I forgot to mention at the time that the photographer duly turned up on Saturday. A nice bloke by the name of Paul Edwards. He's freelance, based in Edinburgh, and seems to do a fair bit of work for the papers.
He was in for an hour altogether. Heaven knows how many pictures he actually got through, but he seemed quite taken with the dugs. We should have some nice family portraits of Marion, me, Jorja, Molly and Bob the cat all posing self consciously on the sofa. In fairness, Bob was pretty much asleep on the back of the sofa throughout, but there might be a wee glimpse of him. If the photie of Molly staring wistfully at a packet of Ibuprofen makes it into print, I'll be awfy impressed.
We also had a few shots taken outside, in the street, with Paul snapping away good style while an interested crowd of neighbours gathered to watch.
So, not embarrassing at all then.
The Mail on Sunday caption guy phoned today to check how you spell "labradoodle", and he thinks the story might be in this Sunday's paper. Smashing. I'm so pleased.