I consulted Google and came to the conclusion that her ... [WARNING: look away now if you are at all squeamish] ... anal glands might be blocked. The first activity of the day was therefore another trip to the Vets.
After questioning the observable symptoms the Vet put on a pair of gloves and applied lubricant. Marauder was not at all impressed and could be heard to clearly state that she was being violated. My diagnosis was confirmed and the Vet gently* released the foul smelling blockage. Unfortunately this was all over the dog, the examination table, the floor and me.
The Vet apologised for spraying me with Marauder's noxious gloop. Quick as a flash I replied "shit happens" and watched this witty response wither and die ... this particular Vet is not known for her sense of humour.
With Marauder hopefully sorted we headed home and I then wheeled The Shitter from the garage. I rode her over to the nearest Motorcycle workshop to arrange her MOT test.** Normally I would do this over the 'phone, but The Shitter's number plate is definitely illegal. I therefore wanted to discuss whether I need to simply present, or actually fit, a road legal registration plate for the test.
The response from the Workshop owner was encouraging. He smiled and advised that they didn't worry about things like that, adding that, if ever asked, they advised that the machine "wasn't like that when presented for the test". I was relieved that my pseudo vintage trials machine did not need to be encumbered with a 7" x 9" reflective, yellow, acrylic monstrosity.
By the time I returned home 30% had headed off for a hair appointment, so it was just TP and I at home for lunch. TP was actually cleaning his motorbike and in the early afternoon I was required to assist with the adjustment of it's chain. Having done that I decided to a little maintenance on The Shitter.
When I rebuilt the bike I had replaced the traditional Royal Enfield snail cam chain adjusters with a more modern type. Having used these for the past year it is fair to say that I wasn't overly impressed. I found them fiddly and not particularly precise. So, this afternoon I spent what turned out to be an hour and a half taking out the rear wheel and reverting back to snail cam adjusters.
I finished and was washing off the grease, grime and oil just as 30% returned from her hair appointment. We then headed out in to the garden and I got grubby once again as I planted up the lavender in the border I created yesterday.
As the afternoon waned it was time to get cleaned up and dressed for an evening out. 30%'s Mum and Dad had recently celebrated their birthdays** so 30% had made a booking at 33, The Scullery in Stratford.
This is a tiny little restaurant situated amongst chip shops and dry cleaners and, initially, appears to be a little cafe. Once inside it was clearly a nice little restaurant and we were soon seated and surveying the menu. Three and a half hours and three courses later I can report that they served the best food that I had eaten for a very long time.
I had chicken livers pan fried with brandy and cream to start, a rib-eye steak as my main and finished it off with a beautiful creme brulee. 30% and The Tweedy's also reported most excellent fare and I don't think it will be long before we make another visit.
---* "Gently! ... my arse!" said Marauder
** Mr Tweedy was 74. I think Mrs Tweedy was about 1,458 and still looking remarkably well preserved, despite her inability to check herself out in mirrors!