Hello super-dog fans. Captain Midnight here.
Himself has been banging on to his friends (really, I’m surprised he’s still got any) about the joys of what he calls “real motoring.” He likes to pretend that the Morgan 3.0 litre V6 Roadster in the driveway is his!
Just for the record, it is of course my secret super-dog car (secret no more thanks to Himself) although I let him drive it because it has no power-steering which makes it a bit heavy to park when you don’t have opposable thumbs.
Not long after this photograph was taken, he took my place behind the wheel and we set off cross country for my bachelor pad in Lyme Regis. Apparently we had a “stonking drive” whatever that is. You’ll have to take his word for it as I slept all the way there, apart from one pit stop when Himself disappeared into the kiosk muttering darkly about the price of petrol and I had to keep an eye things.
I did point out that it wasn’t very flattering to photograph me with lorries and a waste disposal skip in the background. He told me that they represented a sort of bleak, post-industrial, Mad Max chic. I said he was suffering from heroic delusions and that he drove more like Mr Toad than Mad Max.
It was meant to be a joke but it did rather hurt his feelings and he was a bit sulky for the next few miles. Since it’s my job to make him feel good, I jumped out of the passenger seat onto his lap when we got to the flat and gave his chops a good licking to show my general admiration and appreciation. It must have worked because he smiled and gave me a marrow bone.
Fortunately you don’t need thumbs to drive one of those.
Parp! Parp!
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