The Last Chance Saloon

As I run into work this morning, I try to force myself to run slowly. At a Kilomathon sort of pace. It seems to go quite well but I only covered a third of the distance required for that event.

This is kind of hilarious. My boss has managed to contract a virus, a computer one that is, after downloading some dodgy software off the internet. You'd never catch me doing something like that... Ah, well yes, done that, bought the t-shirt.

I, like many others, have come up against a brick wall erected by Blogger, my blog hosts, who have suddenly introduced an arbitrary limit of 2000 labels per blog. I have written 1,017 posts to date, which is an impressive amount of waffle, so I can imagine I’m well over this already. So no more labels for Google to pick up on, which is very frustrating. We’re all now awaiting an official response from the owners of Blogger, the great God Google, whose search engine no longer wants to know us. All very odd. If not resolved soon everyone will take their rantings elsewhere, me included.

I finish work at lunchtime and head home. L claims to have a hot date with the Hoover, which means she wants me to get the dogs out of her hair. I don’t think the standard technique for getting temporarily rid of family members by slipping someone a fiver to take them to the cinema applies in this case. The garden it is then.

We are due to pick Daughter up from college at 4.15 but her last class is cancelled so we get to leave earlier. This is good as we are expecting a nightmare journey, like we had the last time we made this same trip two years ago. This time however we have a dream trip up the M1, A1 and A19 as head off to rendezvous with others in the last chance saloon, glamorous Redcar and the last Crufts qualifier of the year.

Son has promised not to let anyone vomit on the roof whilst we’re away. Despite repeatedly praying for rain, we still have the last batch up there due to the dry spell we’ve been having. Apparently on a clear moonlit night the glittering array of colours, WKD orange and WKD blue, can be seen from some distance away.

We have booked a cottage in Saltburn by the Sea, just down the coast. As it turns out it is a magnificent abode. Far too good for us and a couple of unruly dogs.

We arrive around two hours earlier than we intended, so we get to have a look around Saltburn before it’s completely dark. We even find a decent pub. Unfortunately dogs not allowed, so we sit on their terrace facing the bracing sea front instead. Their beers are an odd choice. Olde Trippe, formerly by Hardy and Hansons in Nottingham but now brewed by Greene King in Suffolk and Hook Norton Copper Ale 4.8%, from Oxfordshire. So they’re not exactly supporting the local brewers. The Hook Norton though was a terrific little number. A dark red ale with a strong and slightly spicy taste, apparently brewed to celebrate the 150th anniversary of Hook Norton Brewery.