out of line

I am quite convinced that in Biff I have found the perfect dog. He doesn't moult, is good with small children and old people, trots nicely along beside my bike and - most importantly - can sit quietly for hours under a cafe or restaurant table.

But I fear that I am about to put his forbearance to the test tomorrow. After a summer of accompanying me to local fetes and country fairs across the region - and watching with a look of indulgent resignation as the French line dancing troop to which I belong takes to the stage - he is going to have to sit through our entire repertoire at least twice tomorrow. First stop at 11.00am, is the covered market of a nearby town, then an agricultural fair 25km away and then back to the covered market. We even have a live violinist who accompanies us now - the USP that sets us apart from the many other troups in the region.

Having spent large segments of the summer in London, I don't know all the steps but am hoping not to repeat the performance where I ended up facing the opposite direction to everyone else on the stage. You know you've made a fool of yourself when even your pet tries to pretend he's not with you.