30 September - Winston & Underworld

Clearly, having never been a dog person (I like them, had some when growing up and they're much better than cats thank you, but not as good as horses), the fact that I could be so excited about a friend getting a cockapoo (cross between a spaniel and ?? ) and could be subsequently in paroxysm of delight when meeting said chocoate brown puppy who seemed more like a lamb with all his gambolling, chasing, biting, pulling, nuzzling etc, can only mean one thing. Old age. There's no other explanation. My friend is prepared to stay at home more often to look after Winston, the new puppy and I can't get the words out of my mouth fast enough to offer to dog sit whenever she will need one.

The thought of enjoying a night in with a puppy to play with is ... frankly not part of my wiring. Something's happened. Is there any link between diminishing supplies of oestrogen and pet appreciation? I mean, I even bought him a dog cushion... But am also equally delighted at the thought of going to see Underworld do a set at the Roundhouse next month. Hope they're as good as Glastonbury circa 1997. I mean, they can't be, that's understood, but I'll go all delusional and not see that everyone around me is old. Though not as old as they are on stage. Surely Carl is nearly 50??? And not as cute as Winston.