My dog is called Dolce and he's a labradoodle, I may have mentioned this before. He's gorgeous and cuddly and very stupid. Just like Rock Star really. I go for a certain type darlings. To cut an extremely long boring story short, I found Dolce living at the house of a former soap actor in a neighbouring street. The former soap actor seemed to be under the impression Jagger had loaned Dolce to him. I don't understand why. Anyway this former soap actor has been acting quite strangely ever since he was (prematurely in his view) written out of his soap. And because his character died there's no prospect of returning. Pesonally I think he's having a bit of a breakdown about it. But there was still no need to nick our dog.
It's quite clear Dolce doesn't consider me to be the one in charge. He doesn't think anyone's in charge and this is part of his problem according to my Dog Psychotherapist. She's suggested I start walking him myself instead of employing a dog walker. I really don't have the time, but I guess I'll do it if Dolce then realises I'm his pack leader.
But taking a dog for a walk means going for a proper walk. I don't have any shoes I can schlep around Primrose Hill in. So I've had to borrow the nanny's troggy Ugg boots. They're two sizes too big and I've had to disguise myself while wearing them because if any paps get a picture of me wearing them the papers would have a field day.
And I didn't realise stupid Ugg boots aren't waterproof. So I marched through a few puddles after we'd had those storms the other day and now they're ruined. The nanny was in tears. I gave her twenty quid to buy some new ones and she cried even more. Do you know why? The frigging ugly things cost 160 quid that's why! 160 quid!
Don't worry darlings, I've given her 160 quid. So hopefully she'll be happy again. But my sensible shoe problem remains unsolved. A friend has suggested Birkenstocks. I made a sign of the cross and ran away. I couldn't do it to myself, just couldn't do it sweetie.
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