David hated dancing.

‘Oh, c’mon.’

‘I can’t. I have two left feet.’

We were at a friend’s birthday party. It was at their house and they’d hired a DJ and a barman to make these funny purple cocktails, of which I’d had three. We’d been dating for about three months. We were both exhilarated, yet still uncertain of each other’s feelings. No one had mentioned the L-word yet, but I already knew I was in love with David.

‘Nobody has two left feet. It’s a misnomer.’

‘Trust me, I do.’

‘Trust me, it’ll be fun.’

Laughing, I looped my arm through his and pulled him towards the dance floor. The party was in full swing. Disco lights flashed. Justin Timberlake began playing.

‘It will not be fun, not for anyone. People have been known to run for cover – seriously, I can clear a dance floor quicker than “The Birdie Song”.’

‘I love “The Birdie Song”!’

Grinning, I flapped my elbows.

‘You’re crazy.’

‘I know.’

‘I love you, Crazy.’

Boom! Just like that.

His words seemed to hang in the air for a few moments, suspended above us as I raised my eyes to meet his. Until then he’d always seemed so self-assured, but for the first time I saw an uncertainty reflected back at me.

‘I love you too.’

I can’t remember if I was still flapping my elbows as I said it. Or as he pulled me towards him and began kissing me. But I will never forget the surge of exhilaration and happiness that blew right though me as I kissed him back. He tasted of those funny purple cocktails and canapés, and of my future.

We never did make it onto that dance floor.

Not a Date

March in the Yorkshire Dales brings with it the promise of longer days and finer weather; the clocks go forward, spring is on the horizon and soon it will be lambing season. It feels like new beginnings are just around the corner. In lots of ways.

‘OK, fingers crossed this works.’

The following weekend I finish rigging up the video camera and open the app on my phone. I’ve been forced to take desperate measures. Since Harry came to live with me I’ve barely left him home alone, for fear of what he might chew. The first couple of times it was the kitchen skirting boards, but then a few days ago I returned to find what shall forever be referred to as ‘The Scatter Cushion Massacre’.

In the time it took for me to pop out for a pint of milk he’d managed to rip apart every cushion and pillow on my bed, strewing feathers everywhere. Returning home was like entering a soft-furnishing crime scene. Apparently chewing is a classic sign of separation anxiety. I’m sympathetic. After David left I suffered from it too – only instead of eating cushions and skirting boards, I chose the contents of my fridge.

So having followed all the advice from dog behaviourists, without any success, I’ve bought a doggy-cam, which – according to the thousands of reviews from desperate dog owners on Amazon – is a ‘lifesaver’. Frankly, I don’t want to save my life, just my cushions. Now, through an app on my phone, not only will I be able to watch Harry, but I can talk to him, ‘to offer comfort and reassurance’ if he becomes agitated. As a plus, the video cameras can also be used to catch burglars, though considering I’ve removed every single item Harry could chew ahead of my drink with Ajay this evening, my living room looks like I’ve already been burgled.