Sometimes you just have to throw in the towel and surrender to a greater power; which is why I didn’t update my blog last week and why today I had to make a sad decision.

But let me tell you about my working week first.

I was minded of ITV2’s Love Island. Not, you understand that I have or will ever watch this utter bilge, but the 13 July episode was vilified in the news for conforming to the stereotypical image of a ‘fireman’ when the men dressed as firefighters and were given the challenge of rescuing the women. But why, you may ask, was I thinking about that? Well, the Marine Theatre is one of the Lyme Regis locations chosen as a defibrillator station, we’re the only site at our end of town so it’s pretty important. Anyway, the local Station Commander cum window cleaner Virgil Turner, dropped in to tell us what needed doing to make it operational and after a long chat about other emergency issues including fire drills, he kindly agreed to run an official fire evacuation drill at the theatre. It was after he had left that our marketing manager, John Puckey, accused me and Gabby of acting like a couple of star-struck school girls.

I think he mistook our flattering interest in someone who is very kindly offering to help us out with the stereotypical infatuation girls have with men in uniform, or maybe there was a touch of the green-eyed monster?

The Royal Marines is my favourite if you must know.

Our volunteers are the backbone of the Marine

We had our monthly volunteer meeting which is always interesting with some strong opinions that often lead to heated discussion. The question of dress for our Front of House staff was raised again; the general consensus has always been smart black & white but this has led to white with black spots, black with white stripes and every other combination in between. Then there was the suggestion that the theatre T-shirts should be worn, but not everyone has one and so it transpired, not everyone has something in black or white.

Our volunteers are the backbone of the Marine, salt of the earth and unsung heroes, so I don’t want to cause any upset. I therefore applied a mathematical solution – I added up the different views and came out with an average colour code of, you guessed it, black and white.

I felt like one of those women who squat by the Ganges washing the family dirty laundry

On Wednesday I was squatting on the office floor with the Henry after having given our computer screens and keyboards a good clean. Isn’t it incredible how many crumbs drop out of a keyboard?!? So after a full wipe down and dust off, the carpet needed a vacuum especially the marketing end of the office that is the worst for cake crumbs and chocolate fondant icing squashed into the fibres, but you really do have to get down on your hands and knees to do a good job, so with my long summer skirt on giving me plenty of wriggle room, I squatted down on the floor with Henry’s long hose and soon had it looking much cleaner, I felt like one of those women who squat by the Ganges washing the family dirty laundry.

There wasn’t much I could do about the stains at the marketing end, I might suggest he buys beige coloured cake so it merges into the carpet.

it seems ‘puppy blues’ actually is a thing

Then the weekend arrived, when I threw in the towel and had to grab it back quickly before it was dragged outside by the puppy. Yes, we finally went down the doggy route; after years of both my sons begging and the last few months of my youngest pleading on his knees, (well OK, more bleating nonstop but it has the same effect) I succumbed and one very lively, pretty, floppy eared spaniel took up residence.

Being one who knew, I had warned my son it was hard work, there would be long nights and even longer days of puppy love. By day three the cracks were beginning to show; it may have been the whining every two hours throughout the night (although I got up for most of those), or the constant craving for attention, the training, the poop clearing-up, the fretful walks or any number of things you have to do for a puppy. I found masses of online forums and it seems ‘puppy blues’ actually is a thing.

I had taken the week off to help him in the initial stages but by the end of the week, the doggy dream of a furry friend was being replaced with the stark reality of it all. Luckily we had bought puppy from a reputable breeder who had said from the offset they would take him back if it didn’t work out, so a couple of messages later, our four-legged friend was heading back to his canine family.

It was a very tough decision and a few tears were shed but it was the right thing to do for the puppy and that’s what counts. It was sad coming back to an empty house without being pounced on or mentally mobbed by his beautiful bovine eyes and big soft floppy ears.

I’m just glad I didn’t let my son persuade me to take him into work, puppy poop is never beige but then I guess it would match the chocolate cake stains at the other end of the office.

Surrendering to a greater power and ‘puppy blues’ is a thing
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