Sunday, 30 September 2012
Fostering a Dog.......day something or other?
I guess I should change the heading to "Adopting a Dog", as I've somehow adopted the adorable little monster.
He has some "behavioural" issues and a few personality quirks that wouldn't be out of place with someone who wears a hockey mask and carry's a machete. But I love him.
He's family now. And like all families, there's always one member that can snap and turn violent at a moment's notice.
He's an incredibly sweet guy inside the house, but outside, I think he finds the whole world a bit scary and he doesn't have enough experience of things to understand that not every passing old lady with a walking stick is going to attack him.
After a stressful visit to the vet (the one that the dog rescue place made me use), the vet advised the charity to have him put to sleep, as he'd shown some aggression (the dog, not the vet).
So, after a bit of BS from the charity about how they were going to "Assess him", I decided that I would adopt him (again, the dog, not the vet). This then set into motion a whole lot of back and forth, which has sadly meant that I will NEVER..........EVER have anything to do with this particular dog rescue again. What a pain in the arse it was.
So, I have a dog. A dog with more health problems than all of the other dogs that I've ever owned. And they're dead.
He has some "behavioural" issues and a few personality quirks that wouldn't be out of place with someone who wears a hockey mask and carry's a machete. But I love him.
He's family now. And like all families, there's always one member that can snap and turn violent at a moment's notice.
He's an incredibly sweet guy inside the house, but outside, I think he finds the whole world a bit scary and he doesn't have enough experience of things to understand that not every passing old lady with a walking stick is going to attack him.
After a stressful visit to the vet (the one that the dog rescue place made me use), the vet advised the charity to have him put to sleep, as he'd shown some aggression (the dog, not the vet).
So, after a bit of BS from the charity about how they were going to "Assess him", I decided that I would adopt him (again, the dog, not the vet). This then set into motion a whole lot of back and forth, which has sadly meant that I will NEVER..........EVER have anything to do with this particular dog rescue again. What a pain in the arse it was.
So, I have a dog. A dog with more health problems than all of the other dogs that I've ever owned. And they're dead.
Sunday
Where shall I begin?
We went to Coughton Court today. And by court, I mean a large stately home, and not a magistrates court or something like that. This was spurred on by the fact that our National Trust membership runs out.............today. Yes, that's right. We were fully paid up members of the National Trust. It's amazing what a money off deal will get you to sign up to. Especially when about 12 months ago, you really wanted to have a wander around St Michael's Mount, and thought "Blimey! How much for both of us to get in? That's a bit steep isn't it? And if we do pay, how much of the Mount do we get to keep?"
Anyway, we were due to renew our membership. Mainly because there was a Direct Debit set up, and I don't like to tinker with things. Anyway, then the Badger cull came along. With the National Trust coming down on the side of the Badger killers. Well, if you're not with Brian May and the Badgers, then you're not getting my 80 quid. So I called up and cancelled it. They didn't ask why. I'm afraid that if they had, I would have squeaked out, in my most feeble of voices "......................because of the Badgers...."
So, we headed to Coughton Court to try to get our money's worth of membership out of this year.
It's a very nice place. Like a lot of stately homes, it's hard to imagine that some people lived so grandly, while other people waited on them hand and foot (and the rest of their body parts, probably).
Ooh! They have a spiral stone staircase that goes up a sort of tower bit, thingy. I love those! I'm not built for them though, obviously. 400 years ago, the average person was no taller than an Orange. So my size 13 feet and 5'10" of altitude are not really designed to cope with spirally stone steps.
I look like every step could be my last, as I nervously clutch, nay cling, to the handrail. And I was wearing new shoes. I've been clip-clopping all day. New shoes take a few days to get used to, don't they. You find yourself catching on things and clumping around because you're not used to the new tread depth or something like that.
I've been trying to walk on grass and carpet a lot. Concrete, stone, or wooden floors are right out. At several points today, my quietest walking sounded like someone had put tap shoes onto a Giraffe.
The main building is packed with paintings and objects de art. Although not a suit of armour anywhere. Very disappointing.
Loads of portraits of various family members from throughout the ages. Theirs, not mine, that would just be weird.
The detail in the old portraits is staggering. They must have taken ages to paint. And each one had to be accurate, as there were no cameras or photographs back then. Can you imagine getting your passport photo painted. It takes weeks. You then send it off. Wait some more weeks. Then finally it gets sent back to you, rejected, because the artist has painted a bit of a droopy fringe over your left eye.
Do you ever make noises when you trip or stumble? Like when you're walking and misjudge the tread depth on your new shoes and you scuff one foot on the ground, stumble forward and make a noise like "Wup"?
I do. What's "Wup"? I think it's meant to be whoops, but I've shortened it for some reason. Like it's not embarrassing enough to fuck up the ability to walk properly, I then, just in case some people didn't notice, make a cartoon-like noise.
Anyway, the building and its grounds are lovely.
In other news, my dog is bleeding from his penis. You heard me :(
We went to Coughton Court today. And by court, I mean a large stately home, and not a magistrates court or something like that. This was spurred on by the fact that our National Trust membership runs out.............today. Yes, that's right. We were fully paid up members of the National Trust. It's amazing what a money off deal will get you to sign up to. Especially when about 12 months ago, you really wanted to have a wander around St Michael's Mount, and thought "Blimey! How much for both of us to get in? That's a bit steep isn't it? And if we do pay, how much of the Mount do we get to keep?"
Anyway, we were due to renew our membership. Mainly because there was a Direct Debit set up, and I don't like to tinker with things. Anyway, then the Badger cull came along. With the National Trust coming down on the side of the Badger killers. Well, if you're not with Brian May and the Badgers, then you're not getting my 80 quid. So I called up and cancelled it. They didn't ask why. I'm afraid that if they had, I would have squeaked out, in my most feeble of voices "......................because of the Badgers...."
So, we headed to Coughton Court to try to get our money's worth of membership out of this year.
It's a very nice place. Like a lot of stately homes, it's hard to imagine that some people lived so grandly, while other people waited on them hand and foot (and the rest of their body parts, probably).
Ooh! They have a spiral stone staircase that goes up a sort of tower bit, thingy. I love those! I'm not built for them though, obviously. 400 years ago, the average person was no taller than an Orange. So my size 13 feet and 5'10" of altitude are not really designed to cope with spirally stone steps.
I look like every step could be my last, as I nervously clutch, nay cling, to the handrail. And I was wearing new shoes. I've been clip-clopping all day. New shoes take a few days to get used to, don't they. You find yourself catching on things and clumping around because you're not used to the new tread depth or something like that.
I've been trying to walk on grass and carpet a lot. Concrete, stone, or wooden floors are right out. At several points today, my quietest walking sounded like someone had put tap shoes onto a Giraffe.
The main building is packed with paintings and objects de art. Although not a suit of armour anywhere. Very disappointing.
Loads of portraits of various family members from throughout the ages. Theirs, not mine, that would just be weird.
The detail in the old portraits is staggering. They must have taken ages to paint. And each one had to be accurate, as there were no cameras or photographs back then. Can you imagine getting your passport photo painted. It takes weeks. You then send it off. Wait some more weeks. Then finally it gets sent back to you, rejected, because the artist has painted a bit of a droopy fringe over your left eye.
Do you ever make noises when you trip or stumble? Like when you're walking and misjudge the tread depth on your new shoes and you scuff one foot on the ground, stumble forward and make a noise like "Wup"?
I do. What's "Wup"? I think it's meant to be whoops, but I've shortened it for some reason. Like it's not embarrassing enough to fuck up the ability to walk properly, I then, just in case some people didn't notice, make a cartoon-like noise.
Anyway, the building and its grounds are lovely.
In other news, my dog is bleeding from his penis. You heard me :(
Monday, 24 September 2012
Four Line Poetry
When Clare called round at Michael's
he was changing for their date.
What a horrid shock that was for her
HE'S A WEREWOLF!! ...oops......too late....
he was changing for their date.
What a horrid shock that was for her
HE'S A WEREWOLF!! ...oops......too late....
Monday, 10 September 2012
Unfinished Poem
There's some mold in my sink
that's making a most terrible stink.
It most probably reached this condition
due to my ongoing and long-standing tradition
of not caring one jot.
Imagine on Tuesday my surprise
when from the mould, life did arise!
Squeaky-high voices at first,
I thought Schizophrenia! or worse-
but then I realised where it came from.
By Wednesday noon, an ambassador came out
and started to shout-
we want our independence
for us and all of our descendants.
So I said I'd think about it.
that's making a most terrible stink.
It most probably reached this condition
due to my ongoing and long-standing tradition
of not caring one jot.
Imagine on Tuesday my surprise
when from the mould, life did arise!
Squeaky-high voices at first,
I thought Schizophrenia! or worse-
but then I realised where it came from.
By Wednesday noon, an ambassador came out
and started to shout-
we want our independence
for us and all of our descendants.
So I said I'd think about it.
So in the mean time
by about Thursday teatime
the ambassador returned and placed in my hands
a list of their demands
I said "My god, you're so small."
He said "So what do you think?"
I said "I'm amazed you can get out of the sink-
What are you a millimetre tall?"
The ambassador seemed appalled.
I think I hurt his tiny feelings.
On Friday morning
suddenly without warning
the mould declared war
and by about a quarter to four
I had just about managed to stop laughing.
Saturday, half past five
I was now not so amused, but still alive
But the kitchen sink goo
had signed a unified treaty with some gunk from the loo
And things were starting to look hairy.
the ambassador returned and placed in my hands
a list of their demands
I said "My god, you're so small."
He said "So what do you think?"
I said "I'm amazed you can get out of the sink-
What are you a millimetre tall?"
The ambassador seemed appalled.
I think I hurt his tiny feelings.
On Friday morning
suddenly without warning
the mould declared war
and by about a quarter to four
I had just about managed to stop laughing.
Saturday, half past five
I was now not so amused, but still alive
But the kitchen sink goo
had signed a unified treaty with some gunk from the loo
And things were starting to look hairy.
I Love Her Still
I love her still.
Her voice,
her thoughts,
opinions,
actions,
all irritate me.
I prefer her silent,
not even moving.
I love her still.
Her voice,
her thoughts,
opinions,
actions,
all irritate me.
I prefer her silent,
not even moving.
I love her still.
Sometimes I Start a Poem and it Just Has to be Stopped
I remember like it was yesterday
Memories like these just don't go away
Not without years of therapy anyway
There's more fish in the sea, or so they say
But you were the one for me
There I was, strolling through the park
With no way of knowing you were about to claim my heart
When suddenly I heard a bark
I looked round and saw you tearing a dog apart
with your bear hands............because you are men-tal.
I admired you, full of grace
as you wiped some puppy from your face
.........
Memories like these just don't go away
Not without years of therapy anyway
There's more fish in the sea, or so they say
But you were the one for me
There I was, strolling through the park
With no way of knowing you were about to claim my heart
When suddenly I heard a bark
I looked round and saw you tearing a dog apart
with your bear hands............because you are men-tal.
I admired you, full of grace
as you wiped some puppy from your face
.........
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