Wet wet wet

Anne came to take Archie out for the day, enabling me to pop into town. Again. Third time in a few days. As predicted, I returned the item that I had already returned an item for. I am not a good shopper. Except, of course, in an Apple Shop.

I got a pair of bargain basement shoes. I really need to find a comfy pair, but I fear it's impossible because the toes on my right foot have recently taken to cramping for no reason in just about every shoe I've got. Except in my old, coming-apart-at-the-seams pair.

From my very reliable weather app *ahem* I could see that it was going to start drizzling all day from about midday, so I was in and out of town without getting wet.

I settled down to watch a day of tennis at Queen's. Not to be. Only a few sets were played before the deluge. Then we had to have the Hairy Bikers.

Anne texted to warn me later in the afternoon that she was heading back with a very wet Archie, so I was ready with his big towel.

He's now dozing beside me, head in my lap, smelling like a wet dog, occasionally sighing contentedly and happily exhausted.

'I like to bring him back tired out. It's part of the deal,’ she declared.

It's not part of the deal, but it sure is a bonus, Anne!