Green Dog

I did not post yesterday. I had a rubbish Friday (so bad I was going to write a post called Blue Day – I may still) and then ended up writing a much longer post than I had intended on Friday night when I got home. It was trying to do it in bed so I could go to sleep immediately afterwards, but the result was even more typos than normal thanks to the totally inability for the predictive text on the iPad to predict what I was saying, and its annoying habit of overwriting my words anyway. I have just spent the last five minutes fixing up the hopeless guesses it injected into my text.

Saturday was busy in a kind of boring home-admin sort of way. I studied in the morning, fell asleep on the couch while trying to read (it was a blistering day) then delayed going to the park by watching the first episode in the excellent new Series of Inside Number 9 on the BBC . Don’t ask me how, if I tell you, I will have to kill you.

So I guess I was late getting home and the day sort of ended from there. If I thought Sunday was going to be any easier I was wrong. This morning my husband turned to me and asked, ‘What time is your meeting?’

I had completely forgotten about this. I am on the committee of a failing community theatre group. Actually I am on the failing committee of  a failing group. Since everything in the world became about money, the group has been priced out of the University theatres that it previously called home, which is a pity for us, and a pity for the uni which used to enjoy one Shakespearean production a year at least, properly done in a stage that mimics the Globe in everything except shape (ours is square).

I have been Vice President for the last year (no one could be persuaded to nominate for President) and our meetings have basically been circular arguments about the cost of mounting a production and why we have no members (because we are not doing any plays). I was looking forward to tending my resignation and washing my hands of the whole sorry mess.

I am Vice President again.

I am not sure what happened. One minute I was sitting there, relieved of duty as all office positions were dissolved at the AGM, the next I found myself wanting to be a part of the re birth, wanting to help find a way to make it work, to help think of ways to make a model which would get a production back on our slate. I accepted the nomination and and back where I started.

Maybe it was because I was thinking of community and its importance because our local council organised a film in the park last night. The big screen was erected, a bunch of food vans and bouncy castles and the park because a place for families to come together for a few hours.

This morning I walked my dogs in the park and everything had been cleaned away, but there was activity in the club house. They seemed to be busy refurbishing. This evening, Lucy fell foul of their endeavours.

As we walked up the park she went off to investigate near the fence, where there are large clumps of Ivy growing on the ground. Then I saw her creeping towards me, ears flat with a ok of guilt on her face. I was trying to work out what was wrong and then I saw her paws.

They were covered in a thick green substance – and then I noticed the  massive slick of green paint that someone had decided to get rid of ‘in the bushes’ instead of in a bucket and down at the tip, where the council allows people to dispose of stuff. Lucy had two thick green boots on and instinctively I reached down to try and wipe it off, in the process covering my hands with the damn stuff. Fortunately, we were pretty close to a water fountain so I was able to wash it off me, but not her. In the end, I filled up a number of small ‘poo bags’ with water from the tap that she could not reach with her legs, and dunked her paws in them.

She did not like this at all, but was patient as I changed bags – because each time the paint started to come off, she was left with her paw in green water.

I got the worst of it off, and most of the rest of it out later in the bath but was pretty annoyed after all the community goodness that I had been enjoying in action, that someone had been so careless and thoughtless. I am still tossing up whether to write to the council and complain – not in my official capacity as newly elected Vice President, of course, that would be over doing it, but as the current owner of a still vague green dog who will no doubt be cleaning her paws while lying on my fresh bed linen later tonight as I sleep. So glad I went for the all white sheet set.

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