Am I going to die?

Today I have had a steady stream of visitors, only one of whom was actually expected, and enough to make me wonder what is going on here.....

The plan for today was to bath the dog after her morning walk in the steady drizzle. She smelled unspeakably bad, having had a tummy upset brought on by eating something vile in the street late last night before I could catch her, wolfing it down and spending the next ten minutes coughing retching and throwing up, somewhere in the dark. I know exactly why I prefer cats to dogs....

Before I could fill the sink and set out the deodorising dog shampoo, a friend rang to arrange to visit soon, and while we chatted, the doorbell rang. Mad barking from the stinko-dog, (excitable barking of the "Friend! Friend!" type, very loud and irritating; the "Foe! Foe!" bark is interspersed with not-very-frightening growling, and doesn't agitate one's nerves so much) and in came Roger, bringing me two handsome glass jars, Kilner type, but with unusual blue lids, that he thinks may date from the '60s. Before he could even finish saying hello, doorbell again and more mad barking, and in came Suzy, for the cup of tea and scone to which she had been invited earlier. Much excitement from dog, who received a brief and mistaken cuddle from Suzy, until the stench got to her. Rapid return of dog to floor, smelling salts applied to Suzy.

No sooner than I had put the kettle on, doorbell and barking yet again, and in came Charlotte and the Handsome Young Policeman, and we all had tea and a slice of pear and ginger cake (not last week's - a second attempt) and chatted about burglars, as you do when HYPs visit. Trenchant views were expressed (not by me, soppy liberal treehugger, or by the HYP, who is ultra-discreet) about prison being cushy. The dog had ten minutes' respite from all the noisy Friend! Friend! stuff, but as no one would pay any attention to her, smelling as sour as she did, she fretted around their ankles, looking martyred and excluded. There was almost a green cloud around her, with wavy lines emanating from it and the word "PONG".

Then doorbell and mad barking again, and in came Sandra. By this time the dog was sounding hoarse and ready to explode, and I had run out of chairs round the kitchen table, which gave me the excuse to stand and ease my painful back. More rude remarks made to the dog, all richly deserved.

Eventually all the sociability came to an end, possibly because the visitors feared for their health in such a miasma.(I noticed, however, that no one had been put off their cake.)

Some time and distractions later, the dog was bathed. No sooner had I released her from the towel, looking fluffy and cute and fit for human company again, another friend rang to arrange to call in on her way home, and, although she couldn't have foreseen this, to finish the cake and the scones.

So, six visitors today. This may be nothing to most people, but is unusual enough for me to wonder if there was anything in the air that made people think "Something, a sixth sense, perhaps, tells me that I must see her today, even though I risk being gassed by her horrible little dog". Hmmmmm.....

If I die in the night or am abducted by aliens, I will at least have left a clean dog, if not a tidy house, behind me.

PS 10.20 p.m. Visitor number 7 has just left; I probably won't see another soul now for weeks......