Unfinished Project [Part Two] Getting There.

one of those day's in the loveless household, up late, breakfast, go on then, i'll have just one more brew then i really have to walk the dogs, we are out over two hour's, boxing day and new years day, anyone who has dogs to walk or who walks on a regular basis will tell you, the amateurs are out and about, clad head to toe in northface, trekking poles and gps sattelite to hand, space blankets stowed in their new rucksack's, they've left a sheet with their movements and timings with a reliable source in case of difficulties, and they are strolling three miles to the local hostelry for a nice new years day lunch, it's one of the most mild winters on record, i'm out in a pair of shorts, my berghaus, a base layer, crmc baseball cap, my boot laces are shagged, half the length that they should be because i keep forgetting to buy a new pair, i'm unshaven and hungover and when a meet up with a bunch of twice-a-year-tosser's-who-think-their-bear-grills-and-their-fucking-kids-are-jumping-up-at-the-doggy-who-is-trying-to-rip-their-face-off-as-i'm-trying-to-restrain-him-and-the-parents-are-smiling-at-their-little quentin's and sofia's trying to 'relate' to the canines i'm pissed off, i don't want to exchange pleasantries with anyone, i just want to walk my dog's, it start's raining, brilliant, the 'traffic' thin's out and i'm left alone, mr anti-fucking social, get home and it's the dog's annual shower, they look at me in disgust as i shower them and clip the gus-one with jack's clipper's, he looks like a puppy again and me and mr's b ooh and ahh at him, we dine on homemade soup and freshly baked bread and then mr's b's scottish genes kick in, major tidy up, clearing the deck's for the new year, holy shit, where does all this rubbish come from? i load up the v8 cutdown jimmy shine paint free lower than a snakes belly badass pick em'up truck, [ok, i admit it, i put a couple of bags in the vw one-litre polo shopping car] and drop the stuff off at the rec-ycling] home made chilli, guacomole and salsa and a couple of bottles of australian merlot, guy martin tt dvd and some 'talcum soul' northern soul compilation cd's, [remember them?] and it's all over but the crying........................................................................................................................