The Diary Of Miss Darcy Bustle 13th October

6th October

This weekend was cause for much celebration among the doggie visitors to coastal areas all over the country because 1 October marks the lifting of the summer ban on dogs on the beach. Not all beaches ban us of course; the fishermen’s beach at Rock-a-Nore in Hastings doesn’t because their own dogs sit on the beach, waiting all night for the boats to come back in safely. I’ve always been very impressed with their pluck. I’m a little bit frightened of the dark so I’m glad the girls at the magazine don’t go to sea. 


There is a dog on the cover this week and it’s not me. I pretended I didn’t mind. But I do. Who is this Naked Boy dog? I know that he was painted by Sally Muir and that he spent some time living in the doggie equivalent of a children’s home. And everyone thinks he is cute. It’s an outrage. Look at him; he looks so cocky it’s ridiculous. At least he doesn’t have his own column. Yet.


In America the dogs seem to go in for showing off on a scale that we can only dream of, particularly in California where they have just held the Surf City Dog competition. Can this be real? Are their legs glued on? I don’t imagine we would be allowed to do that in the UK because of Health and Safety issues. The editor says that the Californians have never recovered from the 1960s hippy revolution and too much of what she calls ‘pot’. Is it food? Has there ever been a dachshund hippy? Maybe I could be the first?


I got an anonymous letter from someone at the office telling me that I was smelly. They didn’t want to hurt my feelings (really?) but perhaps I might invest in some soap and water. Obviously, my feelings were hurt. I would have liked to write back and say that I do wash actually, but I am very close to the ground and the pavements are very dirty. Maybe we should try a pavement clean-up campaign? Or maybe I should just leave.


I had a very long bath this morning and tried very hard to not be sad. Mercifully, I came across a packet of doggie treats that were left, unguarded, on the kitchen table. I know it’s wrong to get up on the table – unless you are at a Greek wedding – but I couldn’t resist. So I might not be pongy any more but I think I am certainly a bit more podgy.