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My dog’s run-in with a jogger gives us paws for thought: everyone needs somebody else to blame

Sunday afternoon feels like the first day of spring in Regent’s Park (not including those apocalyptic days we had in February). The sky is warm blue. The trees are heavy with blossom. Even the grimier corners of Camden are being loved by the sun.

We do our usual lap, the dog, my boyfriend and I: a hemline circuit that takes in the water birds and then intersects back through the games pitches. The weather has drawn in the crowds so our pace is slowed by the scooters, the buggies, the joggers and the dogs fetching balls. A weekend visitor might think this is the straggling end of Saturday’s People's Vote march, but for the absence of banners and flags.

So we stroll, talking like everyone else in the country about the Prime Minister, about the desperate mess, about who, if anyone, is to blame. My boyfriend, a political journalist, says everyone is to blame. I joke that perhaps it’s his fault. And then suddenly we’re brought to a halt.

Ahead, a jogger — in white shorts, yellow vest and polarised sports sunglasses — collides, in what appears to be slow motion, with the dog. There’s an ugly tangle of legs. The dog’s ribcage bends. There’s an animal yelp and a human grunt. With a flash of his trainer soles, the jogger is on the concrete, the dog jiggering off in fright.

“Are you all right?” We rush forward offering hands.

“Fine.” He snaps, scrambling to his feet. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and his neck muscles flex. “Whose dog is that?”

“Ours,” I say, putting up my hand.

“I’m sorry,” my boyfriend adds.

“Did you see what your dog did?” says the jogger. “It ran straight out in front of me.”

“Yes,” I say. “He was being chased by another dog.”

His jogger friend approaches. This one is in hi-tech gear too, lenses like petrol in water. “Your dog is out of control,” he says. His tone is litigious.

“It’s irresponsible behaviour,” angry yellow one agrees. They are united in their righteous indignation. This makes me cross too.

“Are you literally mental?” I find myself asking. “He’s running. It’s a park. He’s a dog.” I point at the dog, now keeping a safe distance on the grass. Why is nothing an accident anymore?

"‘Your dog was going too fast,’ bellows the yellow-vested runner. ‘He’s half whippet,’ I retort"

“He was going too fast,” bellows yellow. “He’s half whippet,” I retort. I can feel my boyfriend moving away, still apologising, so I gravitate towards him with the two joggers staring at me through their iridescent mirrors. “Cheers for saying sorry!” Yellow shouts after us, sarcastically. For the rest of the journey back, I am trying to work out what happened. “Did I really call him mental?” I ask.

My boyfriend nods. Not good.

And if a dog is running and a human is running, why is the collision the dog’s fault?

“Because everyone needs someone to blame?” he suggests. Which tells you pretty much everything that’s wrong with this place right now.

Lib-Dem Layla's slap in the face rebounds

Layla Moran (Getty Images)
Layla Moran (Getty Images)

Lib-Dem MP Layla Moran says a lost a computer cable was the inciting incident for a row she had with her ex-boyfriend at party conference in 2013 in which she clopped him around the face, and which ended with them both in stony silence in a Glasgow police cell.

That was six years ago but she’s been forced to disclose the incident because of “press interest” following the resignation of Vince Cable (no pun intended), which puts her in the spotlight for the party leadership.

It’s a dangerous story to tell — violence in relationships is not and should not be tolerated. But in these choppy times the notion of the woman as the aggressor will undoubtedly be seized upon (especially by men’s rights groups who downplay the fact that most domestic abuse is committed by men).

“Imagine if the genders were switched,” a commentator shuddered when Moran first posted her statement on Twitter. Well, call me a cynic but how many male MPs would admit slapping their partners? Imagine is exactly what we will have to do.

Labour's turf war over People's Vote

“Where’s Jeremy Corbyn?” That was the anthem sung to the tune of Seven Nation Army at the People’s Vote march on Saturday. Actually, he was in Morecambe, campaigning. And why should he be marching? He doesn’t support a People’s Vote.

A Labour insider told me young activists supporting a second referendum are “Astroturf” — ersatz as opposed to Labour’s genuine 500,000-strong grassroots membership. He believes they are unwittingly sponsored by glossy PRs, who interchange celebrity and politics to keep close to power. There’s a bit of that. But many have that other quality of Astroturf — all-weather, rugged and enduring.