Sunday Morning

One day, I'm sure I'll get used to working on Sundays...NOT!

Anyway, I've been busy, and away, lately, thus the silence. I'll put up a proper post later, about my mother-in-law's blonde hair...but in the meantime:

I live in a block of flats, 22 to be exact. My neighbours, on the whole, are fine upstanding citizens. Some of them own dogs, which bark and snarl at night, but I'm hardly in a position to complain, even if I wanted to - we have the only baby/Pavarotti impersonator in the block, a baby with a constitutional aversion to sleep too.

Anyway, I'm cool about the dogs, and the Small Noisy One likes to play with them. So all is good. Except...

This morning, I found a steaming turd just outside the communal entrance. The door is set away from the street, and up a flight of stairs, so it wasn't as if it was the job of a passing or phantom canine defecater. This was, so to speak, an inside job. And it's not the first time either.

I tell you, it takes someone special to allow their dog to shit on their own doorstep.

OK. 600 words to write, and a deadline looming. I'l be back later...