I’ve been doing some research into what the Gawain (eldest house-human son) does after he’s managed to catch up with one of his buses. I’d envisaged all sorts of hunting and foraging adventures, especially when he came back last time festooned with crocodile teeth. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that all he does on his journeys (this time to somewhere called Bulge Area – I won’t make any comments about the Mum’s hips) is play games.

Well, I’m always ready with a toy or two, and once they explained that I couldn’t win simply by dropping my eviscerated fabric hippo-cat (no one has ever been sure quite what it is) onto the board, I soon got the hang of it.

All you do is survey the position…

…… consider your options

……. seek a little inspiration in deep thought

……and look to the Aidan for resounding approval.

Check and mate. (Well actually it was a draw but I’m sure the Gawain would be proud of me anyway.) Next time he needn’t bother about all those buses, just stay comfortably at home and try his Sicilian against me…

I’ve done it! I’ve gathered my flock back around me (well, all but the Dad, so far, and I’m sure he’ll be back from Work pretty soon).

I was quietly snooz… guarding the house this afternoon, when the Mum came in, laden with books as usual, and accompanied by – the Gawain! I’d almost forgotten what he looked like, it being so long (and eyesight not being my strongest asset at the best of times). Apparently he’s been at something called Downunder, where they make hats out of crocodiles (maybe I’ll have a picture of that tomorrow). Meanwhile, here we are, enjoying our reunion.

The small black and white thing I’m investigating in the lower corner is my present from Oz – a small koala with an even smaller boomerang. Here we are in greater detail…

… and here’s the koala after half an hour of my fondest attentions.

Apologies for the delay in updating this diary – I’ve been extremely busy trying to round up my house-humans. This time last week I had lost every one except the Dad, and was reduced to going to Work with him on a Saturday in the hope of tracking them down. Three of them eventually returned on Tuesday evening with some dubious sounding story about a great-grandmother, a small urn and a cottage in Dorset. I was inclined to be sceptical, but they did come bearing gifts; a pack of six doggie tennis balls and a replacement blue toy-thingy, so I’m inclined to forgive them. The photographic evidence, moreover, suggests that they haven’t entirely been wasting their time and that my Bedfordshire step-cousins have been keeping them in order.

All we have to do now is retrieve the Gawain, and hope, for his own sake, that he has some good dingo pictures.

… is an exhausting business