Just Another Day In The Life

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After taking Titchika, the Alsatian, for a walk in the woods, I had my breakfast, consisting of two soft-boiled eggs and toast, caught the last half hour of The Yangtze Incident, starring Richard Todd in full stiff-upper-lip mode, and followed this by a brief job search.

I got changed and caught the bus into town for a brief wander around the shops, spotting a nice jacket in M&S for £80. Bored by this point, I put a football (soccer) bet on at Ladbrokes, then headed down to The Gog And Magog, a Wetherspoons pub, on the Barbican in Plymouth; their butterfly-chicken burger and pint of Guinness for less than five pounds is excellent value for money. I read in What’s On In Plymouth magazine that Dara O’Briain (is that how you spell his surname?) is on at the Pavillions soon; I might get a ticket. I read 24/7 too; this funky, little mag tells you about more arty gigs and events, directed more at the Yoof Cultcher (Youth Culture).

After this, I was feeling a little full, I am a skinny fuck*r, after all, and went for a walk to the Mayflower Steps, the last-known point of departure of the Pilgrim Fathers before their journey, alongside the Speedwell, to the Americas. I bumped into an old work-mate, Dominic, who is a drummer in a group, The Waterboarders, and his girlfriend; he’s a good bloke who also suffers a bit of back-trouble through work.

I headed back into town for a coffee upstairs in a Costa cafe; not bad coffee, but I normally prefer Nero. There were a bunch of young students, about 18 – 19 years of age, giggling and talking loudly out of their arses. They weren’t that annoying though, and a couple of the girls were good-looking (but a bit thick).

Now, as I look around, I find that most of the people here are of about a similar age, attire and haircut/style, as I probably would be if I was their age. Fashion was never my strong-point, as some friends will testify. One friend is constantly accuses me of being an Eighties Throwback; I don’t mind this, I’m not shallow. Coming from him, in fact, it’s a compliment; I remember picking him up once from Plymouth railway station in, what I can only describe him as wearing, Trying Too Hard To Appear Younger Than He Really Is-style. He’s a great bloke, genuine and honest, he really is, but he can have a huge ego. However, as the old saying goes: “New friends are silver; old friends are gold.”

Anyway, I’ve finished my coffee, which went cold rather too quickly due to the over-powerful air-con, and I’m about to head home and take the dog for a walk; finishing the day as I started it.

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Titchika Goes To Cofflete Creek

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Through woods, fields and a couple of sparse hamlets we trod, along a section of the old Plymouth – Yealmpton railway track bed towards Steer Point too, admiring the wonderful south Devon scenery as we walked.

So, here she is (photo), midway through an elongated walk, covered in the alluvial deposits of Cofflete Creek, which we crossed at low-tide, between Elburton and Brixton.

We love these long-ish walks, especially in spring and autumn, when it’s neither too hot nor too cold; perfection for three or four hours.

Titchika, like myself, is the adventurous sort, and is ideally suited to these mini-explorations, sniffing around hedges for rabbits and other animals to chase.

She caught a rabbit once; chasing it, you could see her direct lineage from the wolf, with her teeth bared and snarling. I had to prise her jaws open to release the rabbit, which just sat there, trembling with fear, its heart and lungs going like the clappers.
It probably ended-up as fox food that very night; who knows.

On we pressed . . .

When we got home I had to bathe her; she was coated in mud, despite washing off as much as I could in the river. She hates baths but she now smell of mint and green tea, or something.

We shall be returning to Cofflete soon.

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