In November life in the Southwold household became dominated by one word: MUD. A combination of heavy rainfall and clay soils means that there is now literally nowhere to walk the dog that she won’t come back looking, but alas not smelling, choc-dipped. A waterproof doggy trouser suit had been suggested by a well-meaning acquaintance, but when showed to Molly her response was profane in the extreme, including the phrase “I wouldn't wear f***ing tartan if you paid me in sardines, Mother”. Work on a disposable, cling film-type alternative was halted when Molly began to lose consciousness, although Simon maintains that she was just holding her breath to scare us.
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