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,

Congratulations!

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)

imagespider

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
breeds.

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!)

 

Arrrrgggg Massive Slacker Catch Up!

How to cross a cricket pitch with two malamutes who are insisting on sharking across it, on their sides, enjoying the frosty grass crunch beneath them? That’s right, pretend they are nothing to do with me and ignore. Flaw in that plan? Leads………bugger. Coffee

Image result for stupid malamutes

Anyone who knows me knows that recently my mental health has been taking the piss; my head has been all over the place, confusing and worrying me. As usual I’ve taken the much used self help remedy of complete hibernation from society. This has never worked before, but in my addled state, I convinced myself that this time it just might. Yeah….?

None of this has anything to do with my strange tale this morning, however. 

It was six o’clock, still dark, warmer than it has been, and windy – leaves red, gold and russet buffeting the glass of the conservatory, the sudden clatter of acorns discarded and thrown from the oaks above.

Related imageThe light was on while I wiggled into wellies, collected up collars and donned fluorescents, when, suddenly, the sound of leaves against glass grew in intensity. Turning, I saw it – battering at the windows, a tiny ball of yellow and blue feathers, beady eyes, and open beak. Again and again the blue tit flung itself at the unforgiving surface. I just stood, open mouthed, heart pounding, until, after a few minutes, away it flew.

Recovering, trying to work out why, then it was back! Flinging itself at the glass, frantic little body, so easily broken, fell sideways into the mint surrounding the door, immediately up and beating its wings again, feathers bending on contact, barbs splayed. Then it went, and this time for good (unless it returned while I was walking).

Seriously freaked! Has anyone had this? Is it a common occurrence?

The Differences Between Malamutes and Sibes

  1. EARS Mals – Small, neat and completely deaf – unless it’s cheese being opened on a different continent. Enough space between them for a party hat, but apparently not a brain.  Sibes – two.

  1. BODY Mals – Solid, bulky, heavy enough to flatten a a gymnastic pyramid of giant elephants, or take out a rampant herd of Sherman tanks. Sibes – yes.

  1. LEGS Mals – Legs like a short weight lifter with paws that can flatten world class boxers. Sibes – four stick thin, thoroughbred legs.

  1. TAIL Mals – Waving like a plumy, feathery directional sign drawing attention to the butthole. Sibes – waggy.

  2. ATTITUDE Mals – Adorable shithead. Sibes – lovely; can I swap please?

    

Okay, so my dogs have minimal, when-they-feel-like-it-and-if-they-can-be-arsed recall. I’ve tried everything from begging, pleading, bribing, ignoring, but nothing worked…….. until today! A few weeks ago, Gertie the Pink’s mumbling owner used a sneaky trick which brought Gertie, and the demons, to attention immediately. This morning, I tried the same trick – they came running straight to me from the far corners of the field (a safe, secure, off-lead doggy haven I treat them to – TBH it’s a treat for me too, watching them run). It was amazing! The trick? Well, my big, butch, mean and ferocious beasts love ickle squeaky squeaky toys; however, as they destroy them with one bite, I don’t buy them very often! So the purchase of a packet of loose Kong squeakers was money well spent – perfect! Except on arriving back with me, they really really wanted a squeaky toy to love and hug and call George. Now I feel guilty ………must resist……must resis……..must res…….oh bugger 😉

In the next few days, the contract that has kept me so busy, ends. It hasn’t been a particularly big or complicated one, it’s just kept me mentally drained for no real reason. Hopefully this will give me a bit more energy to start the next philosophy module; level 3 is just as full of mind fuckery as level 2, but with less guidance, help, free gin and cake – hey ho, closing my eyes and jumping!

Note to Self: When panicking that your dog has worms, remember that they had trachea for tea yesterday

As a follow on from my trachea post – another note to self *Don’t panic that your dog is bleeding internally if he ate the wax outer coating from several Baby Bels a few hours ago :/

What do swans dream about? Do they dream? We dream, dogs and cats appear to dream, so why not swans? We run through our days, our lives, real or imagined, dogs wriggle and yip as they chase rabbits through sparkly scent trails, cats see rainbow coloured, concentric circles of mice chasing tails, but swans? What do swans dream? Extra clean feathers, all placed in smooth perfection, the delicacy of rich, vibrant river weed, an Related imageuninterrupted waterway carrying them, serenely, around the globe? Or shagging? Probably the latter, the filthy bastards 😉

 

Was it so wrong that after over 20 mins stuck in a non moving traffic jam, that when the 80’s classic ‘Let’s Hear It For The Boy’ started playing, I almost got out to bonnet dance? The only things that stopped me were the undeniable facts that once I had taken several hours to clamber, like a landed walrus, onto the bonnet of my car, said bonnet may well cave in and land me in the engine. Fortunately the traffic started moving – phew that was close!

In order to write, I have to lose myself in rhythm of the words, the syncopation of sounds and shapes, images and colours, and in order to do that, I use Mindfulness. Based on Buddhist principles, it is the psychological idea of focusing on, and experiencing, the present moment, of feeling that connection. It’s fab for depression, and anxiety and improves mental wellbeing generally – I love it. It sorts me out for the day, grounds me, and just gives me a healthier perspective. However, this morning, for a brief instant, the birdsong quietened, the glowing sunrise faded, and all I could feel was a comforting hug-like constriction from top to toe. I couldn’t move my arms, but this didn’t seem to matter, couldn’t turn or bend, but felt safe and protected. What was happening? Where was I? And then it dawned on me – the tight constriction, the inability to move, the muffled sounds, and diminished light……..I was inside a loo roll inner!!! WTAF? Why had my mind put me there? What is wrong with my head that instead of losing myself in the beauty of birdsong, the burning glow of a sunrise, or the smell of the earth as she warms, I am inside a cardboard loo roll? No words – ironic, eh? 😉

Descartes – Dualism, Hume – Bundle Theory, Fork (Kant), Original Contract, Locke – Tacit Consent, Continuity of Memory, Clark and Chalmers – Extended Mind. Political Obligation, Parfit and Taylor, Functionalism, Reid’s objection to Locke, Extra Cranial objection to Extended Mind Theory, Qualia objection to Functionalism, Arnauld’s Objection to Dualism, Hobbes objection to Hume’s Original Contract, Nagel’s Bat, Nozick’s Freeriding Theory, Crane’s Extended Mind Objection, Rawls Desert Base. AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGG!

Tractors were out all day yesterday decimating the hedgerows, the snickity snick whirling blades indiscriminantely savaging and tearing through anything in their path, bramble through to oak tree, so I fully expected Hamish to trip, tread on something vaguely lumpy, get caught and generally cause harm to his lil ole self. But no, he trotted along fairly sensibly, taking his lead from stoical, solid Slutbitch. The farm gates, metal and clanging, had a new shiney padlock and chain holding them fast. Okay, stile it is then – nice and solid, not too tall, or awkward, and a large, unmeshed, gap for the beasts to jump through. No problems. They waited patiently as I  clambered up and over, then ummm…..not sure what happened, it’s all a bit of a blur – but they were through, although Hamish had two muddy pawprints on the top of his head, and Pagan had a tuft of fur in her mouth – I am assuming no rabbits were harmed but sometimes it’s better not to know. Coffee, study and sleepy dawgs today…..well, that’s my plan, they may have other ideas 😉

 

The dreaded stile is gradually becoming less of an unruly scramble, for the dogs at any rate; for me, it’s still an achingly awkward manoeuvre to clamber onto the cross step, gripping the completely unergonomically designed lead handles in one hand, repeating the word ‘wait’ over and over again (whilst hoping they do), swing a leg over (not something I’ve done for a long, long time), and jump/fall off the stile, untangle the leads and calmly allow the beasts through. Deep breath, check for rabbits, assume some semblance of control and off we go. I’m hoping it will get easier with practice lol. However, we survived that obstacle, the buns that romped across the track, causing the hounds to run in as large a circle as their leads and my arms would allow, and remained upright, despite the trip risk of the tractor tracks. Today, I shall mostly be doing fuck all – my brain is exhausted, so it’s a day for coffee, cake, gin and beastie wuffling lol

Note to Self: Stiles can, apparently, bite/maim/trick/confuse/befuddled/seriously damage (answer – all of them). Pagan ‘Ooh it’s a stile, over I scramble. Nothing can stand in the way of Super Slutbitch!’

Hamish ‘Aaarrrgggg WTF? You want me to what? Seriously? But I could break my delicate ickle pins! I could fall and break my neck! I could dieeeeeeee! Nope, you can’t make me! Pulllllllllllling won’t work! Biscuits, you say? Pah, I have leaf mulch on this side! Yes, I realise that Goody-Two-Paws has done it and survived, but still nope! What’s that you say? There’s a gap in the hedge that I can squeeze through instead of over? Nope, not doing that either, now! I’m just gonna lie here…..right here…..see, quite comfortable, thank you, and you can’t make me move for anything. Nope, I’m not budging for any money. Mmmmm so comfy, just lying here, not moving. No siree, I will stay here all da…………Sorry? We’re going a different route home that doesn’t involve stiles? Hurry up, can’t lie here all day, things to do, people to see, toys to chew. 😉

This is my favourite part of the day – hands clasped round a mug of steaming hot, freshly ground coffee, dogs snoring quietly in various rooms, housework done, and the whole Image result for coffee and bookday ahead for study and discoveries. Peaceful. Shall I read a trashy, chic lit novel, a deep thinking philosophy tome (at the moment it’s metametaphysics – WTAF?), play Bubblewitch, or…….or……another coffee first, there’s plenty of time 😀

 

You know those mornings when you’ve been out early with the beasts, and are driving back past the local shoppe? You think to yourself “I won’t stop for snackettes as I have a Image result for doughnutscupboard full at home/trying to be good”? And then you get home and think “Bugger, I want [insert snacks that are never in cupboard when desired – well, obviously not insert, although would if they were there to insert], and I want it now. Why, in god’s name didn’t I stop? I had my wallet with me too, so no excuse there. And there was space right outside to park with dogs. Bugger!”.  That!

 

For our second trip to the Field of Dreams, the recently dank mornings took a break, and it dawned clear and fresh. This Elysian pasture, where the beasts can run until their Related imageheart’s content, and I can relax, safe in the knowledge that, essentially, they are trapped, is an amazing secret find! I could feel Hecate laughing with me as the dogs bounded through the dew-soaked grass, the rabbits in their heads – their uncatchable, unstoppable prey, the Greek paradox of Laelaps and the Teumessian Fox (CaniImage result for fox illustrations Major and Canis Minor). However, as I was driving away from said paradise, a flat bed truck drove down the track, I panicked about the easiest way to let him pass, he kindly reversed, I got myself in a tizz, and, swearing at my stupid self, drove past without even giving a thank you smile. How rude, all he would have seen was a grumpy, fat cow, mouthing ‘fucking fuckweasel’ to herself, about herself. Twathead!

Image result for fox illustration

But now, with happy, sleepy hounds, it’s time for the finale of GoT, study, and coffee (fucking fuckweasel) 😉

 

With clouds gathering, and that strange pre storm yellow light turning the gracefully tall and straight poplars an eerie gold against the heavy grey sky, we sallied forth. The demons bounded eagerly after scent trails, their maze of glowing coloured lines criss crossing each other (yes, I still hold with that theory, until proved otherwise).  Scrambling through the hedge onto the smooth grass of the cricket ground, the ears pricked, and the singing started – Gertie the Pink, her pinky white coat visible for miles around, was heading at full Jack Russell speed straight for us, with Grunting Short-Wearing owner behind. She leapt on Pagan, danced over Hamish and generally caused joyous yappy mayhem! Apparently, she is on tablets to stop her being so aggressive with other dogs – is this the new thing? Tablets? Opens up huge questions of breeding, training, short cuts etc *dons tin hat* She has never shown any aggression to my pair, and Grunting is relaxed around them too – coincidence? Who knows – I haven’t seen her with other dogs, so have no valid opinion (I know……you’re as surprised as I am…….lol).  Oh while we’re on the subject of opinion……traditional spay vs laparoscopic spay – opinions please……..

 

Well, the bunnies (you remember them?) were out in force this morning; unfortunately, however, now the golden flax has been harvested, leaving bushy rows of feathery debris waiting to be gleaned (technical term, that – I checked), there is nowhere for the buns to hide. And when you have a ten stone malamute on his hind legs bouncing up and down in excitement, then it can only be a bad thing! I braced myself for the inevitable arms-out-of-sockets moment, heels dug into the soft clay soil. Neither of us noticed that whilst I was hanging on to the pogo hound, he had pogoed his way into a fallen branch. Well, we all know what that can do to a very small brained Hamish – he squealed, he panicked, he hid behind my legs, rabbit forgotten (I’m sure it was sniggering behind its furry mittened paws by now). Poor ickle Hamish – is he really butchbitch’s brother?

Study day today – coffee brewed, Jaffa Cakes (are they?) in the cupboard (dotal eclipse lol), and, after the group song, dogs snoring contentedly. Hmmmmm…..first though, maybe a little GoT!!! 😉

 

It is a tad misty and mellow fruitfulnessy out there this morning, but still so blooming warm; the demons and I melted as we trudged – the muggy, cloying, airless atmosphere sapping any energy. The jacks sat silently on the telephone wires, the finches and tits (seriously, stop sniggering) sulked, and even the robins refused to converse. In the last couple of days, the hedgerow dog roses have developed fluffy, red tinged galls – a sure sign that autumn is closing in on us. The old horsemen used these, dried, to treat colic – see, I’m still a fountain of Google knowledge lol.

We’ve just finished a joyfully exuberant group howl, involving several tennis balls, spilt coffee and me crawling round on the floor – people may say I take the pack mentality a step too far, I say “don’t knock it ‘til you’ve seen the world from a different perspective”, and “bugger, might need a hand getting up”.

Slutbitch is back on form, Hamish is still falling down rabbit holes, and I am writing again! Put your donations in the hat, and please pass the gin! Xxx

 

Nearly 2 months smoke free, and over £800 saved – well, not saved exactly, just not sent up in smoke! How’s everyone else doing? xxx Beasties (or breasties – for those who always seek the basest level lol) are doing well; Pagan is back to her version of normal, with a sexy little scar that she shows off at every opportunity – the filthy slut, and Hamish is, well, hamishy. I have a busy couple of weeks, work and study wise, then I will be back to writing regularly about the usual crap. xxx

Image result for happy BirthdayHappy, wuffly, zoomy sixth birthday to all the Cocktail Litter! Especially my two bundles of …..erm……joy. This time six years ago we were all eagerly awaiting news, and keeping everything crossed for Pussy, pups and Lorraine. I was especially impatient as I had waited many, many many months for the little minx to come into season. Once the litter had arrived and were making Lorraine and Pussy’s lives busy (and messy), Lorraine started with the bullying – ‘Oh go on, two pups are no more hassle than one’, ‘Ready made team’, ‘It’s harder to fit one into a team later’, and so on! Thank you so much for making me give in – and thank you for my amazing Kegloonies xxx

One week old

Well, we are getting back to normal slowly – it’s been a bumpy couple of weeks. And while you may think that Pagan has had it worse (operation to remove gastrointestinal blockage – diagnosed initially as pancreatitis (even though we were all saying blockage) aaarrrggg), it has been hard for ickle Hamish too. The other morning, he got attacked by a tree branch when he tried to jump over it, sheep scared him by starring intently through the hedge, and a small rabbit caused terror by leaping out of the flax crop right in front of him. Pagan is now back in charge and her stitches come out on Saturday woohoo!

 

I am sorry for my writery absence recently – it’s all been a bit weird inside my head. Probably the lack of smoking (yup, still sans nicotine) is sending my rather haywire thoughts rather more haywire than normal. I have also had a few large contracts to work on – which is brilliant, but doesn’t aid the allocation of head space; neither does the extra time I’ve been cramming full of studying. My elderly and decrepit parents are taking up Image result for depressionmore and more time and worry for both my long suffering sister and I; this is increasingly stressful, causing cigarettes to appear incredibly tempting. All of this and more has caused my recent lack of scribing. The demons are doing their best to keep me sane – and as usual, failing. Although with Pagan asleep on my feet, and Hamish snoring happily behind me, I can’t help but smile and feel a warm fuzziness (although that could be malamute fluff in my coffee TBH). Save my seat, pour me a triple gin, I’ll be back before you know it xxx

 

I must not watch programmes about people and puppies!!! Relaxing with ’10 Puppies and Us’ from the other night. Holy fucking crap – these twats are so bloody stupid. One family with young kids gets a gorgeous little cocker spaniel pup, allow the kids to pull it around, dress it up, lie on it and generally give it no peace whatsoever. Puppy starts getting anxious and stressed, and begins nipping, but yet still the parents don’t stop the children dragging the poor pup around! Another family have a sweet little retriever bitch and don’t even appear able to encourage it to walk on the lead, seeming to assume the pup is a mind reader and should know what heel means instinctively. Seriously what is wrong with people? AAAARRRRGGGG! Have we, as a species, become so isolated, ignorant and arrogant that we bully the natural world (including puppies) to fit into our world, instead of being able to look into theirs and work together? Rhetorical question – I know!

Wet patches of clover are much more slippery than wet grass – just saying

What is it with yellow and black bastard insects? Seriously, I get the message, now fuck off!
Last night, whilst on the phone, I noticed an OMFGHornet, full of yellow and black angriness, just sitting, malevolently starring, on the ceiling! Cue backing slowly out of the room, taking the pups with me, grabbing the flyspray and heading back in, with flappy Image result for demon hornetmagazine for defense! After surviving that encounter, this morning in the conservatory, sitting on the door handle was a huge yellow and black beetley thing. Armed with aforementioned flappy magazine, I flipped him onto the floor, opened the door and tried to ‘encourage’ him outside! Cajoling, pushing, pulling, none of it was working – he was determined to stay. Turning away for a sec, I looked back only to see Pagan patooey him out of the door, covered in dog slob! Job done!

 

OMG just discovered Pinterest!!! Yes, I know, but I could spend so many happy hoursImage result for pinterest here – from bullet journaling, crafty DIY projects, paintings and sculptures, to my comforting quill-filled zone of writery stuff!

 

There’s a bike behind the bus shelter, abandoned for the last month or so; rust claims its gear sprockets, and the rubber pedals are perishing slowly. Green and purple, with Image result for abandoned bicycleflashes of once bright silver, now dulled with sooty mildew and bird droppings, the ‘Celcius’ in a graffiti script along the down tube is becoming harder to decipher. Vibrant eager bindweed weaves between the rust speckled spokes, and the grass stems grow tall, obscuring the sad deflated tyres. Where is the boy? Life moves on………