Sunglasses after dark

Walking the dog, even wrapped up like a day-glo kipper, is dangerous enough in the evenings without being dazzled by motorists who somehow think that only other cars deserve to have the courtesy of not being blinded.

It’s a weird, disorientating experience, as for a second one can be unsure what is underfoot or indeed which direction one should be walking.

Some drivers seem unable to see beyond the bonnet of their vehicle (that’s hood for this blog’s growing band of readers in the USA – especial thanks to Florence Garric of St Paul, Minnesota, who sent a delicious cake for Esme, albeit a little squashed).

Perhaps drivers think that that walker with the dog is doing some kind of rustic Morris dance that comprises shaking a fist as they pass?

Esme, now about 18 months old, is getting wise to road safety. She instinctively goes to the ‘safe’ side whenever walking in the roadway, like ladies of a certain generation expecting their menfolk to walk on the roadside and perhaps even lay a cloak over a puddle.

The idea of doing so with Esme actually appeals. Anything to keep her clean – her short legs mean that a bath in the kitchen sink is now a daily necessity.

Perhaps the answer is sunglasses. There was a psychobilly band in the early 1980s called Sunglasses after Dark. A friend bought a pair of Ray-bans and wore them into a nightclub. His headlong trip into the gloom of the Dug Out Club in Bristol remains number four in my list of all-time funniest moments.