A whole year of Duffy today!

Her Duffyness, Duchess of Wrightington Towers, will receive you now.

(She may not have been born in the purple, but by golly she’s taken to it like a ravenous lurcher to chicken stock.)

Today is the first anniversary of Duffy joining us at Wrightington Towers. It feels impossible, but in two contradictory ways: on the one hand, how is it a whole year already? And yet on the other, it feels as if she’s been here forever (in a good way, of course).

Did I ever have a life in which I wasn’t determinedly snudged (i.e. snout-nudged) whenever it was deemed that I’d been paying too much attention to my computer mouse and not enough attention to a certain lurcher?

How on earth did we make ourselves feel inadequate before there was an occasional reminder in the form of insistent, earnest communication which we can’t quite understand?

What did it feel like to have a beautiful lawn, rather than patches of grass with denuded, muddy racing tracks?* It was always strewn with the detritus of now-desecrated toys, wasn’t it?**

*[Robert and his late mother took great pride in the lawn for many years, and he is occasionally horrified by how quickly it’s been well and truly duffyed. Vonnie’s lifelong love of dogs, however, means that a dog is the only thing which might render lawn-sacrifice forgivable. Moreover, he’s certain that just a few minutes with Duffy in particular would have won her over sufficiently to think it wasn’t even a sacrifice. Nevertheless, every time I post a photo of Duffy in the garden, he’s mortified by the state of the lawn. NB Photo redacted on this occasion, so as not to upset ‘Imself before the start of term]

**[…To think. Less than a year ago, I noted that Duffy didn’t know how to play with toys. She’s certainly made up for that since (although I’m not sure that the toys would agree that ‘play’ is the correct verb).]

But I digress…

Duffy is intrigued, but wonders why one would drive a long way, get out of the car, then sit down in a camping chair to be caressed by a Force 6 breeze. I, however, could not possibly comment.

Never let it be said that my life is no longer glamorous

To celebrate,*** we took a trip to Filey Brigg.

***[Full disclosure: the timing may have been less dictated by any particular anniversary than by having just finished off Cleopatra (as it were). Even so, several birds can be celebrated with one adventure, non?]

Yup - Filey. And yup - we.

No really. Ladies and gentlemen, I confirm that I have ventured into Nature. I hope that those of you who are familiar with my long-standing relationship with Nature were sitting down when you read that.

One very happy Robert, back in one of his and his mother’s favourite spots

“This is the flamingo pose they talk about on Instagram, right…?”

“Did you mention fish and chips…?”

Actually, it was quite nice. I won’t tell him that, of course, or he’ll want to go every week. A chap can have too much of a good thing, right?

As I type, Roberto is in full cocktail waiter mode, making a celebratory watermelon daiquiri**** to aid my re-entry into civilization.

****[said daiquiri is courtesy of L. via ko-fi - for which many many thanks! Naturally we would have stuck to coffee had we not been expressly encouraged to do otherwise…]

Postscript. I’m afraid there was no photo taken of our daiquiris. We were both trapped on the sofa by a very tired and very contented Duffy, and couldn’t reach our phones. They were, however, the perfect way to celebrate our first year with Duffy, the end of the academic year, and my having survived Nature. Cheers!