Rip their throats out and put them in your garbage compactor.

Two unrelated stories about dogs and bicycles today.

As I rounded a corner on a cycle path on Tooting Bec Common, I was sharply rebuked by a plummy mummy in a Barbour jacket, whose black Labrador was squatting in the middle of the cycle path taking the most enormous dump (this in a 152 acre park, with ample opportunities for less anti-social crapping). Apparently the woman was concerned that by exercising my right to use the cycle path, I might disturb her canine pal in mid, um, movement. Ptchah.

Second dog tale (or tail) – I overtook, with a sense of amazement and respect, a gent clad entirely in tweed, riding a creaky old bicycle with one hand, and holding the lead of his faithful hound, who was trotting contentedly along beside him, in the other. They wouldn’t have looked out of place in one of those bucolic villages one finds in Jeeves and Wooster stories (I seem to remember that Chuffy Chufnell lived in Chufnell Regis – that sort of place). He most certainly did look out of place in the bus lane of the A3036.

Currently engaged with our German, er, colleagues on a couple of projects. I love the fact that absolutely everyone in Germany is a Professor or Doctor. I remember a TS trainee (aged c.32) in Germany a few years ago who had a PhD in something (other than accounting, I should think), spending an entire day looking for operating expenses in the balance sheet.

If you’re an accountant, you’ll understand this. If you’re not – thank your lucky stars.