Today I found out Bertie's racing name: Hardtobehumble. For those who don't know it, here's the song:

Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
When you're perfect in every way
I can't wait to look in the mirror
Cuz I get better lookin each day

To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man
Oh Lord it's hard to be humble
But I'm doin' the best that I can

There's more, about girlfriends and skin tight blue jeans, it's a hoot. Oh and it's country, in case you couldn't tell.

I tried the name out on him (not exactly catchy: "Here, Hardtobehumble!") and it didn't raise a response. So Bertie it is.

The Retired Greyhounds Trust also told me he's Irish, and was born in 1997 -- the day after my birthday!!! Spoooooky.

I went clothes shopping today, sigh. I got a black silk shirt (handwash only -- why do I torment myself with such garments?) and two t-shirts. Marks & Spencer is so depressing now. I used to get most of my clothes there, but they changed their sizing system with a great tantara and now nothing fits me. "I'm normal!" squealed the fat woman in the M&S advert, standing naked on a hilltop. She's naked because M&S changed their sizing system and nothing fits her. It's maddening. I'm wearing size 16 M&S jeans, but today tried on a size 18 shirt that was a joke. I could barely get it buttoned up, and it was so tight in the sleeves and across the back that I couldn't raise my arms. I left feeling monstrous. I got the shirt in Wallis, which doesn't make a big deal about its bigger sizes.

I don't think the shopping experience was unrelated to the road rage incident I got involved in a little later on. The road rager was another driver, a White Van Man, but I wound my window down and gave him a piece of my mind. He was punching the window of the car in front of me at the time, so it was quite reckless of me to have a go. He started to come at me (I wound my window up so fast I nearly sprained my wrist) but backed off -- I guess when he saw how enormously fat I am (smirk).

You want details? Oh go on then. When I became aware of the white van it was driving very, very slowly down the Cowgate ahead of the Polo (or similar) in front of me. Polo man tooted. White Van Man slowed further. Polo tooted again. White Van stopped without signalling. Polo signalled and pulled round ahead of White Van. White Van accelerated in a cloud of black smoke, sitting on Polo's tail, flashing his brights, generally acting like a maniac. Then, in the face of heavy oncoming traffic, White Van pulled round Polo at speed and stopped sharply in front of him. White Van Man got out and started ranting and pounding on the Polo, which is when I wound my window down and let him have it.

Men are WEIRD.

I did enjoy venting my rage though, it felt great. And without endangering anyone but myself! I'm so socially responsible. It was right by the close where I used to live as well, so conceivably my old neighbours were there saying, man she hasn't changed a bit.

Tomorrow I'm going to Elie, on the Fife coast. It has lovely beaches for Bertie to run on. I'll take a picnic lunch. It won't rain, it just won't.