Earlier on in October I went for a lovely long walk around the picturesque Kent village of Shipbourne with my friend Denise and her daft dog called Mungo. Though his name is Mungo, I like to call him Munjip. But when I do, naturally, he has no idea what the hell I'm banging on about.
It was October but really hot. I didn't ask why, I just kept quiet about it. Denise and I, however, used the heat as an excuse to sit in pub gardens having pints of refreshing beer.
I think you'll agree with me, that it doesn't get better than that.
I had a packet of Twiglets at the pub (The Kentish Rifleman) which are food. Food is Munjip's literally favourite thing (apart from somehow getting his front hand in the pocket of my cricket flannels) so he used the technique of staring at the Twiglets until I gave him a couple. I explained to him that they are just Oak or Beech sticks with Marmite spread on them but he didn't give two shits about the details and ate them anyway. I'm not surprised though. I have seen him eat some pretty weird stuff.
These are things I have seen Munjip eat,
1) A cricket ball - It was an old Victorain one lost sometime in 1887 made by the esteemed cricket ball manufacturers Duke & Son. Delicious.
2) A bread roll - It was lost sometime in 1978 and was solid as a lump of coal - Delicious.
3) Air - Delicious.
4) The ground - Delicious.
5) All fifteen discarded cherries from one of my famous Cherry Bakewell binges. Bloody delicious.
He also chased squirrels and pigeons and a group of about 11 crows just standing around. The squirrels and pigeons fled at his subtle approach (crashing through undergrowth, ears a'flappin') but the crows didn't move a beak and gave him the jimmy eye. He ran away but pretended he didn't really want to chase them anyway.
Yeah right, my hairy, friend.
I believe you.
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