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So the plans for the escape to the country and the submersion and disappearance in the delightful bog that is family happiness continues. Today we went to Harlow to look at some puppies, one of whom, it seemed likely, was to become our family dog. A friend of my mother-in-law’s husky dog had had an unexpected litter of dog-children after being impregnated by a German Shepherd (the dog, not an immigrant sheep-wrangler, coming over and taking our shepherd’s jobs) and were looking for new homes. We thought Phoebe would be excited to see a room full of puppies, but she wasn’t all that bothered and was more interested in exploring the house, but meanwhile my mother-in-law had chosen a dog for herself and we picked out our preferred pup. What a choice it was. Which tiny dog should we leave behind and which would be living out the rest of its life with us? We went for a drowsy little bitch (it’s OK to call them that), though we don’t get to take her away yet as she needs to stay with her mother for a couple more months. I got one well with one of her brothers who nibbled on my finger with his ridiculously tiny teeth. But he was already taken and had blown the gig anyway by attacking me in this way. I think we got the best two between us.
My wife wants to call her Wolfie. I want to call her Booz. Someone is going to be called Booz in my house. Ideally everyone.
In September, when we return from Edinburgh, we will have a dog, two cats (Smithers and Molly - a cat we inherited with the house) and very nearly two children. It’s going to be a full house and I will have no time for comedy any more. It might be for the best. Fifty has to be the cut off point surely. Any longer than that and it gets embarrassing, carrying on with this immature life. Though if I can just tread water for a decade then I will be entering the second childhood of senility and will never have had to grow up. Which is some kind of result.
How would the Richard Herring of ten years ago view the Richard Herring of now? It’s a question that I suspect will be at the heart of the new show. We have such different lives and outlooks that we could be flatmates in a terrible Odd Couple style sitcom. I actually think 2007 Richard Herring would be relieved to know things have gone this way, but would he believe he could have changed this much?
Then we went to have a barbecue at my in-laws. My daughter and I went off to explore the little wooded area at the bottom of the garden. She is curious and brave and we had a lot of fun exploring, but I had more fun sitting down with a beer and eating barbecued food. There was haloumi cheese on offer and I realised that you could put a plate of any amount of grilled haloumi cheese in front of me and I would definitely eat the lot. However much was there. And yes, I am challenging you to prove me wrong. There is no amount of grilled haloumi cheese that I couldn’t eat. This haloumi cheese had chilli inside it, making it more or less the most perfect piece of food that I could ever eat.
I heard Paul Nuttall on the radio (as you know I have a Paul Nuttallergy) saying that if UKIP got in they would ban all face coverings of any kind. I have a feeling that this negative feeling towards covered faces might be something to do with Islam, but he did say it was all face coverings, so maybe I am being unfair. The interviewer asked about masks worn at carnivals and Nuttall said that there was dispensation for carnivals. Which seemed to immediately put into question his hard-line opposition to people not showing the face that they have.
I decided I would set up a political party with one policy. If elected all we would do would be to make a law that Paul Nuttall has to have his face covered at all times. There would be a dispensation for carnivals.
