Grateful: Day 63 - Bliss

Meet my new tenants. Two hands and a dog. More about them later. They're ace, though, aren't they? You can tell.

How good is this, right: I go into a slightly stinky bar very near my flat in Edinburgh this lunchtime to use the internet, and I ask for a coffee. The guy tells me to try it first before ordering a drink, then proceeds to bring me not one but TWO free cups of coffee while I sit at a big table and do emails for an hour or so, and he won't take any money for it. Very good, that's what that is. Very good indeed. I'm very grateful.

The day started well again. Lawrence gave me £1.40 in change for the bus. Thank you, Lawrence. That's very nice of you indeed. I had money, but no change. I could have gone to a corner shop and got some, of course, but I didn't have to, because Lawrence... you know the rest. That's so very much appreciated and gratefully received. And the bus came within 30 seconds or so of me getting there. No rush, no wait. Perfect.

I'd just had my first cup of coffee at the flat, and written my morning pages, when the buzzer rang and Jess and Ouzo came back for a second hit on the flat. Ouzo rushed in and flitted about for a bit looking very happy and comfortable indeed. Jess measured the bed. We had a brilliant chat that was fabulous. I feel really settled in my stomach about these people moving in. It's just right. We'll sort out all the details on Sunday. I feel a glow when I

think of them having that place as a home. It makes me glad.

Of course, it's none of my business, but it seems a shame when someone living there isn't loving it, or isn't there. What people do with it once they rent it is pretty much up to them, within the formalities of the contract, but living somewhere else seems a sad when it's a flat that aches to be enjoyed (in my opinion). It has those awful 70s chairs and smoky glass table. I hate to think nobody's looking at their own knees through that, as they bounce on those chairs.

I was sorry to see Jess go, in a way, but I had stuff I had to do, as did she. I introduced the idea of singing into Ouzo's forehead. You have to plant seeds, that's all I'm saying. It's part of my purpose in life. Imagine that - starting a movement where dog owners all sing pretend trumpet tunes into their beloved pets' bonces. It'd be better than doggy dancing. Maybe we can get it into Crufts. Dog duets.

Or, bugger Crufts, let's make it a national event. Howl with your dog day. Sing with your dog, and if it throws back its head and howls, then you do too. Or, on a more serious note, a study. I'd genuinely like to know what happens in a creature's brain when farty, fake trumpet song is pumped in through the skull. Or when a penny whistle is played, or a medieval recorder. What is the impulse that makes them wag and howl simultaneously. I like to think it's a bit like tickling, but in a gentler way. I like to think they like it. All my dog sav says they really don't mind, but I suppose it would be good to find out. I'd do that shit. I really would. I'd like to know.

I still remember the one time I went to Crufts. Claire Hollenbaugh took me for my birthday. It was such a treat. We went on Gundog/Toy Dog day. I love the gundogs more than anything. I really do. All the dog breeds that make me ache because of how beautiful they are, just aesthetically, would be in that category, pretty much. Toy dogs, not so much. I find them laughable and odd. Just as good, really, then, in their way.

Of course, I'm not sure how I feel about the strictness of dog breeding, or anything that makes it not so good for the dogs themselves, but I had always, always wanted to go to Crufts, even as a child, and thanks to Claire, I did. And from what I could see, most of the dogs in the dancing competition seemed to be having a whale of a time. Helps that most were Collies, or something very trainable, at least. And if they're trainable, they mostly get satisfaction out of performing tasks, so it's a no-brainer.

Not so much of a no-brainer as Oisín, of course, the sweet wee thicko. Oh, I do miss that smelly heap of meat. He gave me so much pleasure. And the Brain Pie girl, manipulative, clever, selfish and delicious. I loved her too.

This is isn't the clearest picture, but it is really representative. Note how Little Beaver has sat fully on top of Bosh in her ache for dominance, and all he does is stretch out to get a bit of the hand. That's enough for him. Everybody's awkward, not one of us really comfortable, but all happy - and just where we should be right then.

And I did my work! I'm about 3/4 of the way through. Fuck, I hope that's true, and it doesn't turn out to be one of those Tardis jobs that stretches out the further in you go. I think it's ok. I have questions about it, which I really must sort out tomorrow.

Apart from that: I got everything I needed - wrapping paper, sticky tape etc. - very cheap, once I'd persevered. I had my dinner cooked for me, and waiting when I got back. Thanks again, Lawrence. What a treat. A chicken and aspargus pie, two versions of potatoes and some peas. Heaven-sent dinner.

And Lawrence is a very interesting man. He has a lot to say and he's very dry and funny. I'm not only grateful for his generosity, but for his company. Good egg back in yer face, Lawrence. Good egg.

I have learnt a lot of useful things from Lawrence. Christopher Hitchins (Hitch-slap), P G

Wodehouse, the fact that I should not be paying repayment insurance on my house, and may be able to get all that money back... and lots of other things too. We watched something about the guy off Grand Designs and his housing estate project. That was good. Which reminds me - I must watch Educating Essex - it sounds amazing. Lawrence has every episode of the Wire. The Killing is still sitting there for me, untouched. I feel I don't have time. I must Make Time. It's worth it. I really know it is.

If tomorrow is even half as good, I'll be even more grateful. I'm seeing my niece and nephew tomorrow, which is exciting, and finishing my work, exciting too.

59... I'm late. Ah well. It will just have to do.