My friend Gill had been asked to temporarily take care of a house (and a dog who lives there) in Brighton for a family friend, who flew to Bermuda (it still is yet unclear whether she will ever re-emerge from the infamous triangle - but if not, I'm ready to adopt Beto, my new hairy boyfriend) and I was lucky enough to join, as my dog-whispering skills are legendary.

I am far more at ease with dogs, unlike the couple of my new cat housemates, they can sustain some rough play, they're generally more prancy and fun and easier to read and yes, loyal and cuddly, which to a very old-fashioned-me never was an off-putting concept (being it animals or boyfriends).

I ended up performing a whole plethora of questionable activities with that dog in a futile attempt to tire him down, including wiping a floor with him in a circular motion, which he loved, doing squats holding him, which he found hilarious, racing him zig zag in the woods, which resulted in my ruined trousers and dog getting lost chasing magpies instead of me.

Unlike us, the 9 months old dog has a strict fitness, play, feeding and sleep regime, that grown-up humans follow with a bizarre determination, which becomes particularly strange when you think how we tend to moan about a lack of vigour to bring any structure into our own day-to-day life and stick to it.

So after just a quick coffee, eyes still partially glued together by what is in english poetically referred to as 'sleep' (aka meibomian glands secretion), we took him for an hour long stroll in nature, wearing muddy boots, throwing sticks, climbing trees, and with no sun in sight generally re-enacting the Wuthering Hights.

In the few brief moments of freedom (when the attention shifted from humans to rubbery toys..and no, you filth, I do mean toys for dogs), we cooked a lot, we sure as hell drunk a lot and watched a 50 Shades of Granny docu on young guys dating women 80+, which mentally scarred me for life, but I'd totally watch it again.

Somehow in all that mayhem we managed to whisk out two traditional russian Easter pudings, based on a family recipe by Gill's great-aunt Nina Petrova. Pashka and Kulich, one of which is a triangular shaped cheescake representing Christ's ascension, and the other one is basically a panettone, and neither of which to my surprise contained vodka.

We ate it all on Sunday, back at Gill's house. A really chilled abundant family lunch, and when I came home late in the evening, my landlady Emma had another easter surprise for me - a gluten-free chocolate cake and a Czech vodka that she infused with two melted chocolate bars. I'm being seriously spoiled by women in my life,
*maybe going all gay wasn't such a great idea after all...

I think housesitting is my new favourite thing.

I like seeing what other people keep in their pantries, what moisturiser and shower gel they use (vitamin e cinnamon scrub) and going through a highly eclectic book (The Bible of a Healthy Bladder plus the whole paperback collection of Attack on Titan) and dvd collection (25th Anniversary edition of ROOTS - eh?!).

My only problem is I fall in love easily, being it animals or kids, and it only takes a one affectionate lick for me to start hearing wedding bells..

(also it took me a while to rewire my brain and stop treating poor little Alfie like a dog, throwing him toys and calling him a 'good booooy').

In conclusion I think I should get a dog. It only takes for you to go out with trash, and when you come back two minutes later he welcomes you like you've been gone for 6 months.

I'm sold.