I saw you, I saw you

When Ned decides to prune things they darn well stay pruned.

In other news, The Boy loathes and detests his new job because being part of a factory conveyor is mind-numbingly tedious. They have to build 5,000 post office bikes by October, and today he was putting the front wheels into the forks. By 8.30am he was at screaming point. And he's sharing it with us. Oh joy.

He sleeps all night and he works all day

Oh, how the adrenaline flows when you realise that the tree wants to fall in the wrong direction.

Oh, how pleased you are when you realise your neighbour is out.

I'm on the road again

Ned's sister-in-law chose what must have been one of the hottest days of the year to throw a surprise party for Ned's mother. After overhearing something she'd said about how sad it was that a person couldn't enjoy chatting to their friends at their own wake S-i-L decided to organise in effect a Living Wake. Just nobody ask her where her box was.

It was a horrid drive down. The last time we went down the motorway gantry signs advised of "QUEUES AFTER NEXT JUNCTION" but we took a chance and ended up stationary for 2 hours. Today, seeing the same message, we looked at each other, screamed in horror, and left to go rural. From one of the worst junctions to get a decent route for our destination.

Because of Guilfest I thought it best to avoid Guildford itself, so worked out a nice A-road route around it; when I explained the route to Ned he went very quiet, which isn't a Good Sign. He knows the roads there better than I do, and apparently this was a dreadful way to go, but by then we'd negotiated Woking town centre and were committed. Then, when we were nearly past the second-worst bit, we came to a police roadblock and had to turn around and go back. Oh joy. So we went through Guildford after all.

Ned thought I'd fallen asleep at one point - in fact I'd felt a bit wibbly from the heat and had passed out for a while.

Anyway, the party was a success and Ned's mum was delighted, which made it all worthwhile. It was interesting to see that Ned's cousin's daughter quite closely resembles The Boy in looks; put them side by side and you'd think they were brother and sister. Genes are curious things.

Then it was time to face the (at least) 2-hour drive home. There was a congested stretch of the M25 where there was a 40mph speed limit, and this is where we witnessed the most appalling driving we've seen for years. There was an HGV belonging to HUNT BROS. TRANSPORT of Warrington whose driver clearly thought he owned the road. He was weaving from lane to lane (when the gantry instructions said to STAY IN LANE), causing other drivers to swerve to avoid being hit by his trailer, and when (shock, horror) he found himself behind a vehicle obeying the speed limit to avoid a speeding fine he tailgated them, flashing his headlights. I can't find an email address for the company, so I'll post on here that the numberplate was MX03 NYW and the trailer was number HBT28. This incredibly aggressive driving took place between junctions 15 and 16 of the M25, between 18.30 and 18.40 today. I know that HGV drivers have restricted hours for driving, but that doesn't give them carte blanche to risk so many other people's lives. If anyone knows a contact address for this company, please can they let me know so that I can tell them what an appallingly dangerous driver this employee is. Maybe he should be reduced to pushing the tea-trolley in the offices. He's certainly not fit to drive a motor vehicle.

She's leaving home, bye bye

It’s just as well Mr & Mrs Sixty came to see Kitkat fairly early, because it got absolutely scorching later. We’d stressed to them that if they decided for any reason (not striking enough markings, too wild, too big, too small, anything) they weren’t to feel obliged to take her; there were enough alternatives for her, and none of them involved going to the Cats’ Home or being advertised. But despite Kit not following instructions to be cute and charming, instead choosing to hide under Ned’s chair and only emerge when tempted beyond resistance by the judicious wiggling of bits of paper and string, and leaping out of their arms when placed for a stroke, they still seemed to fall for her, so we gathered her belongings into a metaphorical spotted hanky and off she went to Leicescescestershire. It’ll be quiet without her – although Ned’s beard’ll stand more chance of survival after her recent fascination with it! Remember to send piccies, you two!

Feeling slightly glum afterwards (we’re rubbish at rehoming animals – selling the pups is a nightmare of tears) especially as The Boy had come downstairs shortly after they left and grumbled about not being woken to say goodbye to her, Ned and I decided to do a couple of caches to cheer ourselves up. I wish I’d taken my camera* because I missed a fantastic photo. While we were waiting at the traffic lights in Banbury a motorcyclist pulled up beside us, and in his rucksack, head out, dozing, was a very laid-back brown terrier. He was completely relaxed; obviously the cool breeze as they roared away and his ears flew straight backwards was pleasing.

*either of them: the digital with the infuriating shutter delay that means one either needs precognition and press the shutter a couple of seconds before the action, or my old fillum one (with new fillum because I was so hacked off at missing action shots of Kit – I wonder how long it'll be before I use up the fillum).

I must think of a new life, and I mustn't give in

I love my mother dearly, but she does drive me wild sometimes. She's been oohing and aahing over the kitten (or Kitkat, as she's presently known), and saying how I mustn't send her to a Cats' Home - that if nobody else wanted her she was sure she could manage; that it probably wasn't sensible, but ...

Now, Mother's 83, and none too steady on her legs. If she tries to turn round without holding on the something she's likely to lose her balance. If she bends down it's possible she'll just topple over. She's rattling around with pills to try to help her vertigo but they don't seem to do a lot. However, she's been the only person living in her house since my dad died in 1987, and been the sole occupant entirely since her elderly Golden Retriever died last year. Before she got the dog she asked my brothers and me if one of us would be able to take him if she died first - that she wouldn't have a puppy otherwise. That wasn't a problem, so she gave Tim a lovely life and he was marvellous company for her. Someone to talk to, and care for and who responded to her with affection. But now she's completely on her own, and I know she's lonely. Although her own mother lived to be 93, with the best will in the world Mother's unlikely to outlive a kitten, and so there'd be a rehoming problem to be dealt with in the future, and cats are harder to rehome than dogs.

Anyway, I think Mother's been indulging in a flight of fancy about having a gentle little furry to curl on her lap and purr, forgetting that young kittens are incredibly active, and pounce on your feet and leap on your back and generally behave like potential assassins. Kitkat's nearly tripped me up several times by launching herself at my feet from behind the curtains or under the bedspread; Mother wouldn't be able to save herself from falling. Also litter trays are at floor level, and a person needs to bend down to pick them up to clean them. Mother's hands are knotted with arthritis anyway, and not being able to stoop safely ... in a couple of days she's gone from telling me she's a fall-back option to deciding she's the Number One choice. (That's what comes from having nobody to talk to - you make up your own world that doesn't necessarily have a lot of bearing on reality.)

I was very pleased that the Sixtys were interested in having the Kit because they can provide the sort of home my little poppet deserves - plenty of attention and liveliness! Now Mother's telling me that she's quite disappointed that someone else wants her ("But what'll happen when your friend has a baby?" "She'll have a cat and a baby, Mother").

I must be strong, and not allow her to put guilt on me. Besides, Mrs Sixty did express an interest before Mother did, and is much more likely to be offering a forever home - and that's got to be in Kit's best interest. I shall make enquiries about whether Mother would be able to adopt a more mature cat, which would be much more suitable - and less likely to cause Mother to break her neck!

I walked through a field that just wasn't real

My favouritest comfortablest sandals have had it. :( They've carried me without complaint along the Cornish Coastal path, up and down cliffs, across fields and through towns. They've been marvellous, and I've been looking for another pair to carry on their good work.

Naturally, that style is no longer available.

Cheap, never cheap

Actually I'm trying to keep things cheap. I've only bought cat litter (which is in the (clean) oil-changing tray) and scoop, one tin of Denes kitten food and a 50p ball. I got a cat wormer and a sample of Hills kitten food from work, and I already had Frontline spray. So she should be healthy.

I'm determined not to name her. Once she's named it'll be difficult to move her on, and although if the dogs would accept her I'd love to keep her, but realistically I can't see that happening with Piggy. But it seems rude to simply call her 'the kitten' (especially with the connotations the word now has!) so I've still been running through names faster than Liz Taylor got through husbands; she's a very old-fashioned looking kit, so I've tried (and rejected) Ethel, Mabel and Florence. As things stand it looks as though she'll be here for the weekend because nobody's made any enquiries about her so I've moved her pen from the dining room to our bedroom so she doesn't spend so much time alone. The dogs aren't allowed upstairs anyway, and with the door shut I can safely let her out to play. This when she got yet another name. You remember Inspector Clousaeu's manservant in the Pink Panther films? Well because of the way she lurks beside the bed ready to pounce, 'Cato' seemed appropriate.


To while away the time in the bedroom while she played, I sat on the bed and started folding clothes. I didn't half jump when, instead of playing nicely on the floor, she took off, landed on my head then leapt for the windowsill. It would have been even more impressive if she'd reached it instead of hitting the wall below and landing on the floor with a thump and a startled expression.

I'm trying hard to get a picture of how small she really is, but she doesn't stay still for very long. The Boy took this one of her sitting on my hand. But of course she stretched up at the critical moment and enbiggified herself again.


I wonder if she'll let me get any sleep tonight?

Where do you belong?

We seem to have acquired a lodger. Ned and I were taking the dogs up to the fields, and in the gateway there she was. She started to come towards us - Piglet was nearly apoplectic - so Ned held the leads and I went to pick her up and take her to what I assumed was her home. But they'd never seen her before, and I know that Ricky and Charlotte in the next house wouldn't have got a kitten because Charlotte's hideously allergic. I obviously couldn't leave her on the road so the people lent me their cat basket to take her away.

She's been scanned at the vet (no chip) and I've asked everyone up and down the road if they know anything about her, and nobody does. She's very sweet and friendly, so not feral. Both the local vet surgeries know we have her, and I've made a nice secure cage (with lid!) from the puppy panels we had stored in the garage. So ....

Do we take her to the RSPCA (not renowned for their helpfulness with strays) or the nearest Cat Rescue? Or (perish the thought) do we keep her and hope she doesn't end up as a tasty snack for one of the dogs? She's very tiny - about 6 or 8 weeks old I reckon (although an expert tells me she must be older than that because her eyes aren't blue any more) - and last time I had a kitten I was 12 years old. I haven't a clue ...

Edit: She's litter trained.

I'll shout myself hoarse for your supernatural force

My brother (not the one with the bionic hip, the other one) phoned me to pass on natal felicitations and, naturally, to wind me up (fraternal Law). The lucky bugger had some draught Spitfire (advertising slogan "Downed all over Kent - just like the Lüftwaffe") about his person, and invited me to listen to him slurping it with enjoyment.

"You do that, you bastard, and I might have to kill you" (or words to that effect) was my retort.

"No chance, you're too far away. I'm safe at this distance."

*sssssssllllllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpppppppp .... coughcoughcoughcoughcough*

It was several minutes before he could speak again, having nearly drowned. The beer had gone down the wrong way. It was even longer before I could speak again, being so weak from hysterical laughter.

That'll teach him not to doubt his little sister's Powers.
*cackles evilly*

How many kinds of sweet flowers grow

The current heatwave (82°F at 9am) suits the flowers, even if the lawn is desiccating. In the morning the air is filled with the scent of roses
New Dawn
Zepherine Drouhin mingling with ... erm ... a white climber
Rosa Mundi
And in the evening the scent of lilies wafts in.
Lilium Regale

What's even better, nobody's ruining it with stinky barbecues! Hurrah!

You practice lies and deceit

Well, that's the cleverest wheeze on how to get cheap labour I've ever come across. You send someone a letter that they receive on Friday, after completing a week's work, telling them that they were made redundant on Tuesday. You have to admire their audacity. Then you go and blow their fucking* heads off.

*Those who know me will realise how very, very cross I am.

The only way is up

Well, that's what we thought, but sometimes Life goes from shitty to even shittier. And then goes downhill.

They're uncultivated, of breeding bereft

Today I have mainly been disentangling bindweed from the currant bushes.
Before

After
Okay, so it doesn't really look very different, but there were several armfuls taken out!

I put a spell on you

In the brief minutes of calm between the arrival of the vet and the arrival of the first appointment, we generally make a cup of tea and chat (a good way for me to pump for information!) about various animal-related topics: the plummeting reputation of the RSPCA since the bunny-hugger coup in the early 80s; the problem of bovine TB and the soaring badger population; down to more personal anecdotes. The other day I during this lull I was telling the duty vet about Beattie’s lick granuloma and how difficult it is to get it to heal. It’ll be almost better and then she’ll have another go at it and we’re back to square one. As if she wasn’t bad enough, a couple of days ago I had to scold Piglet because he was licking it for her!

There’s no guaranteed ‘cure’ for these things other than prevention by various means while you try to discover the reason behind the licking. It’s usually for one of two reasons – physical discomfort (a cut, an itch, a thorn, arthritis etc) or mental upset, rather like a child thumb-sucking or nail-biting for security. With Beattie it started when my work routine changed, but I’m beginning to think she might be getting a touch of arthritis in the joints of her paws as well. Either way the result’s the same – the more they lick the sorer it becomes so they lick more to ease it. It ends up a bit like Lady Macbeth where however hard she scrubbed her hands with the wire brush she couldn’t get rid of the blood …

But I digress. The vet and I were talking about the possible prevention methods; bandaging (either the bandage gets chewed off or they start to lick somewhere else instead), a lampshade collar (distressing for many dogs, and as soon as you take it off they start again). The best thing is to keep an eye on them and distract them whenever they start. Then it was time for surgery. And it was very strange – no matter what the appointment was really for, whether for a booster injection, or stitches out, or a sore eye, four out of five of the owners mentioned that their dog had a place that they kept licking and making sore! I wonder what interesting topic we should talk about next to see if we suddenly have an influx of sufferers.

So here's my litany

Today we went to Purgatory. Despite the evidence in the mud of cloven hooves (Satan or cattle? You decide) it was surprisingly pleasant.

This old house is gettin' shaky

Ned drives past this house every day on his commute. It looks quite nice from a distance...... then you realise it's made almost entirely of corrugated iron.

De-Fraggle rock

Today I have mainly been trying to defrag the compluter. I understand the principle of it okay, and know how to get the thing to start doing it. But it’ll get to about 10% and then inform me that the drive’s changed and it’s restarting. I asked several people what I should do and was advised to make sure that no other programs are running at the time as they’ll be causing the problem. Righto – how do I do that? On desktop, hit Ctrl/Alt/Del I was told, then shut down the programs on the list one at a time.

I’ve found a snag with that. If I click End Task at the bottom of the box, the highlighted program certainly stops running, but the list box also goes away. If I Ctrl/Alt/Del in an attempt to get it back so I can stop more programs, the computer shuts down. No matter what I do I can only stop one program – not all of them (I was told to leave Explorer running to keep the computer going). Last night I had to restart the computer 4 times as I worked my way through all the available options. I can’t even manage to highlight all the programs I want to stop at once. Usually holding Ctrl while clicking down a list selects more than one, but that doesn’t work with this.

So I thought I’d google for instructions on defragging. D’oh! It’s not really helpful to simply be told that ‘It’s best to shut down all other programs while defragging’ without being told how. So I kept on trying and eventually succeeded on getting it so that only Explorer was showing as running - screensaver shut down and everything. Hurrah! Here we go!

Nope. Just the same. Gets to 10% then says the drive's changed. I’m stumped. Suggestions? Or do I learn to love the effect of wading through treacle?

Edit: Gordon, you're a star! F8ing at Startup and going into Safe Mode did the trick. Thank you!

Yeah yeah, it's not fair

My computer's arsing around and has forgotten how to access Lorry's blog. Please can a lovely chummington email me the password? Ta ever so!

Does your chewing gum lose its flavour

By the pond near the back door we have a large mock orange blossom shrub. I've no idea what variety it is - certainly different to any other I've seen anywhere. It has a hugely powerful scent, which also is unlike other mock oranges (or 'Philadelphus' if we're being posh). This one smells exactly like Juicy Fruit chewing gum. It's a mass of blossom at the moment, reminding me of a frothy lacy wedding dress,
and the delicious scent blows in through the open windows and door. It's growing right on the boundary so next door get to enjoy it too, which is only fair as they've planted a large climbing rose at the front boundary fence which fills the rooms at the front of our houses with scent. In this hot weather it's just wonderful.

Just a kid roamin' around travellin' through a little ol' town

Usually I think that jail sentences handed down to law-breakers are far too lenient (I’m normally pretty much of a ‘throw away the key’ persuasion) but on this particular occasion I think the judge was too harsh. You may remember last November there was a car crash just up the road from us (at Badger’s Drift, actually, which is just along from where I was knocked down when I was walking the dogs by a car about twelve years ago. It’s obviously a dangerous spot) and one of The Boy’s friends from junior school was killed. Kelly had been a front-seat passenger in the car and died at the scene; the rear passenger injured both knees and needed to be cut from the wreckage but the driver was merely bruised, although severely shocked. They’d all been at a party and all had had quite a lot to drink. The girl driver should never have attempted to drive, and the passengers shouldn’t have agreed to get in the car. A taxi between three, even at midnight in the country, isn’t going to break the bank. But they were foolish enough – at 19 we’ve all done stupid things – to use the car, and were unlucky enough not to get away with it.

The girl who was driving wasn’t allowed to go to her best friend’s funeral (which as a parent I can understand, although it was hard for her to bear) and hasn’t driven since. She regrets what she did every day, and will never forgive herself for the rest of her life.

Although she broke the law and there were tragic consequences, she didn’t wilfully intend to hurt anyone at all, let alone her friend; there was no crime of intent. That’s why I think three years in prison is too harsh and will do her no good. All I can think is that it was a sentence designed to deter others, and she’s just a scapegoat. I don’t think she should have got off scot-free, but there must surely be more suitable punishments for what she did - something that wouldn't have another devastating negative impact on her life? After all she's no danger to society. It just makes an even worse mess of a terrible tragedy.