Colour and picnic

Today is overcast and cooler than yesterday. Yesterday the dogs and I spent all afternoon in the front garden in glorious sunshine.
Our front garden faces South and absorbs the warmth in seconds of the sun coming out.
Winnie, William and George slept as I weeded the beds and Mary watched an exhausted pair of blackbirds scoot back and forth from their almost completed nest in the Holly.
Slowly the colour is edging back into the garden. The mock orange is starting to blossom , the white bells, aubrietia, tulips and grape hyacinth are all flowering as is the delicate blue clematis on its frame by the wall.
The cottage in spring looks rather pretty I've always thought.

I've made a picnic lunch. Cheese and pickle sandwiches robust in silver foil, tuna mayonnaise sandwiches ( with a squirt of lemon), - slightly more refined with the crusts cut off. Asparagus cooked in butter with garlic and sea salt with tiny cherry tomatoes and fresh fruit salad.
I would have prepared coffee but the thermos is broken.

What are you doing today?

New Bestie

During all that hand holding

I got the sudden impression that both men were going to start to skip

A Little Drama

I was sat at the kitchen table hand writing letters to cancel our flower Show Judges for this year when I heard the stand off.
The stand off happens at least four or five times a day!
It's a game between  Tom cat and Welsh Terrier bitch.
They enjoy the drama of it.
Because they actually like each other.
Cat wants to go up the stairs
Welsh terrier wants him not to.
The Mexican stand off is complicated and noisy and I can't work out all of the rules
Hisses, barks , loud licks on the face, silent pads to the chops.
It's the animal equivalent of a baby drag queen spat
Suffice to say, even though a clump of jet black cat hair was left on the first step

Albert always wins.

Brian Sewell

Last night, after I had cut the lawn, I took a cup of coffee and a book over to the Churchyard and sat in the faint glow of the setting sun to read.

My book was a gift from a blogger . 

Sleeping With Dogs by Brian Sewell

I never really took to Sewell . On tv I always found him snobbish, acerbic and rather pompous. But this " peripheral" autobiography which is a lyrical chronicle of all of the dogs in his life, has rather charmed and moved me, so much so that some of his writing actually reduced me to tears.

I will share this moment from the prelude.

"......I have ever since slept with all my dogs, one, two, three, or four at a time, waking, as I always do,with the not-quite dawn, but often making no attempt to leave my bed, so luxuriously seductive in the warmth on all sides. For an hour and more I have lain in this cocoon at least ten thousand times, ignoring the insistent thoughts of coffee and the working day, mindlessly drifting in and out of sleep, as immobilised by my companions as by anaesthesia. This, when the time comes, is how I wish to die"

After I read this I put down the book for a moment and sipped my coffee to think. I later found out that Sewell died of cancer in 2015.
I wonder if that final wish was granted.

Gob Shite

I've fallen out with at least two people fairly recently over the behaviour of their dogs.
I'm not shy when coming forward when I see a dog which is out of control, non socialised or ill treated and nothing sparks friction more than a critical word or a dirty look, when dogs are sparking and anxieties are high.
I am also intolerant of a phenomenon I refer to as " dog chatter" 
Dog chatter infuriates me.
I know it shouldn't . I understand why people do it, but it drives me batty.
Dog chatter is the often inane conversations pet owners have with their dogs.
I will give you an example of what I mean.
The other morning I was at the vets. I took Mary in as a rush job, after she started to cough unexpectedly. I feared it was kennel cough, (it actually turned out to be a plastic tooth pick lodged in the side of her throat. ) and as I stood at the reception desk I overheard the " conversation" a woman had with two morose looking basset hounds .
"Now Bertie will you stop pulling, mummy's arm is very sore.......Molly will you behave , look at that sweet dog over there being all nice and friendly........now please sit down and let me get my handbag out , it shouldn't be too long now then we can go home and get some Shopping done" 
The conversation went on like this for an age and before you tell me off for my thin skin, I know, I know" it shouldn't bother me but it does.
Similar conversations parents have with very small toddlers also drive me potty.
DOGS AND VERY SMALL BABIES DONT UNDERSTAND CONCEPTS SUCH AS " BEING NICE and FRIENDLY" AND WOULDNT KNOW WHAT A HANDBAG WAS IF THEY WERE BELTED OVER THE HEAD WITH ONE
I wanted to shriek the statement at the basset hound lady.
But that would have been inappropriate and cruel and so I didn't
...but I oh so wanted to.

Eight years ago I once took a racist woman to task over a comment she let fly in a vet's waiting room.
I must have cut an odd figure as I had a bald Indian runner duck on my knee wrapped in a tea towel
I've just been reminded of it and surprisingly found an account of the incident here
https://disasterfilm.blogspot.co.uk/2008/06/nellracism-and-red-valerian.html

What thing that shouldn't irritate you DOES.?

Heels

I adore my feet being rubbed...it has been a lifelong passion. If no massage is forthcoming from the academic, I will content myself with a good licking by one of the dogs.
Dogs love cheesy feet!
Years ago now, I was a reflexology " volunteer". My good friend Joy and her classmates were studying for their massage exams and needed a regular pair of feet to practice on almost on a daily basis.
I was more than happy to be their guinea pig, having my feet rubbed then was the idea panacea to the world's stresses of running a busy spinal injury ward.

One evening, I went round to Joy's house for a " rub" and got allocated to one of her new colleagues who needed some extra practice. The trainee reflexologist turned out to be a shy British Telicom workman called Charlie who had just started his training . He looked slightly awkward as I was his first " client" and he made a point of saying that all his "practical" work had been done on his wife.

Anyhow, off he went squeezing and rubbing and being the ideal reflexology model, I gave him feedback and asked appropriate questions of his technique.
Now, I never fully understood the science behind reflexology, all I know is that it feels bloody good.....so after Charlie had given the sides of my heels a particularly thorough seeing too, I made a point of complementing him by saying
" that was bloody amazing!..you could do that to me all day"
Charlie blushed and looked particularly awkward
But I pressed on regardless
" what part of the body corresponds to the heel area" I asked...trying to sound like the ideal student
Charlie coughed and looked uncomfortable
And Joy, who was rubbing another volunteer's feet nearby, leant over and stage whispered the answer into my ear
" your Bollocks," she said with a smile!
I closed my eyes and tried to look invisible for the rest of the session

Pissed

Recently an old physiotherapist friend of mine  reminded me of a boozy night out many moons ago where I stole a rather expensive oil painting from the party host's living room.
I had all but forgotten the misdemeanour but on reflection I realised that she was indeed right, I had stolen the painting and although pissed as a fart had the presence of mind to pop it in the boot of my car before crashing out .
This dreadful " habit" wasn't a one off....in the 80s and early 1990s I appropriated a whole shopsworth of precious items- most of which I returned to the owners within a 24 hour period
A silver sugar sifter , and set of silver spoons .
A tea caddy
And a terracotta planter complete with small Bay tree , were just a few items I woke up next to, in those heady days of The Leadmill nightclub, nurse parties and lock ins at the Springfield pub.

I stopped drunk stealing in 1998. It was on a warm April Sunday Morning in Sheffield and I had decided to walk from Ecclesall Road back home to Hillsborough at 2 am in the morning.
Big mistake
For when I eventually got up late morning the following day, I was surrounded by vases, pint glasses jam jars and teapots full to the brim with hundreds, literally hundreds of stolen golden daffodils.

What's the worst thing you have done under the influence?

The face I made in the queue at the vets