The growth of Legs and Expectations. Oh, and Bert Fegg.

My wonderful husband and I (not that I have any other husbands, you understand, I'm not saying that this is my 'wonderful' husband as opposed to my 'sulky' husband or my 'high-achieving' husband, I'm merely saying that the one I have is wonderful) took the dogs out for a walk today.  That, in itself, isn't blogworthy.  I mean we take the dogs out every day, three times a day, well we have to.  They give such dirty looks if you miss a walk, and then they start coming up the stairs in deputations and sitting outside the bedroom door.

The eyes follow you around the room.  And, after a while, so do the paws.  So, we took them somewhere I used to take the kids, years ago when they were small.  A local Roman camp, where I provided impromptu history lessons and it was more like an episode of Outnumbered than anything else.  We used to take picnics and spend the whole day there, in the days when the kids thought a stick was a high-tech plaything, and they could spend three hours jumping on and off a bridge.

Walking the dogs took 40 minutes.  40 minutes to cover an area of ground it used to take all day to walk.  Of course, we didn't have to stop for a pee every two minutes (although my time is coming, I can feel it) or for toddler-sized legs to climb every incline of over 1/3 gradient just to shout 'I'm the King of the Castle!' only to get shoved off by an older sibling. And we weren't even walking that fast....

In fact, we did walk up there with the kids on Christmas Day.  There was four feet of snow lying, and even then it only took us an hour to go round.  And I started to think.  In the old days, when I had five small children, they were quite content to spend their time pushing each other off high ledges and poking sticks into the ground, and a walk of two miles took all day.  Now they can do two miles in an hour (although we did have to have a 'pushing off high ledge' break half way round, honestly it's a wonder they've survived - well, that and my cooking) but poking things with sticks is no longer a viable activity.  No, an activity is only entertaining these days if it comes with five headline bands, two roller coasters and a private swimming pool.

And the conclusion I came to?  As their legs grow, so do their expectations. 

Right, that's enough philosophy.  Now to the serious point of my blog.  The question has been raised (and I'm not allowed to say by whom, suffice it to say that he's already been mentioned in this blog and the dog isn't that clever), that in a series of photographs taken by that same someone, I bear a startling resemblence to a cartoon character from his youth.

I looked at the aforementioned pictures, and he might have a point.  Judge for yourselves...

This, just to be clear is ME.

And this is Bert Fegg.  Apparently, we could be twins.  Apart from the fact that he's a drawing and I'm not.

And now I'd like you all to vote.  Not on whether we're alike, but on a suitable punishment for the person who suggested the likeness....