mostly david ephgrave

On Wednesday, I got home for a brief window between an appointment with my dad and meeting Glyn at The Sun to set up equipment for Mostly to find my flat like this: That's right: it was that age-old 'dog got into the flour' situation. Except the scene was a little more complicated than this; not only had the dog got into the flour, he'd trampled it with similar success into the sofa, his bed and the front room carpet, before returning to the kitchen and somwow shutting the door behind him, locking himself in. When I put the key in the front door, I could hear him moaning, and when I released him from his baking-based prison he was panting and stressed and needed a good long hug to calm down again. There was no point in getting angry as by that stage it would never read what I was telling him off about, and ultimately he'd grown so wound up he just needed attention to bring him back from anxiety. It was just frustrating that I'd been gone just long enoug...