Oh, My Days!

What happened was this… A few days ago, Nell discovered all the leads and cables that are tucked behind the TV cabinet. Nom, nom, nom! What larks! What game potential!! Not all of the leads and cables are necessarily attached to anything - equipment comes and goes, the cables always remain, you know how it is. Anyway, she discovered them and Sod’s Law dictated that the one she would choose to mangle unto death would be the one that was vital to the TV/ DVD player/ internet etc. Therefore, His Lordship Malarkey decided to untangle and rearrange the mess of cables, extricating the ones no longer needed - a streamlining exercise, if you will. He planned also to shimmy the TV cabinet as far into the corner as it would go in order that Nell wouldn’t be able to stick her nosy little beak behind it.  I don’t get involved in these activities. I don’t do tech. Andy is Tech Guy. I’m more of your Neanderthal whack-something-with-a-hammer-and-see-what-happens type when it comes to tech. I’ve been

‘Are you going to watch the Coronation?’ I said to Heather. ‘I wasn’t planning to,’ said she. ‘Are you?’ I can’t believe she had to ask this question of her Royalist mother. ‘Are you interested in watching the Coronation,’ said I to Andy. ‘When is it?’ said Himself. ‘The 6th,’ I said, rolling my eyes just a little bit. ‘What day of the week is that?’ continued he, in what seemed to be growing into an unnecessarily long conversation when a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would have sufficed. ‘Saturday,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said he.  That’ll be just me, then, comfortably perched on the sofa, eyes glued to all the pomp and pageantry, picnic basket at the ready packed with enticing nibbles. I might even bring the tea-making facilities into the living room so I don’t have to go into the kitchen every time I fancy a cuppa. Would it be too much to install the camping toilet in the corner of the living room, I wonder…? With just over a week to go until the Coronations of King Charles and Quee

 For the fourth year running, the swallows have returned! Last year I spotted them on 27th April, so they are a few days early this year. I saw a solitary swallow in the skies above Damson Cottage five days ago, and then, a couple of days later, it was joined by two more, and there was a bit of a fracas in and out of the laundry, where sits the solitary nest that was nursery to seven babies last year. The skies went quiet for a couple of days, probably because of the constant spitty rain but maybe because the swallows were checking out other, possibly more luxurious accommodation. Although how one can get more luxurious and accommodating than a warm laundry room whose owner obligingly leaves open the door for 5 months, ducking and apologising for disturbing them every time she goes in there, I do not know.  I like to think there is some sort of birdie housing officer who has a central Swallow Hub (probably a barn of some sort - plenty of room and rafters) and all the swallows meet up t

  Aaah, the Twenty Third of April! I’ve just spent three quarter of an hour exercising in the garden with Nell. Mostly running up and down and round and round, with some episodes of throwing, and some episodes of stopping and puffing a bit to catch my breath. It’s a bit of a grey and breezy morning, with a frisson of drizzle in the air, but it was okay. I sustained a bastard insect bite to my neck but such is my lot in life. I’m nectar to insects. What can I say?  The cherry tree is in full blossom… …and the lilacs are just beginning to open, sufficiently enough that I could catch a small whiff of their perfume. The lily-of-the-valley are hinting they might be in flower by the King’s Coronation Day. The forget-me-nots are positively rampant! As are the primulas and primrose… And it is St George’s Day, Patron Saint of England. I always think it’s a bit sad St George’s Day isn’t celebrated with as much vigour as the Irish getting excited about St Patrick (unless it’s just an excuse to ge

 I’ve found a dog grooming salon for Nell. It’s called ‘Best Buddies’ and what I like about it is they seem to have a lot of cockapoo clientele. Here, I thought, is a lady who knows how to wrangle wild fur. Nell’s fur is more spaniel silky than poodle curly but she has definite waves and thickness to her coat and will need regular clipping appointments throughout her life. I’d rather have that than be constantly scraping moulted fur off furniture/clothes/ rugs though. The grooming lady, it turns out is very popular (another good sign) and the earliest appointment she could offer for Nell’s First Official Hairdo is 23rd May. We are booked in! However, until then there is the issue of wild fur obscuring eyesight.  This is what I mean: Nell three days ago. More fluff than eyes. I noticed, too, that when we have our early morning race up and down the garden after tennis balls and frisbees, that she was sometimes stopping mid-gallop to work out where the tennis balls in particular went. Som

  In an attempt to erase memories of the doom, gloom and hysterical shrieking of the film that was ‘The Whale’ Heather and I went to see ‘Allelujah!’ - an Alan Bennett/Heidi Thomas offering set in an old hospital that was threatened with closure because it was no longer financially viable. Before we saw the film, which was a matinee, we had a spot o’ lunch at a local independent bistro-type place, which was very nice and I couldn’t think why, when I’ve lived here for almost 7 years, I haven’t visited before.  Now, the trailer for the film suggested it might be a comedy. However, it soon became clear that all the comedy moments had been strung together in order to make the trailer. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a bad film at all. I enjoyed it. I’d give it 7/10. But I’ve enjoyed other films more, for example, ‘Mamma Mia 2’, ‘Sing’ and ‘Yesterday’. I’m not going to add it to my DVD collection of ‘films to do the ironing to’ or ‘films to watch when I’m feeling a bit grim’ but I’m glad I sa

  Barely four months old, and clever Nell has two graduations under her belt! Took me six years to earn my degree, so this puppy’s I.Q must be off the intellectual scale. Today, she completed the series of puppy hour socialisation sessions at Pets’ Corner having passed out (not literally) with her fellow grads - Charley the cockapoo and Ted the miniature schnauzer. Ted’s mum and I have swapped numbers because a) we get on very well and b) Ted adores Nell and it would be a shame if they never saw each other again. We are planning to meet up for outings, which will be nice. Ted’s love for Nell is mostly unrequited. We’ve told Ted to play it cool and not be so free and easy with his adoration of Nell, but he is determined and rather unsubtle in his pursuit. When he gets too friendly, Nell just biffs him on the head and makes her escape. She is very patient with his advances but, despite Ted being the ‘older man’ by two days, she is way too sophisticated for him. I can see in her face she

 Nell is exactly four months old today. I congratulate us both on making it this far without accident, injury or disaster. Each morning, I arrive downstairs at 6.15 and this is how she goes: ‘Hello Mum! I haven’t seen you for AGES! Let’s go, let’s do stuff NOW!! Hello sofas! Hello toy box! What’s in my toy box? Wait, I need to get a toy. Which one? This one….no, that one, or perhaps this one, no, I’ll have THAT one. Come on, Mum, let’s go to the kitchen! Let’s chew a cupboard door knob. Tee hee…I said knob! Quick, I need to go outside for pees and poos, quick, quick….no, I can’t sit still whilst you attach my lead to my collar, this is all toooooo exciting, it’s a new day…hurrah!!! (By now, I am already feeling exhausted. I’ve bribed her with some sausage so I can get her lead on her collar and I’ve opened the back door.) Come ON, Mum, I need to do a POO! Wait, let me grab the poo scoop from the flower pot by the back door. Got it! Let’s go! Run, run…up the steps, boing, boing, boing,

 Pantone. Not, as I thought and hoped, an enriched and sweet soft bread/cake delight from Italy (apparently that’s panettone) but a company-consultancy which deems itself to be the leading advisor in all matters colour. Who knew such an authority existed? Who cares? Did you also know that the Colour of the Year is an IMPORTANT benchmark in the worlds of design, fashion and home decor? Did you? None of this, ‘Ooh, I fancy a bit of green in the hallway with perhaps a navy dado rail and a couple of entertaining pictures of bright orange goldfish to cheer up the day.’ None of this, ‘Let’s wear jeans and a plain jumper,’ and just grabbing the first one that comes to hand because it’s the middle of Winter, still dark at 7 a.m and you don’t want to disturb your husband/cat from their sleep by bashing on the light. Oh no, one must be guided by the wisdom of Pantone. One must consult. Heaven forfend you know your own mind and choose to live with colours you like, you wild and crazy loose cannon

 ‘Well,’ said Heather on Good Friday evening, as the credits rolled to signal the end of the film ‘The Whale’, ‘what was that all about?’  Going to see it had been a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision. The cinema was only a quarter full, and around us, people were wiping away a tear or two as the main character, Charlie, stepped into the light, as it were. Not so Heather and I. We were merely a tad bemused by it all. It’s not a barrel of laughs, this film. In fact, there was only one moment when I laughed, the result of an unexplained joke about a haiku, which, being English teachers, Heather and I got. The rest of the audience seemed oblivious. Apart from that, I guess the best way to describe ‘The Whale’ is ‘gritty’, ‘emotional’, ‘nauseating’, ‘sweary’, ‘frustrating’, ‘shallow’, ‘judgemental’ and ‘prejudicial.’ Driving home, neither of us could quite put our finger on what was lacking in what could have been a good drama. Personally, I didn’t care for any of the characters, and the

 It comes to something when even Andy says, ‘Blimey, it’s getting expensive in Aldi.’ When he makes proclamations like that, then it’s pretty certain the country is going to hell in a handcart. Anyway, I went to  Aldi yesterday to do a shop for the Easter weekend because it is still better value than the other supermarkets and I’m not prepared to starve to death as a poke in the eye to the government just yet.  There were, as you might expect, stacks of hot cross buns by the tills. It’s odd really. When I was a child, one enjoyed hot cross buns on Good Friday because it is traditional to eat them on this day and they were only available at Easter. Nowadays, one can buy hot cross buns all year round. I refuse to. What’s the point? Takes away the joy of eating them at Easter, says I. It’s a bit like buying out of season imported asparagus and strawberries. Destroys the treat factor when the real deal appears in its correct season. Shouldn’t life be about fleeting moments of joy? Don’t we

These are waffles:  Nom, nom, nom eh? Although I couldn’t eat the whole plate. I suspect I might be sick if I did. This is Waffle: Or, more precisely, Waffle the Wonder Dog from CBeebies fame. And this is Nell: Who, on our long walk around Trentham Gardens yesterday, in the glorious sunshine, was often greeted by small children with the words, ‘Oooh! It’s Waffle!’(I’d forgotten it was Easter holibobs. The place was riddled with people shorter than me. It was way too peopley out there. But hey ho.) Now, bearing in mind that I don’t watch CBeebies because I am neither four years old nor losing my marbles, I was initially confused by all the ‘Waffle’ business. I was thinking, ‘These children think my dog looks like waffles?? Are they deranged? Do they need to go to Specsavers? I mean, even if you squinted in the failing light of a Winter’s day you’d still be hard pressed to mistake this dog for a dish of baked lattice shaped dessert covered in syrup. Even if this dog does get rather stick

  When she isn’t asleep, this little fluffy muppet enjoys playing endless games of ‘Push as many toys as possible under the sofa.’ This means at some point she will run out of toys, and sit staring at me until I fish them out for her. Or, if staring doesn’t work, she starts nibbling on the sofa covers which, thank goodness, are velvet and therefore resistant to puppy nibbling. But still, I don’t want her nibbling the sofas, so I scrabble around on the floor with my extendable feather duster and rescue all the toys so she can start the process all over again. Puppy 1 - Human 0. Some particularly rigorous rounds of toy rescuing on Saturday morning meant that by Saturday afternoon I felt the first twinges of a bout of sciatica on the horizon, and by Sunday morning I was hobbling around like a 103 year old, and a tired one at that, because when sciatica strikes, one does not know how to get comfy in bed and one ends up spending all night trying to create the best arrangement of assorted pi

  Here is Nell’s graduation certificate from the Dogs’ Trust Puppy Training School. She graduated today and is now fast asleep next to me on the sofa, so exhausting was the experience. I shall now detail exactly what it is she has graduated in during her four sessions: 1) paddling in the drinking water provided. Nell loves water. She did lots of homework practising in her water bowl at home. I am developing trench foot as a result of having to paddle around the kitchen in wet socks 2) learning to ‘sit’, ‘settle’, ‘down’ and ‘stay’ using the bribery of sausage 3) learning to come when called, again using the bribery of sausage and providing there was nothing more interesting going on at the time of recall 4) being very interested in many things other than the content of the puppy training syllabus. To be fair, she is only 15 weeks old and hasn’t yet mastered reading and I neglected to read the syllabus to her. And she wasn’t interested in watching the training videos because she isn’t a