Dinner turned out to be rather entertaining. We somehow got onto the subject of Hypnotherapy. Well I think we did, can't really remember much beyond 'you're feeling very sleepy' No, I'm feeling very drunk. That's amazing said my colonial friends, but how does hypnotherapy tie in with regular therapy and counseling because we already have that for our pet allergies 365 times a week. Are these really the world's policemen, I find myself wanting to commit a crime against the world, like pouring a half finished malt down the sink, just to see if they arrest me. In California, they'd probably give you a bloody medal, but that's just how they are there, dicks.

Any road up as my poorly bred Yorkshire chums would have it, and they do quite regularly apparently. There's a lot of worried sheep in that neck of the woods and it's got bugger all to do with Foot and Mouth. Enough of this nonsense back to the plot. We eventually got onto the subject of Diabetes. I have a feeling, but we won't go there, that I must have been looking for a way out after some quip about the hostess's husband and a little prick. Insulin, I cried in my defense, it's just a little prick each time before you eat. No, No, No, not going there. They have Insulin pens now you know, I said, just like this one, getting mine out. That's not going to hurt now is it. Ever had that feeling that nothing's getting through. It's a little bit like too many egg mayonnaise sandwiches at the wedding reception. My mother is diabetic and that would make a lovely Christmas gift for her. What? Oh, the Insulin pen.

Well maybe it's just me, but at this point I thought I'd go to the local redneck bar and see how many of the punters were thinking of treating their parents to chemotherapy this Christmas. Getting bored with discussing the latest medical publications including 'Colostomy bag maintenance for beginners' and 'Teach yourself amputations', I arranged a police escort back to my hotel room and decided to watch some TV. Specifically something that didn't include live coverage from the camera on the tip of the latest cruise arsehole heading into an empty cave in Bastardistan. So as I drunkenly surfed the cable, I discovered something very close to my heart, my wallet. Thought it had been lifted earlier, but there you go. To be serious for a moment, there in front of my very bloodshots, was a live Tournament of Champions Dog Show. Oh Heaven, it was just like being back home, drinking heavily while watching a bunch of sad bastards strutting their stuff on the blue blaze. I know it's green there, but it's been a while, as I'm sure the Memsab has noticed. Try a bowl of soup I said, you sound as if you need something warm inside you.

The Best in Show Judge was obviously a Veteran, I am not talking Vietnam, I'm talking Civil War here y'all. The Afghan represented the Hound Group, surely not. As she zimmered over for the final look, the crowd was all aghast. What would she do? Drop dead on the spot or do the politic thing and support the Chinese by picking the Sharpei. No, there was obviously some affinity to the handler of the Shi Tzu and that's where the big rosette went. Nice boy, obviously from California where the men are … well, you know.

What really got up my chuff were some of the adverts in between the 'judging' sessions. Did you know that here in the US of A, they have their very own 'It shouldn't happen to a pet'. Over here they have a program called 'Vet School Confidential', which is a kind of 'Trude reveals all'. No, we won't go there either. I will never forgot many things, but I will forget a lot. Sorry, where was I? Ah yes, the dog show on the television. Only in America would an owner/handler (you mean there's a difference) turn up in a full length evening gown. I'm being serious, which is a lot more than she was being taken. Enough of this nonsense, I have a head to rest and a body to … there goes the old memory again.

Till next week, when I'll definitely be off walking with Toto in search of the Wizard of Oz.

Col. Barker (Retd.)