These days, my idea of 'roughing it' is when I have to have an extension cord for my electric blanket which is still a Linda, despite their former slogan "sleep wonderfully warm with Linda" having been killed off by the Thought Police.
Before the Thought Police began to strut their stuff, even Sydney buses would exhort us to "hide the sausage tonight" and have bangers and mash for dinner, washed down, of course, with the kind of beer that "helped ugly people have sex since 1862".
Not too much beer for me these days as I now prefer classical music to sex - and even there I don't go to a concert from one year to the next.
Anyway, little Rover knows I've already switched on the electric blanket and now looks at me as if to say, "Come on, it's time to hit the cot".
And he's right, of course, because it's already dark outside and cold. I just wished it was a little bit colder so that I could really appreciate Linda but I think I will anyway. Come on, Rover! Bedtime!
