(I do want to go to) Chelsea*

Bertie's future as a fashion accessory?

Is five and a half too old to have a tantrum?

Now we established last week, didn’t we, that if a Chihuahua can undertake a ten hour flight from Seattle to Frankfurt, then there is absolutely no reason for an only slightly oversized wire-haired fox terrier not to travel around the globe with his doting human?

So imagine my horror when Gail announced that she is flying to London for a business meeting next week, and taking the opportunity while ‘Down South’ to visit Human Granny in  Nottingham for a few days, and as a result I am being left behind AGAIN.

I feel it is a failure of imagination on Gail’s part, that she can’t figure out how I could accompany her on this trip. But I am a creative kind of a pup, with a terrier’s tenacity, and I have been gnawing away at the problem.

You know, to me it seems simple. One just need to take things one step at a time.

1. The flight from Aberdeen to London: the fact that British Airways do not allow dogs in the cabin is no obstacle, I think. Either I could be smuggled in using a cabin bag with air holes (the flight is only 90 mins) or Gail could pretend she was fat or pregnant and hide me under her coat. If she removes my collar, I see no reason why I should be detected by the scanner…
2. The colleague accompanying Gail: I gather he is a friendly chap called Ishfaq and, although of Asian background, was born and bred in Scotland and so is culturally hard-wired to be dog tolerant and thus happy to co-operate with my escapade. Furthermore, his brown skin may act as an additional distraction at airport security (these folk are known to deal in the crudest of stereotypes) thus aiding my plan to slip through unnoticed. 
3. Heathrow to London SW3: I googled this one and am pleased to report that dogs are allowed the Heathrow Express, the London Underground and in black cabs. For sure an Uber driver would take me too?
4. While the meeting is taking place: two options here I think. 
1. The meeting is hosted by a French oil company with swanky offices just behind the Saatchi Gallery in Chelsea. In an ideal world I would be welcomed into the meeting room with open arms, immediately supplied with water and at lunch fed a choice selection from the buffet provided for the humans. The fact that the first time Gail ever visited this office, the new General Manager - just arrived from France - threw a big hissy fit at the poor standard of the lunchtime refreshments, bodes well, surely, for a quality offering this time around. 
2. However, I think it wise to have a contingency plan just in case anyone at the meeting kicks up a fuss and claims to be allergic to dogs. Mine is to be temporarily adopted by one of the international super-model type women whose natural habitat is the Sloane Square end of Kings Road. 
   
   Such ladies, I believe, regard cute fluffy pups as a fashionable accessory and, let’s face it, few are as cute as my good self.  So if I am expelled from the office building and onto the street, I aim to execute a perfectly timed bounce into the handbag of one such lady, who will exclaim ‘too cute’ and take me on a tour of designer boutiques, ply me with deliciously tooth-rotting treats and show me off to all her friends. Since such people have short attention spans, and their stick thin arms are not made for carrying  9 kg of WFT for long, I anticipate my adopter will tire of me after a few hours and will abandon me near to where I was picked up, just in time to reunite with Gail when her meeting ends. What could possibly go wrong? 
5. London to Nottingham: now we are on the home straight, as Nottingham is less than two hours away from London by train and once safely arrived, not even Gail can dream up further objections to my remaining with her for the duration.

How about it Gail?

*With apologies to Elvis Costello...