Category Archives: Easter
These two dames spent their Easter afternoon out on the water meadow. Don’t worry, their patience was rewarded with a roast beef dinner served on white bone china!
Sally is the greyhound who is so fine and quivery she reminds me of a mouse. Unke is the white boxer, unke is a Hindi word, but I don’t remember the meaning.
WARNING: The remainder of this post is only suitable for those readers with a strong stomach. Mother, you won’t find this amusing.
I was told about a less genteel meal they once partook. Sally used to be a racing greyhound. She’s pretty small though and was ultimately unequal to the task. She has her chase instinct intact, the dealing with prey one is a bit faulty though. Apparently she once caught a squirrel which fought back. My poor sister was then faced with a screeching squirrel impaled on Sally’s tooth and a screaming greyhound that was being counter-attacked. Having been bitten by a grey squirrel myself (which necessitated a hospital trip) I can vouch for the fact that Sally had every right to make a fuss. Anyway, somehow the rodent was detached and it ran off, whereupon Sally’s chase instinct kicked in and… rewind.
That wasn’t the meal. The meal was a rabbit. With myxomatosis. Which more or less ran into Sally’s jaws before dying instantly of shock as rabbits (not squirrels) are prone to do. Sally had no interest then in a dead, non-running rabbit and dropped it. Unke thought mmmm tasty and ate it – head first – for about 30 minutes. All the while growling so there was nothing to be done but wait for her to finish.
Nice. Even nicer was when she barfed the bunny back up on the way home in the middle of a suburban pavement in Brentwood.
Don’t worry, I haven’t been at the Origami again, folding up a a fluffy flock of misshapen chicks for the fox I made earlier to eat. Although it’s an idea.
The kids made these:
My own Easter treat has nothing to do with chocolate and is mainly to do with acid jazz: I will be out to see the James Taylor Quartet who I have loved for years but never seen. It says smart dress only which rather rules out the maternity jeans I bought accidentally the other day. Oh well, I thought at the time, at least I won’t have that awful moment of “will they fit?” when I put them on.
I never try things on in shops any more. I am my own personal shopper. I bring stuff home for my own approval or nul point in my own bedroom with my own mirror that, funnily enough, is not fitted out with a harsh white light…
Rudi does his best to make the experience shoplike though. He has a habit of flinging the curtains wide across the window when I am at my most deshabille for the whole street to see.
I was thinking about Miracle – an album I have not listened to for years by Heidi Berry.
Then, disturbed, I had to put my boots on, and lock the back door behind me to stop the dog bursting out in hot pursuit, because I was certain I could hear a young fox barking in that strange way they have.
Out in the dark muddy garden there was no sign of a fox. When I came in I found this song, which is from a different album, but all the better for being new to my ears.
MJ made it known early in our relationship that he viewed Computers and the Internet as, if not quite the Devil’s work, certainly in league with Pandora and her Box. He would not have said it like that though, because he is not a waffler like me.
I have therefore respected his anonymity as far as I can, but writing every day, sometimes about one’s own life, things creep in. So, given his embargo on entering the WickedoldWorldofWebdom, I call him by different titles, depending on my mood.
His alter egos thus far are:
The Rebel MC, White Van Man (I wanted to call him White Van, Black Man but was too cautious), the Other Side of the Bed, the Other End of the Sofa (usually the Other Sofa lately given his need to recline) and for the last decade The Guv’nor.
So, I am introducing his aka s and the photo link of him joining in, in his own inimitable style, last October on a family day out with grudging permission. I asked for a statement: no quotes please he said. So that’s that I’m afraid. That’s the key to muddling along if you ask me. Everyone interprets life in their own unique way and to start messing around with that freedom is asking for trouble. Let seated men stay seated. Let football fans watch football and let racegoers go racing whenever the mood takes their fancy.
I thought about going to Kempton today with its magnificent seven races including a Listed filles contest, but the thought of having to take four kids with me was a bit of a deal-breaker. Then I thought about going to the dogs, as I am going to rekindle that flame prior to the Greyhound Derby in May. Five meals in a basket and five lots of combination trifectas (or whatever they are called) on the Tote for each of 12 races was also a bit of a heartstopper. I have therefore settled on outdoors at Hadleigh Castle and feeding Billy the Goat at the adjacent farm. I happen to know that the farm used to do one of the best coffee cakes in the land, so I’m hoping not much has changed there. It’s the thought of that and a cup of tea that is sustaining me 🙂
Well it’s no coincidence I suspect that my historical puff piece about Shaun is clicking over the views this morning: it’s the school holidays and the kids must be bored already…
Why do I like Shaun the Sheep? Because he is subversive mainly. That’s a long word, you can Google it later, or you can visit the Shaun official site to watch clips. I know what I’d rather do 🙂
Listen guys, there’s so much that is wrong about Easter. Chicks, bunnies, too much chocolate and not enough of what it’s all about. I, for one, am not 100% sold on the true meaning either but it’s not all about me (despite the blog title!). So here is a clip I’ve been mad keen to share for ages and today seems a good day to do it.
Try imagining anyone else in the red ruffle shirt and it would be so wrong wouldn’t it? But The King, as always, wears it well 🙂
P.S. I am getting desperate about the multitude of criss-crosses around my eyes – known in ad-speak as “fine lines”. In my eyes they are fecking furrows and despite the switch to SPFs in my moisturiser and a much hyped Protect and Perfect serum there is no discernible, lasting difference.
Anyone got any recommendations please? I know it is a bit horse, door, stable, bolted but who cares, t’internet’s a big place and just one of you might have the magic potion!