One dogs opinion on TV programmes...

There was a time when I was unmarried and had a place of my own, and if I wasn't young free and single (for I was young and betrothed at the time), then in comparison to todays heavily mortgaged penal servitude I was at the very least out on bail at the time.

So young and carefree with my money was I that I could even afford to rent from DER my very own Ferguson Videostar video recorder (see picture), the original top loading model of course, you know, the one that was bigger than the TV set and weighed half a ton and needed 40 pounds of pressure on the record button to set it off.

Not content with a to-be wife who lived around the corner I decided that I needed a dog, if only I knew then what I know now I would have stopped at the dog.

However, I decided that my small one bedrommed flat needed a big dog to look after it during the day when I was at work and so for a few weeks I sproached (a Geordie word) the local newspapers for dogs for sale until one night I came across the advert from a pet shop in Cullercoats for a litter of German Shepherd pups, I rang them, they had two dogs and a bitch left, ten weeks old, £60 each, I was sold.

Went straight to the pet shop from work and there I met Samantha who was to grow up to be the biggest German Shepherd bitch I have ever seen, a dog with a beautiful temprement who lived long enough to be dogparent to both our children when they were born and who suffered many ripped out clumps of hair when they were crawling without once even snarling, which is more than can be said for me when they ripped out clumps of my hair.

Sam came home in the back of my Ford Fiesta and shit all over the boot, thats the thing with small puppies who have never been in a car before, they literally shit themselves and because at that age they are eating very soft mushy food, the shit comes out very soft and mushy too, the back of the Fiesta was a right mess.

Still, she was very cute and I carried her from the car to the door of the flat and placed her on the floor to introduce her to her new home.

She ran straight across the room to the TV and the Ferguson Videostar which sat on the floor beneath it, and as I stood and watched she squat down over the Ferguson Videostar and shit right on top of it.

By the time I got across the room armed with kitchen towel there was very little of the beige coloured runny shit to be seen - it had run inside the top loading Ferguson Videostar and depsite raising the eject lid and stuffing as much paper towel down inside that I could, it still wouldn't play a tape.

So I had to call out the video repairman from DER, still not to worry, the repair was all part of the rental agreement, although to be honest I can't remember the bit that said "dog shit inside the video included".

A day later the video repairman arrived at the door and I led him into the living room and pointed to the Ferguson Videostar, "its there" I said, he nodded as if to agree that yes, that would be the Ferguson Videostar and then asked me what the problem was.

In my best completely innocent voice whilst crossing my fingers tight behind my back I simply told him that it had just stopped playing tapes, which was true, if not the complete story.

He replied that I must be unlucky as the Ferguson Videostar was usually a very reliable player and that it would take something very exceptional to stop the thing from playing, I asked him if he would like a cup of tea whilst he started to undo the case screws.

I can't say that I could actually look him in the eye when he discovered why the normally very reliable Ferguson Videostar had stopped playing but without prompting I went a fetched some kitchen towel for him and to his credit he got on with scooping the two day old but still runny beige dog shit out of the workings of Fergusons finest video player.

He still said nothing as he got me to sign his worksheet and he said nothing as he left the flat, I think it may have been the medical condition known as "shock"...