A cold and frosty morning

It was indeed cold and frosty this morning when I took Paddy out for his walk but what a lovely change from the never-ending rain and leaden grey skies which we have endured for most of November.
Here's hoping December is going to be an improvement - but let's not hold our breath!

X Factor addiction

I must confess to having sneaked more than a few peeks at 'The X-Factor' this year, mainly as a protest, ie NOT watching BBC's 'Strictly Come Dancing' because of their ageist and sexist behaviour in sacking Arlene Phillips and Karen Hardy! However, now that those two annoying brats, commonly known as Jedward have finally been voted off, my interest has waned.
Fortunately, X-Factor did not affect me to this extent.
Note to self:  Make a conscious effort not to watch rubbish.
I obviously had a lucky escape.

Bohemian Rhapsody with a twist

I got an email this evening from Keith with a link to this.
 

Actually, we usually just talk to each other, rather than emailing, although it has been known for emails to fly across the living room from his desktop to my laptop, but today I'm in Bristol and he is still at home, hence the email, preceded by a phone call to tell me to look for it in my inbox.
You see, life can get quite complicated at times

Christmas shopping

My Christmases as a child,  seem always to have been magical and the weeks beforehand with their mounting crescendo of excitement were almost as exciting as the big day itself. I have vivid memories of producing yards of paper chains from coloured strips of paper bought in the local newsagents, the Christmas tree bought one year and carefully planted out in the garden before being brought in for the following festive season, the shiny glass baubles - and woe betide if any of them got broken and of course, the fairy, resplendent in crepe paper and tinsel.
Fast forward to my children's early years. The best Christmases are when  there are children around who believe in Santa, but then, of course, you have to stay up half the night waiting for them to go to sleep before creeping into their bedrooms with pillow-cases full of presents. Staying awake until the early hours as an overworked mother is made all the more difficult if you have previously eaten the mince pie and drunk the glass of sherry left out for Santa  (I drew the line as eating Rudolph's carrot as well) and on many of those Christmas days, my dearest wish, after about two hours sleep during the night, was to disappear back to bed for the afternoon to catch up on some zeds, but of course, I never could.
Of my four children, Hugh was the one who took Christmas present list writing the most seriously, usually beginning in October but occasionally, even earlier. Lengthy discussions would ensue over what were or were not considered reasonable requests. Then, of course, the children all got older and harder to buy for, although Hugh was always fairly easy as he was a prolific reader and a gift of books was always welcome.
When I asked him this summer, what he would like for his birthday, he couldn't think of anything to suggest and I didn't press it, thinking I would have plenty of time to look for something nearer the time.
These days, as I wander round the shops looking for presents to buy, the things that catch my attention are invariably just what I would buy for him  - if I still could.

The Ancestral Pile - almost

Cast your eyes on this item of news online yesterday. Notice especially the description of the dwelling, including the thirty-five rooms and allow your gaze to linger on the photo, curtesy of the Telegraph.

The other detail I would like you to note is the fact that this house once belonged to 'the Amery family' because thereby hangs a tale.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. (Please note, you need to be of a certain age to appreciate that last invitation.)
A few generations ago, Sir John Amery, baronet, lived there with his family, one of whom was a daughter, of whom I am a direct descendant. So, I hear you ask, why is Jenny not now living in this handsome mansion, instead of a bunch of squatters? Sadly, the lady in question let her heart rule her head, ran off with a builder, who was working on the house at the time, and was promptly disowned by her irate father.
So near and yet so far....

Gordon Brown's apology

I was sent this item of news in the Telegraph in an email today.
Gordon Brown is set to make a public apology for the Norman Conquest. Last night close aides and Downing Street insiders categorically denied that any such move was being considered, fuelling the growing consensus that a fulsome apology is imminent. One source who requested not to be named said: “Gordon has always felt strongly about the Norman Conquest and its disastrous legacy of hereditary privilege and a class-based society.”
Another Labour insider commented: “The main concern is the trauma still being endured by people of Anglo-Saxon extraction. They lost their language, their social cohesion and their political autonomy as a consequence of this foreign invasion. While England has a long tradition of welcoming asylum seekers and the oppressed, arrogant Norman aristocrats on horseback are quite another proposition. A glance at the Bayeux Tapestry shows the kind of thuggish behaviour in which they indulged. When a King of England is struck in the eye by an arrow it is clear that a coach and horses is being driven through health and safety laws.”
He hastily added that there was no reason whatever why a man with one eye should not rule England successfully for many decades, but repeated his strong condemnation of the Norman invaders: “The Battle of Hastings was an early spree by Bullingdon Club louts.” Climate change campaigners also suggested that man-made global warming may have begun with the Norman Conquest: “All those forges producing chain mail and steel weaponry, not to mention thousands of imported French horses breaking wind – the effect on England’s ecological system must have been devastating.”
Kev Engels, Professor of Historical Studies and Social Inclusion at the University of Brixton, claimed: “Exclusive, class-based terminology such as “serf”, “vassall” and “churl” date back to the events of 1066. You get social alienation due to people with “De” in their names discriminating on racial grounds against the indigenous population. A Marxian interpretation would identify this as the start of colonialism, which also laid the foundations of the class struggle.”
The question that was preoccupying the Westminster village last night was the scale of compensation that would be offered to victims of William the Conqueror. A spokesman for a left-leaning think tank said: “To apologise without allocating adequate resources to victims is meaningless.” He estimated a minimum investment of £3 billion would be needed, to fund resources for outreach, counselling and rehabilitation services.
Political observers agreed that, having ruled out a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty, an initiative hostile to Normandy, the nearest outpost of the EU to England, might be a popular stance for Gordon Brown to adopt in the run-up to a general election. A spokesman for the Football Association welcomed the likelihood of an apology, saying: “Hastings was a disaster. Our lads were knackered after a mid-week friendly at Stamford Bridge. They had horrific injury problems and should never have been asked to take to the field that day.” On a more optimistic note he added: “The Norman Conquest was a game of two halves.” Downing Street is still refusing to comment.

As a genuine, time-served anglo-saxon, I am sending in my application  for compensation ASAP.

Doggy Boot Camp

I got a real shock on Thursday afternoon. There I was, minding my own business when a lady arrived to talk to Jenny. Well, this happens quite a lot. They go into what she calls her 'counselling room' which is just a room I have to go through to get out into the garden. Anyway, this lady, called Amanda apparently, had lots of doggy smells about her person, as I found out when I got to meet her, and it seems she trains dogs! I was in shock, I can tell you. I mean what on earth would Jenny want to even think about getting someone like that in to work with me? In fact, I'm not only in shock, I'm very offended!
It was a wet and windy afternoon but Jenny and Amanda insisted on taking me outside, even though Jenny knows I don't like being out in the rain and Amanda put this long red lead on me, a training lead she called it. It seems that Jenny has told her that I often pull on my lead when we are out and that I bark and lunge madly at other dogs - such wicked lies! So, up and down we walked and whenever I did something wrong, Jenny had to make this growling noise at me, and here's the worst part - if I didn't take any notice, I got squirted with water! There is only so much a dog can take, you know.
Amanda had a big red van with three of her dogs inside (she has six altogether) and I had a couple of quick barks at them and then she got one of them out to help me with my walking. Mind you, I couldn't see the point really; this other dog was worse than me at walking - well, I thought she was, anyway
After about two hours of exercises, I was finally allowed back in the house, to collapse, exhausted, on my bed.
Since then, I've had to practice going through doorways behind Jenny or Keith instead of in front, which is really stupid as I move so much faster than them, and I've had to do some of these exercises when I go out for my walks, so we don't get very far. Mind you, I am hearing Jenny say 'Good boy' quite a lot when I get it right, so maybe it is worth it after all.
I think I heard Jenny say to Amanda that eventually she would like to be able to let me off my lead and be confident of getting me back. Now that would be good - getting off the lead, I mean, I'm not bothered about coming back till I'm ready.
I think Jenny might not be too happy with that though...