It tastes horrible

Dad is having a bit of a problem with a tooth at the moment and as he can't get an appointment at the dentist's until the end of next week, I suggested that he rinse his mouth with diluted TCP in case of infection.
"Well, I have done that a couple of times but it tastes so horrible," he complained.
I reminded him of the times in my very early years when I was regularly dosed with syrup of figs and - worse - Milk of Magnesia, all because I was one of those unfortunate beings who are not 'regular'. (I won't elaborate on this in case you are of a delicate disposition. Suffice it to say, I spent half my early childhood being strongly encouraged to be 'regular'.)
"So, I'm afraid I have no sympathy," I said, grimly.
He laughed.

Self-service? No thanks!

I noticed the other week in Sainsbury's that some self-service tills have made a sneaky appearance, which didn't bother me too much as I had no intention of using them.
"Are those...?"
"They're self-service tills," the assistant rudely interupted me in a bored way which made it sound as if she had been asked the question ten million times before, which possibly she had, but there was no need to be so rude.
The next week I noticed that the 'Baskets only' tills had been axed to make way for them, which I was rather annoyed about as they are very useful if you have only popped in for a few items (extra cake for Keith, for instance) and don't want to be stuck in a lengthy queue behind someone who has bought the whole shop and then some and wants to pay for it with their life-collection of pennies.
So with rather bad grace, I took my basket to an ordinary till and prepared to wait, only to be accosted by a 'customer service assistant' who did her utmost to persuade me to give the new till a try.
"No thanks," I said politely. Her persistence indicated that she wanted a reason for my refusal, so eventually I gave it to her.
"When I come shopping," I said, "I like some degree of service. I already have to go round the store and pick the items I want and then lug them all out to the car, but I don't think it's too much to ask for someone to actually scan the shopping for me and take the money. Oh and it's quite nice when they offer to pack it for me, which happens less and less these days."
She smiled and backed away and went to help the queue building up at the self-service tills which seemed to be having teething problems.

Ghosts?

He's full of surprises, that dog of ours. On our walk today, he barked and tried to lunge at two very well behaved boxers for no apparent reason except that they were there and then, five minutes later, walked past a huge black dog, barking furiously at him as if he didn't exist. But the really puzzling moment came a few minutes later when we were back on the road. He stopped dead, stared intently across the road and began growling. Paddy never growls. If he sees a cat or a squirrel, he whines but never growls at them or even barks. However, this time, try as I might, I could see absolutely no sign of an animal or even person anywhere in sight. You see what I'm saying here? We were alone, completely and utterly alone.
But Paddy kept on growling, rooted to the spot until I began to haul him off down the road. Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he allowed himself to be moved but all the way down the hill, he kept stopping to look behind him as if there was someone or something following us.
In the end, even I began to get twitchy.
It had to be a ghost - but a person or an animal?
Welcome to the Welsh Twilight Zone...... Be afraid, be very afraid.

The wet dog blog

Paddy has had his first bath chez Jennyta today. In fact, for all I know it could be his first bath ever because he certainly didn't seem to have much idea about what was going on. Still, he was very good in the bath. It was when he got out that he went berserk, sliding all round the bathroom floor, fighting with the towel and, of course, shaking himself furiously. Then I opened the bathroom door - yes I had had the foresight to close the bedroom doors before we started - and charged up and down the stairs at the speed of light before being let back into the living room.
Now, he's screwed himself into the smallest ball possible and squashed himself into the corner of the armchair. You can almost hear him thinking,
"Well, I ain't gonna do that again in a hurry!"

It's behind you!!

I just know there's a cat around here somewhere!

It's in the genes

I have just had a few days in Bristol visiting Dad, who is recovering well from his hip replacement and is tearing round the house at the rate of knots - nearly. Elder Daughter came for a couple of days too and it was lovely to catch up with her. We don't get together that often, due to the pace of life and volume of commitments.
"We'll have salmon for dinner," she announced, so I prepared to stick it in the microwave for a couple of minutes, as is my wont.
"No!" she protested, "You can't do that," and she prepared to give me detailed instructions for doing it 'properly.'
She likes gardening too - loves it, in fact and has acquired a wealth of knowledge about what to plant where and how to ensure that it all grows, which is a far cry from my very basic 'stick it in the ground and hope for the best' approach.
All of which left me thinking. She's streets ahead of me in gardening and cooking expertise and, needless to say, this knowledge was certainly not gained at her mother's knee, and neither was the enthusiasm.
Mind you, neither was her interest in Medicine.
However, I like to think that I have passed something on to her - let me see now...
Looks, charm, intelligence ..... need I say more?
Oh, and maybe an understanding of the benefits and satisfaction which come from sheer hard work. She certainly does plenty of that.

Paddy's bug

On Monday, I woke up feeling most peculiar. I dragged myself out of bed but I felt so hot and shivery all at the same time. Jenny and Keith looked very worried and talked about taking me to see a 'vet', whatever that might be. I just hoped it wouldn't be a painful experience, as I felt as though I had gone 10 rounds with the mad German Shepherd across the road. I tell you, if a cat had come and sat inches from my nose, I wouldn't have taken any notice.
So we went to the vet, who turned out to be a very nice lady. She said I was a lovely dog and in very good condition. (Obviously a woman of taste!) She thought I must have picked up a 'bug', whatever that is, and she gave me two injections, which didn't hurt at all and by the end of the day, I was almost back to my usual self.
However, the vet had told Jenny to bring me back yesterday in case I needed more treatment, so she did. This time, I was feeling full of life, bounded up the steps into the waiting room and .....
there was a CAT!! It was hiding in a box but I knew it was there and, boy! was I dying to get at it. Needless to say, there was no chance and I was made to stay by the chair, but they couldn't stop me whining and scrabbling. Actually, I don't think the cat's owner liked me very much. She kept glaring at me and she seemed very relieved when it was her turn to go in to the vet.
We were there for about twenty minutes and it was a VERY stressful time for me because, at one point, I was surrounded by cats. Personally, I don't think they should be allowed in. They're only oversized squirrels really.
Anyway, even though I was really good for the vet and didn't move a muscle when she was looking at me and giving me another injection, Jenny wasn't very pleased with me.
And to make matters worse, on our way out we came face to face with another cat!
I heard Jenny explain to the owner that I don't like cats, (does anyone?)but I thought I'd have a go anyway. Before I knew it, I felt myself being dragged, very roughly for a recovering invalid, I thought, down the steps and bundled into the car.
No biscuits for being good today either, then. (Sigh!)