Eye Catching Cover Letter? Or piece of crap?

So, I am busy looking for that ideal job – well, any job tbh; however, how do I stand out from the crowd with my cover letter?

How about this:

Dear Sir/Madam,


You have found the best person to fill your vacancy!

 I am an experienced writer, bringing a unique ‘stand out from the crowd’ approach to any project I work on; however, I do have one itsy, bitsy question to put to you – would you consider making this role mainly remote?

There are many mutual benefits to hiring remote staff, from increased employee productivity to lower overhead costs, and many companies now use telecommuting employees for a large part of their workforce.

As a forward thinking, 21st century company, you too could reap the rewards of remote hiring –

allow me to demonstrate these advantages.

Please find attached a copy of my CV for your consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours faithfully

I am considering adding a p.s  – also not scared of giant spiders (please see yesterday’s blog – this is a perfect example of why I use stock photos)


Small hands, large……..dogs?

Someone asked me yesterday why I mainly use stock photos instead of my own.

Well, firstly that assumes that I can take photos, and I thank you for that assumption.  However, writer I may be, painter – well occasionally, dreamer – oh most certainly, photographer……umm…….no can do. I want people to enjoy my blog, and laugh where I tell them to, where it is intended. Not at my poor attempt at capturing a beautiful, intriguing, artistic moment, and ripping the very heart out of it. So, I think that establishes the first part.

Secondly, seriously, can anyone take photos whilst hanging on to a barely contained raging hurricane of power that may spin off at any second? I walk the beasts on those blooming awful extending leads that have handles that only fit the biggest Jack-and-the-Beanstalk giant hands, and whilst everything else about me is large – my hands are not one/two of them. So, what do I do? Yes, the logical answer is to clasp them between my knees (the leads, not the dogs, obviously – it’s all a lie, I tells ya, never believe the rumours) with a continuous ‘stay, don’t you bloody dare, stay… I SAID STAY’ and snap away to my hearts content. Really? Is that even possible? So, stock photos it is!

Image result for stock images
I typed in ‘stock image’ and this appeared!

The Beech Nut

My depression has been at an all time high/low/deep well in the ground (where’s Timmy Related imagewhen you need him?) People who know me, know I’m having major family issues at the mo; well, actually, my family are having major family issues, and as part of that family, I’m having them as well (FOMO at its most ridiculous). I’m struggling to study, struggling to work, struggling to stay awake – typical me, has to be different and have depression that, instead of keeping me awake, sends me to sleep. My thoughts are jumbled, one minute calm and light blue, the next deep, violent turmoil hits me right in my solar plexus, with an almost vomit inducing punch of panic. I am trying to hold it together, I really am, but it’s hard, dark and lonely. I’ll get there, I’m sure, just one foot in front of the other, one step, two steps, another step, more. One print in the black earth, followed by another, deeper and more sure; the next placed carefully to avoid snapping the branch and causing the calmness to take flight, the next tread half burying a beech nut, a seed of something better, allowing its roots to feed in the darkness, before its vivid greenness starts to stretch, reach for the light blue of thinner thoughts, and floatier dreams.    


It’s a trick, I tells ya!

** The fields are drying out, with the mud slowly becoming solid ground. The beasts are collecting less on their feet, and Slutbitch is forced to actively seek the puddles and ditches – which she does at every opportunity.

The clocks changed last night, and so darkness was still reigning when we strode forth – more accurate, instead, to say a stumble, curse and several pheasants, but ‘strode’ sounds so much better.

Recently, as every day has been improving on conquering the night, the rabbits have been noticeable by their absence (except for their very thoughtful doggy treats left scattered), however, not today!

Rabbits everywhere – scampering, nibbling, doing the shaky-paw-face-wash thing and all those other really cute acts rabbits put on; honestly they only do it so that we say a collective ‘aaawwwwww look at the ickle bunnies’, but seriously do not fall for it!

They plan on taking over world rule – well, let’s face it, they could probably do a lot better than some *checking gin for poison, and keeping an eye out for bunnies with binoculars*

** Disclaimer – this is not up to my normal standard, so please bear with me while I get back onto the proverbial horse, however have a rabbit to keep you going

Image result for rabbits
Cute, but where are his binoculars?

This is Getting Silly Now!

Driving my elderly victorianesque father back from visiting my mother in hospital yesterday, concentrating on retrieving the vague memories of the town’s one way system, when this pops up on my playlist in all its wondrous glory!


The prImage result for dog biscuitsomise of biscuits is more interesting than the cat in the garden; unfortunately the actual biscuits are sadly lacking, and the cat is back on the prospective menu.



After nearly eight months being nicotine free, the next BIG issue is due to be conquered; my first Slimming World group yesterday went well. But how do I explain that being dragged by two fit and feisty malamutes for an hour plus every day is a complete full body workout; they only give you a little box on the exercise form – I can’t describe the full horror in that small a space lol

Note to Self: Do not go into the village shop with a pocket of full poo bags – they don’t love your dogs like you do!



With shameless reference to the amazing PJ Harvey: ‘Big beast, big beast swimming in the water, you’re much cleaner now, thank god!’



So, hands up who sounds like a porn star when playing with their dog – ‘Oh yeah, baby, is that what you want? Come and get it. Good boy, yes, yes, so good’? No? Just me then


I think we need a Beaufort Wind Scale for malamute walking:
0 = too still to do anything, no air, need water and sofa
1 = twitchy scent of buns – where are they?
2 = buns smell closer
3 = stuff moving a bit – must pounce
4 = stuff moving more – must investigate moving things
5 = bouncy and fun – weeeeee
6 = ears might fall off when walking into wind, a bit wobbly when on three legs to pee
7 = extending lead vibrates – don’t like that; tail fails as a rudder
8 = can’t poo for fear of getting blown over
9 = can’t bounce for fear of going airborne
10 = sofa is mine, you may have the floor and fuss me


I’m not sure that the vet has quite understood what the post op concept of ‘just a quiet lead walk’ means with a malamute – crabbing sideways, going airborne, trying to eat any image2other malamute in the vicinity when they are trying to pee, resulting in a slapsie fight. I’m now downing Pagan’s painkillers and she’s on my gin – Hamish is in hiding.image1


Think- is it a unicorn or a fox day? While the kettle heats and the water’s bubbles rise to the surface and burst, I consider – fox day. Into the foxy illustrated china mug, sparkling as the rising sun bursts through the windows, I click the tiny white tablet (I can’t quite quit the need for artificial sweetness in my life), the sharp clink as it settles against the hard china. Next, with one hand reaching for the rustic style mason jar, hard metal around its rim, and the other locating a fresh teaspoon from the drawer, I unclip the jar’s lid, smelling the rich deep earth aroma of the coffee powder. It’s the colour of autumn mulched leaves, loamy and fertile (what can I say, the words just flow, even if nothing Image result for coffeeelse does lol), stickily coating the sides of the jar. Dipping the spoon into its welcoming warmth (Jeez, got to stop this – it’s so wrong), I draw it back out, laden with powder that glows dark gold as the light catches it. Into the mug, burying the tiny white pilule, I next reach for my secret, my shame, my hidden pleasure (Oh FFS this is getting ridiculous). It’s Coffeemate – just frigging Coffeemate.  My name is Katharine, and I put Coffeemate in my coffee. Three spoons of the granulated, cream coloured delight. The spoon dipping into the pot produces a slightly crunchy sound, as if boots were striding through deep, crisp snow. Into the mug they go.Image result for pouring coffee Now, the water; steam rises toward the ceiling as I pour it onto the trio of ingredients. They are silent as they mix and blend, first turning the water pale cream as the Coffeemate dissolves, then swirling golds and russet browns circle as the coffee joins the dance.  I slip the spoon into the hot depths, stirring and exciting the silky liquid, cushioned chinks as the metal taps the warming china. The ritual of coffee can be as simple or as detailed as you wish; sometimes the small things are more enlivening and important than the large ones. Don’t miss the magic of life!


I would like to think that this morning I wandered happily through shining paths, lined Bircheswith white spirit like birches and strewn with sapphire bluebells and topaz gold primroses; the whispering brook, full of silver darting fish on an iron oxide bed meanders alongside. A small bespectacled owl watches silently from a birch branch, and Image result for silver bircheshis queen, in her golden crown, sits on another. The small orange and black striped fox trots along the other bank before disappearing into the brush, sending a flurry of chattering butterflies and iridescent bluebirds into the purple sky. However, instead, I got soaked, dragged, splashed with mud from the demons dancing everywhere, and I’m still blooming ill! Bleuch. Coffee, cake and Lemsip time – the holy trinity of hopeful recovery


About two weeks ago, I tore/broke/hurt/damaged/snapped/tickled my lateral collateral ligament, and it’s still hurty – when will it stop being a pain in the arse/knee? Last night was the first night I’ve managed to sleep through without it being too painful. I bought a knee brace thing, but that was complete agony, so it’s me and the ibuprofen lol And don’t say I should rest it – I have malamutes who really don’t get the words steady and whoa!


Complicated Canine Theory Time! Okay, so dogs can see in colour – admittedly this is muted, and of a much more limited spectrum than humans. Now, I propose the theory that dogs can also be red/green colourblind (admittedly, based on a very limited study, involving Related imageone very clever and one dumbarse malamute). I bought toys for my pair – red and blue Kong Squeeezes. Each had their own one, Pagan the red, and Hamish the blue. Both were happy with them for weeks until the balls had become too chewed (and non squeaky) to use. So new ball time – a red and a green one. This time, they couldn’t/wouldn’t differentiate between them and have had two scraps in the course of one week over these different colour balls. Is this because they cannot tell whose is whose? Or just because they are being shitheads? (Is ‘shitheads’ a valid scientific term?). I need to order another red and blue set in order to test my theory. Anyone care to add any empirical evidence to my research? Or pass me a gin?

How to tell a Malamute from a Husky
By Doug L

Shelters often cannot tell the difference between a Husky and a
Malamute. The general public is worse. Malamutes are generally larger
but it may be a big Husky, a small Malamute, or a mix of the two. If
you see a Northern breed dog or have adopted one from a shelter, this
simple quiz can help differentiate between these two very distinct

Note the position of the ears:
A. The ears are almost vertical to hear mice under the snow.
B. The ears point out like radar dishes to hear grocery bags.

The eye color is:
A. Blue. Or brown. Or both. Or yellow and blue in one eye. Sometimes I
swear they switch places.
B. Brown, definitely. Maybe blue. What are you, a show judge or something?

The proper term for the dog is:
A. Siberian Husky
B. Alaskan Malamute
C. My snooky wuggums

Is that a squirrel?
A. Squirrel? Come on guys, let’s get it!
B. Smmh mmbl?*gulp* What squirrel?

Have you been digging?
A. Yes, I am terraforming your planet.
B. Yes, at the bottom of the steps is a pit deep enough you can’t see out of it.

You introduce a new dog food and:
A. Bleh. I’ll hold out for chicken. For days.
B.*Whoosh* More, please? And that chicken defrosting in the fridge? Gone.

Intelligence test: cover kibble with a cloth and let the dog figure it out.
A. Grab the cloth. Give it a kill shake. Vacuum up the kibble.
B. Whine. Sniff. Whine. Ah, the heck with this. Pounce on the cloth
with both paws. Tear a hole through it. Vacuum up the kibble.

How does the dog wake you up?
A. Jumps on the bed and sits on your head.
B. Jumps on the bed and sits on your gut, crushing the air out of you.

When people see the dog they say:
A. Ooh, is that a wolf?
B. Ooh, is that a wolf?

The pack starts yodeling at 3 am and sounds like
A. A-ooo. Yii-ooo!
B. Rooo Wooo!

The dog is built:
A. Like an eco-friendly pickup truck, very light on gas. Goes
anywhere and can haul quite a bit.
B. Like a Unimog truck and sucks up fuel like one. Goes anywhere,
hauls huge loads, and drags you through the brush.

When the dog sheds:
A. You brush and vacuum for days and still have hairy tumbleweeds
bigger than rabbits.
B. See A.

You left her alone in the car for only a minute and she:
A. Shredded the passenger seat, half the dash, and chewed off the gear
shift knob.
A. Ate the passenger seat and threw it up on the driver seat.

When you feed the dogs, you
A. Put the bowls in one room and they scramble for their own bowl.
B. Put the bowls in separate rooms and close the doors.

The dog flosses his teeth by:
A. Shredding furniture.
B. Shredding house siding.

When your dog meets other dogs, she thinks:
A. They might be new playmates. I wonder if they like chicken?
B. They might steal my dinner. I wonder what they taste like?

Is the dog is trustworthy around human infants?
A. Totally. They howl together.
B. Absolutely. They sleep snuggled up to each other.

Northern dogs are escape artists. On several occasions the dog:
A. Dug under the fence, jumped over the fence, or pried open a hole
just large enough to slip through.
B. Chewed through a fence post until he could push down the gate.

Of course your dog counter-surfs.
A. She jumps onto the counter and walks the length, sampling everything.
B. She puts her front paws on the counter, licks all the garbage from
the sink, and carries a 10 lb sack of potatoes back to her crate.

Every dog should go to obedience class. Your dog, however:
A. Ignored you through the whole thing, made you look like a fool by
aceing the exam, and promptly went back to ignoring you.
B. Gave the “hairy eyeball” to every Rottweiler and Doberman in the
class but was nervous around the Chihuahuas.

You turn vegan and decide your dog should join you. You toss
vegetables to the dog. He reacts:
A. Snap! Spit! That is*not* food.
B. Snap! What the hell did I just eat?

When a friend comes over, the dog reacts:
A. Hi there! Just one pat, thank you. You are dismissed.
A. Hi there! Got any food? Ooh, I love to slobber faces. Got any food?

Siberians and Malamutes are not the best at recall. The dog runs off and:
A. Two hours later you get a call from the local police. When you
arrive, the dog is smiling from the back of the cruiser and the top of
their white car is covered with muddy paw prints.
B. Two hours later she scares the hell out of you by sneaking up from
behind and barking.

The proper number of Huskies or Malamutes is:
A. 2
B. 3 or 4
C. Every Christmas you send a bottle of bourbon to the local animal
control officer.

Answer key:

If you answered A to most questions, you probably have a Siberian
Husky. You have been distracted for 10 minutes. Check to see your dog
has not escaped with the car.

If you answered B to most questions, you probably have an Alaskan
Malamute and your dinner was stolen while reading this quiz.

If you answered C to the last question, you are owned by Siberians or
Malamutes. This is normal. You do not need professional help,
regardless what your relatives say!


9 Stages of Hamish

  1. Hears small mouse burrowing under snow in Alaska, or fridge door opening in Antarctica (but can’t hear me telling him not to get excited!)imageHamish1
  2. Short, choppy gait, ears pointy, increased panting (and that’s just me)
  3. Locate direction of tempting sound
  4. Pagan catches on!
  5. Looks at Pagan, Pagan looks at me, I brace everything
  6. Looks at Pagan, looks for source of sound, looks at Pagan, looks for source of sound and repeat, until brain catches up
  7. Who cares about the sound when it’s……….
  8. Frenzied slapsie fight time! If only they held daffodils between their teeth and  imageHamish2castanets in each paw, we could make a fortune!
  9. Really, no, he’s not my dog. No, I don’t know where he came from. Well, yes, he does appear to be on a lead, and yes I seem to be holding the other end. Ummm…… I honestly don’t know how that happened.



imageHamish 3








Grammar can be fun!

A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.

A bar was walked into by the passive voice.

An oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening.

Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.”

A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.

Hyperbole totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.

A question mark walks into a bar?

A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.

Papyrus and Comic Sans walk into a bar. The bartender says, “Get out — we don’t serve your type.”

A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.

A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.

Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.

A synonym strolls into a tavern.

At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar — fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.

A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment.

Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapses to the bar floor.

A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.

An allusion walks into a bar, despite the fact that alcohol is its Achilles heel.

The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.

A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned a man with a glass eye named Ralph.

The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.

A dyslexic walks into a bra.

A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines.

An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television getting drunk and smoking cigars.

A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.

A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.

A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the bartender nearly chokes on the irony.

*(I can’t take credit for these, but the malapropism is my favorite. Enjoy!)