I called my knight in shining armour and he jumped out of bed, into a taxi and raced to our rescue. I passed the keys through the letter box but even Mark struggled with opening the door from the outside. When we finally prised open the door, Mark and I engaged in a ‘Louise is in a freak out, let’s calm her down’ hug. And boy, did I need it.

We then tried to figure out why the lock was funny and why I couldn’t open it. Mark was as bemused as I was, we just couldn’t figure out why the lock didn’t like us. Opening the door from the outside is fine, then Mark did the utterly ridiculous thing and locked us in. Again. Having already been locked in, I started to freak out again and Mark was getting frustrated with not being able to open the door. We thought we might have to ring Anna, Mark’s fiancée, and she would have freaked out too.

Thank the Lord, we managed to open the door and both Mark and I said very swift thank you Jesus prayers because we would have been stuck. And the dog doesn’t overly like new people.

With an open door, it was the perfect opportunity to take the dog for a walk. And he, the dog, didn’t like Mark at all. He tried to run from Mark, into the road and was pulling me with him. Part of me thinks that it’s just because the dog needed a wee but all through the walk Mark had to be at least 10 metres in front or behind us.

A lovely soggy dog walk later, we arrive back at the house and I’m terrified that I won’t be able to open the door. Luckily I could and I deposited a very wet dog into the dry so that I could bid adieu to my knight. Apologising profusely, I thanked Mark for getting up early on a Saturday morning to come and save a damsel in distress.

This happened all before 11:30 am.

As I write this, I have written in my journal a no where near as descriptive account of this morning. I watched some Simpsons to calm me down and I had a level 5 stress tea. This morning was that bad. Getting my laptop, I went (and am still in) what the dog’s owner calls his studio, where there is a giant TV and a ethernet cable which enables me to connect to the internet. I watched some Netflix, stalked my social media and the dog? He’s sleeping at my feet.

The smell of wet dog is overwhelming.

Until next time, goodbye.

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