Well, I am back. I am sorry that I have been away for so long but I have been lacking in energy since the the evil vet said to Mummie that I had to lose weight and Daddy put me on what he calls a "regime". This regime consisted of no leftovers, hardly any food at all and what he called "withdrawal of privileges" which basically meant that he stalked me everywhere and removed any food opportunities that I might come across. In addition my eldest sister Grace has just gone to boarding school. This was a severe blow as she was one of my main supporters and supplied me with food, particularly from under the kitchen table. Daddy has been referring to this period as a "learning curve". I was to re-educate myself about food and eating under his tutelage. I can report however that I have had to resort to re-educating Daddy. He should have known that my behaviour is not learned but genetic. It is totally outwith my control and food deprivation is a cruel and wicked thing to do to any Labrador. After two weeks of his regime, under which and to his amazement I had lost not an ounce, I felt obliged to show him that I was merely humouring him. After all, it would be in no body's interests, least of all his for him to be under the misapprehension that he was somehow in charge. I broke in to the pantry and ate a twelve man cottage pie in one sitting. Mummie was more stupefied than upset. It was pretty hard going as I only had a few minutes in which to pull it off, but I managed it. In addition I went in to the drawing room from which I have been banned and relieved myself for good measure to reinforce my feelings of disgust and betrayal. This is what I call "tough love". He is not speaking to me now and has announced that Mummie is to deal with my feeding regime from now on. He now knows his limitations and I do not think that he will overstep the mark again.

One might have expected some sort of gastranomic present form Mummie upon her return from France however I have learned to live with disappointment and as a result hadn't got my hopes up. Fortunately Grannie has been looking after me and I did not go without. I must say though, I thought it was a bit rich of Daddy to imply that I had put on a noticeable amount of weight under Grannies care when I could tell that his jeans were just about cutting him in half. In addition he rolled through the back door with the shiny, glowing cheeks of a man who has indulged in uninhibited amounts of the local rose for a fortnight. I gave him a dirty look that was not lost on him.

We went for a walk last night and there are lots of young pheasants about. I hate pheasants even more than chickens. Daddy said that if I chased any pheasants I would get "the big stick". The big stick is his walking stick which he waves at me in an affected manner for minor misdemeanors. It has a polished rams horn handle which is rubbish in comparison to the one Mummie is going to get when P Diddy finally goes. I broke the last big stick and he never fails to tell Mummie that my pocket money will never be enough to recompense him for my "act of wilful vandalism". Mummie awaited this comment to launch into a diatribe about Podge's many acts of wilful vandalism and has had to add the plug and cable of the Dyson to her tally. This is the same Dyson that had to practically be rebuilt after Podge chewed it first time round. Mummie was on a roll and Daddy wished he hadn't mentioned the big stick.

I had to spend the night in the kennel due to A. embarrasing Daddy in front of the gamekeeper by chasing pheasants (back in the direction of the release pens which is actually quite useful for the keeper) and wilfully ignoring his instructions to desist. Most of the words were unrepeatable because he couldn't reach me with "the big stick". B. I Felt the urge to go to the stream post chase and cool down in the mud. Mummie was I felt, predicting that this was gong to happen and uncharacterisitcally she did not go mad but marched me straight to the kennel. This seemed particulary unfair as Daddy had tripped over "the big stick" and fallen in the field. He was more dirty than I was. Mummie suggested a night in the kennel for him but he didn't see the irony.

In the words of Andy Williams, where do I begin? I have had a mercy dash to the vet and a near death experience. It was the vet who is rude about my comely labrador physique. Mummie had been to the vet in the morning because she wanted to get me some worming tablets on account of my voracious appetite for dead things. In actual fact this is nothing to do with a voracious appetite and more as a result of the constantly stingy rations on which they expect me to survive. It is survival of the fittest. Mummie joked with the vet (who is very charming and Irish) that it was a gastric band that she actually needed for me, not worming tablets. She wasn't laughing when she came home though and found me struggling to finish the large tub of Stork margarine and full bag of sugar that I had repatriated from the kitchen table in to my mouth. I daresay that her mood had not been helped by failing to achieve to produce ( for the third day running) anything but the ugliest cakes I have ever seen for the village fete. She blamed it on Daddy who had forced her to put off the Aga due to it being 90 degrees in the kitchen. I digress. After the usual talk about what a disgraceful way to behave I came over a bit funny - it is called "taking a whitey". She thought that I was putting it on but the master stroke was me being sick down the side of the dishwasher. Twice. She panicked then as I am never sick, my mantra being that once food is down there, it's mine. Daddy was scathing when she phoned him to ask his advice, saying "I always knew that bloody dog would end up killing itself with food one day". Charming. He needn't expect any sympathy from me ever again. I was bundled in to the Landrover and taken to see the insensitive vet who actually sniggered when Mummie told her what had happened. I had to spend the night there on a drip having the margarine flushed out of my system. The vet was astonished by my quick recovery and said that she new I felt better by the next morning because I had tried to get in to the jar of dog biscuits she keeps in her surgery. Panic over but Daddy has forever blotted his copy book, his only comment to me was "thats another £100 you owe me". I am scarred by his lack of empathy. I had comiserated with him only the week before when he had overindulged on pickled onions. There was no emnity from me, even though he hadn't even offered me one, but labradors never forget ( particularly food related incidents) and every dog has her day. Mummie has suggested a little friend to keep me out of mischief. Daddy has suggested a quickie divorce in the event that this comes to pass. He says that one of me is enough - in fact too much most of the time. Bloody cheek. Watch this space Daddy, Mummie says that you will be down the road before I am, So there.

I am sick, sick , sick of all of the grief I am getting just now and I am off if there is much more. Firstly I have been severely reprimanded by way of a toe up my a**e for digging up Mummies garden. She cannot have it both ways. Rabbits live under the garden and she is a full-time whinger when something else gets eaten. At least if I destroy something whilst digging I have acheived something. She will have to learn that it is for the greater good. Daddy on the otherhand goads me in to digging wherever I like. Daddy says that I have the best nose of any dog he has ever met and I am inclined to agree with him. Mummie says that Daddy will be getting a toe up his a**e next time she catches him encouraging me.

Next, it has been so hot that I have had to resort to the pond again. Mummie was livid. She says that I have squashed several hundred tadpoles and she says that I stink. Furthermore, she says that my attitude stinks and that I am one misdemeanour away from being fired from my position of house dog. I spent last night in the kennel for "social awareness" purposes. I howled all night which kept Mummie awake and her mood is even more grim today than yesterday. Daddy says that I should have been on "Britain's Got Talent" because my voice is far better than anything else on that show and has started to call me Julio Tuftyarse. I cannot help it if my coat is shedding and find his comments grossly offensive. Anyway, Mummie has burnt her nose in the sun and looks far more stupid than me.

This is a picture of my sister and me.........in happier times.

I have had the most traumatic time recently hence my lack of communications. It started when cousin Archie came to stay. Grandpa has been to the saw doctor about his knee and is unable to do the hundred metres for a few months and therefore Mummie has been delegated to look after Archie. Archie is alright but was slightly wet when he arrived knowing nothing about country ways and I have taken him under my wing in order that he feels more at home. This culminated last night in a real to do because Daddy shot a rabbit which had stupidly been eating Mummies clematis. Daddy calls this approach "natural selection". I went to fetch the shot rabbit but no, Archie decided that he must retrieve it. I do think myself that this was an act of gross stupidity. He has only been here five minutes. I have spent a lifetime perfecting my technique and according to Daddy, I am still bloody useless. Archie stole the rabbit and then refused to give it up. You are not allowed to eat them. That is the rule. Archie wouldn't give the rabbit up and then got a swift kick up the backside the surprise of which forced him to let go. He then proceeded to steal another rabbit that I had found and make off with it too. I had stashed it a while ago and admittedly it was a bit ripe. Ha Ha - he had a night in th kennel because Mummie quite rightly knew that the rabbit would make a reappearance. It has been time consuming but I have taught Mummie well. If Archie thinks for one minute that the apprentice has become the master he is on to plums.

Further degredation was to follow. The chimney sweep has had to be called again because another jackdaw has made its nest in the most used chimney in the house. You would imagine that this is not a good idea but they like it a lot. Mummies language was quite trenchant and had the jackdaw not already been dead down the chimney I am sure that it wouldn't have hung around to see what happened next. The chimney sweep was here all day removing the nest from the chimney, sending up smoke bombs and generally making sure that he wouldn't have to have the pleasure of Mummies company again for quite some time. Daddy nearly passed out when he saw the bill and voiced the opinion that he could have saved the money by sending me up the chimney instead, his reasons being that a. I am black anyway and so nobody would notice if I got dirty b. I like eating dead things and would have removed the need for the sweep to spend two hours fishing out the bird and c. (and this cut me to the quick) My tail is as bushy as the sweeps brush and would have made an excellent job of the chimney. Needless to say, in future, he can retrieve his own bloody rabbits, I am not to be toyed with.

Daddy says that dogs do not go on furniture but as you can see he is wrong about this too. I do like to spend at least a few hours in contemplation in the sun room each day.

Today has has some ups and downs. The up was that I caught a rabbit in the garden which finally puts paid to Daddy's assertion that I am "totally bloody useless". I am going to make him eat his own words and have stashed the rabbit somewhere safe so that I can produce it at an appropriate moment. Another up was the creme caramel that I had at lunchtime although Mummie didn't seem too impressed. She said that it was not good for my figure and that she had been saving it for Grandma (although I suspect that she wasn't thinking of feeding it to Grandma). In fact even though I had not sought her permission before I had helped myself to the creme caramel, there was no attempt at verbal abuse when she discovered what I had been up to. This is strange and unsettling (not to mention unheard of).

The down was that I have been gated for making off whilst she moved Declan in to the back field. Declan has managed to rip his new rug already. Mummie called him a total b******d and dragged him into the other field where she found that some of the fence posts were so rotten that they had fallen over. Oh dear! I think that I remember something similar to this at our last house. Daddy had better watch out especially when Declan gets out because Mummie can sometimes be tricky about things like that. She isn't that patient at times.

I was found wandering by one of the men working in the church next door and was dragged back to the house on a piece of baler twine. He was a very nice man and gave me a bit of his sandwich whilst we were waiting for Mummie to come back. The other workman managed to grab Mummies attention when she went past in the Land Rover (this was apparently her attempt at a search party). The nice workman looked astonished when Mummie gave him her opinion on my behaviour. His jovial chat dried up a bit after that but I suppose he could just have been a bit awestruck. She fails to realise that I am a free spirit. I should not be constrained and she says that I am to be made to work in lieu of the money she has spent on diesel on a wild goose chase trying to find me and that if I get squashed next time I shall only have myself to blame. Charming. Hope she's got it out of her system now. I'm going back to the Aga,

This is a picture of me in my sun room. I have a view of the entire garden, woods and paddocks from here which is essential for spotting rabbits, pheasants and other trespassers.

There was a point at the weekend when I really wondered whether I could go on. On Friday Mummie took me out to the front paddock to kit Declan out in his latest rug. This is its seventh incarnation since May last year and the most expensive to date and she has had to redirect the bank statement to the bottom of the bonfire in order that Daddy doesn't divorce her. For the avoidance of any doubt, Daddy hates horses. He says that Declan has the appearance of a gypsy carthorse and that with a bit of luck some idiot will steal him at Appleby Fair time. I don't like him either, his feet are too big for me to risk getting near his feed bucket without a trip to the ill mannered vet. Anyway, whilst out there I did come across a particularly stupid pheasant inside one of the tree fences which I felt obligated to chase for nearly half an hour. Mummie was incoherent. Despite of her demands that I return indoors, I would not. Her legs were not long enough to connect with my rear end. Her face went a different colour to usual and the language would have shamed a navvy. She managed free the pheasant eventually, obviously with my help, and I was so hot by then that I had to go for a prolonged wallow ith the pond. This obvoiusly tipped her over the edge because the words started coming out of her mouth at such a rate that I couldn't understand a thing. I discovered the jist of it when I was dragged in to the kennel and told that it would be the only place that my green tide mark would be welcome for the forseeable future.

I was only washed this morning which is verging on inhumane and even then it was in the bath rather than in the shower which I prefer. In addition only towel drying, no hairdryer in sight and I was coiffured by a nit comb which is no less than slander in my eyes. I was rewarded tonight with an evening in the sitting room by special request of Daddy on whose lap I watched the most marvellous, wonderful advert I have ever seen. Imagine this, chocolate in the shape of a rabbit. It doesn't get any better than that