Twenty Eleven

So we made it into Twenty Eleven.  Amazing.   We went for a walk along the beach this afternoon.  It was grey and cold, but beautiful as it always is.  It was more of a hobble than a walk.  Poor Captain B is on a stick and my back is hurting.   There was a whole pack of dogs with their owners on the sands - small white poodly dogs and large black dobermanny dogs.   We wondered if they would tear us down and finish us off - to spare us a slow death by starvation on the beach as our hunting days are obviously over.

Maurice the Mussel says he has no time for dogs.  And I can understand his point of view.  At any moment they might do something dreadful on his head.

I hope to be getting back into my routine now - meeting at The Hall yesterday - lovely to have Maggie back - and out on the field service with Audrey tomorrow.