I have just seen this little gem courtesy of Daphne and I thought it was too good not to share. In particular, I forwarded it to Dad as I felt it was especially relevant to him. No, he's not from Newcastle but from Cheshire, although the philosophy is the same. He has been living in Bristol since the fifties but, has he succumbed to the soft, self-indulgent ways of them there southerners? No he has not!
In all those years, he has never once been seen without shirt sleeves rolled up and, in cold weather, the added indulgence of a sleeveless pullover until two years ago, when I bought him a long-sleeved pullover which he was persuaded to wear a few times. Since then it has resided in the airing cupboard until I reminded him of its existence (long since forgotten) a few days ago.
And then there is the duvet, not on his bed, of course, but tucked away in the spare bedroom.
("Well, it's not cold enough for it yet.")
That has now found its way into his bedroom but hasn't quite made it onto the bed. It's on the chair, waiting for the really cold weather to arrive.
Bird in the manger
I have read here and there over the years about robins not being the cute, cuddly little birdies that we all like to think and that their presence on our Christmas cards are not really compatible with the season of good will message but yesterday, I witnessed it first hand.
Having put out food for the birds and duly chased away the magpies, I waited for the smaller birds to arrive, which they did, except that this little fellow got there first and was determined to chase off all the other birds. Great tits, blue tits, dunnocks, house sparrows and even a blackbird were all sent packing with their tails between their legs.
When there were no birds in sight, he perched on the bench and waited for the next onslaught. It wasn't even as if he needed all the food. There was plenty there and he didn't seem particularly hungry, just determined to keep all the other bird away.
I am wondering if he was in the pay of the squirrels.
Having put out food for the birds and duly chased away the magpies, I waited for the smaller birds to arrive, which they did, except that this little fellow got there first and was determined to chase off all the other birds. Great tits, blue tits, dunnocks, house sparrows and even a blackbird were all sent packing with their tails between their legs.
When there were no birds in sight, he perched on the bench and waited for the next onslaught. It wasn't even as if he needed all the food. There was plenty there and he didn't seem particularly hungry, just determined to keep all the other bird away.
I am wondering if he was in the pay of the squirrels.
Walking on the ice
Snow and ice on the ground are never good news for me. Not having a low centre of gravity, if there is any slipping and falling to be done, I'm your woman. This is not helped by the fact that the road outside our house is never visited by the gritters and tends to resist any attempt by the sun to melt the ice until we're halfway through summer. (OK, an exaggeration - slight).
So last winter, I searched online and eventually found these little gems which fit over my walking shoes and, Bob's your uncle, I am able to walk on snow and ice without any problem, even with Paddy on the other end of the lead. Of course, it wouldn't be advisable to skip off blithely as if on a dry summer's day, but all in all, a great addition to my winter wardrobe.
So last winter, I searched online and eventually found these little gems which fit over my walking shoes and, Bob's your uncle, I am able to walk on snow and ice without any problem, even with Paddy on the other end of the lead. Of course, it wouldn't be advisable to skip off blithely as if on a dry summer's day, but all in all, a great addition to my winter wardrobe.
Working for ITV
The correct response to the above title would be "Don't!"
Back in July, I was asked to do some work with someone who had appeared on a popular daytime show, which I duly did and then sent in my invoice as requested. That's where the problems started. To begin with, weeks went by and no money was forthcoming so I emailed the person I had dealt with originally and she asked me to send her my invoice, which I did.
First reply to that was from the Business Service Centre, to tell me that, since November, payment could only be made into an account and not by cheque and I would have to send my bank details, which I did.
Second reply was to tell me that the information I had sent, including the invoice, could only be accepted in pdf format or by post, so I duly used Open Office and converted said invoice into pdf format.
Third reply was to inform me that the invoice couldn't be accepted from my email address as they do not accept invoices from Yahoo, Hotmail or Gmail addresses so I sent it again, by post, this time with a stiff letter pointing out that, had I been paid when I should have been, the new arrangements would not yet have been in place.
This time, it was returned, accompanied by a letter telling me that the invoice couldn't be dealt with as there was no purchase order and that the new arangements had been in place since July anyway. As I had not previously been told anything about a purchase order, I rang the Business Service Centre, from whence the letter had come and explained to a nice lady that I had now tried four times to get this invoice paid and was getting a little cheesed off at being constantly asked to jump through more hoops.
Nice lady asked me to send her the invoice by post, marked for her attention and she would sort it out, which I did,
That was last week. This morning I have received an identical copy of the letter I had last week and, guess what, my invoice (now looking a little battered) was returned again.
Another phone call, this time to speak to another nice lady who told me that first nice lady is off until Monday and she thinks that whoever opens the post, didn't notice that the letter was for her attention only and it had gone through the same system again.
"Could you email it to her?" she requested.
So I have.
"If you do any work for them again," she advised, "make sure you ask them for a purchase order number," she said.
"Don't worry," I said, "If they ever contact me again, I'll just say no!"
Back in July, I was asked to do some work with someone who had appeared on a popular daytime show, which I duly did and then sent in my invoice as requested. That's where the problems started. To begin with, weeks went by and no money was forthcoming so I emailed the person I had dealt with originally and she asked me to send her my invoice, which I did.
First reply to that was from the Business Service Centre, to tell me that, since November, payment could only be made into an account and not by cheque and I would have to send my bank details, which I did.
Second reply was to tell me that the information I had sent, including the invoice, could only be accepted in pdf format or by post, so I duly used Open Office and converted said invoice into pdf format.
Third reply was to inform me that the invoice couldn't be accepted from my email address as they do not accept invoices from Yahoo, Hotmail or Gmail addresses so I sent it again, by post, this time with a stiff letter pointing out that, had I been paid when I should have been, the new arrangements would not yet have been in place.
This time, it was returned, accompanied by a letter telling me that the invoice couldn't be dealt with as there was no purchase order and that the new arangements had been in place since July anyway. As I had not previously been told anything about a purchase order, I rang the Business Service Centre, from whence the letter had come and explained to a nice lady that I had now tried four times to get this invoice paid and was getting a little cheesed off at being constantly asked to jump through more hoops.
Nice lady asked me to send her the invoice by post, marked for her attention and she would sort it out, which I did,
That was last week. This morning I have received an identical copy of the letter I had last week and, guess what, my invoice (now looking a little battered) was returned again.
Another phone call, this time to speak to another nice lady who told me that first nice lady is off until Monday and she thinks that whoever opens the post, didn't notice that the letter was for her attention only and it had gone through the same system again.
"Could you email it to her?" she requested.
So I have.
"If you do any work for them again," she advised, "make sure you ask them for a purchase order number," she said.
"Don't worry," I said, "If they ever contact me again, I'll just say no!"
Remembrance Sunday
This is the beach at Burbo Bank, Crosby, home of Antony Gormley's cast iron statues, collectively known as 'Another Place'.
We were there on Sunday, with our memories.
More from Paddy
A couple of weeks ago, Jenny went to Bristol for the weekend and I stayed behind with Keith - all boys together, you know the sort of thing - he lets me on the bed all night, gives me extra biscuits etc. But this time, I messed up a bit, well a lot actually. So much so that I have only just felt able to write about it, sensitive little chap that I am.
It happened on the Saturday. Keith had a job to go to out in the sticks and took me with him. I love going in the van. I get to sit on the passenger seat, sniffing all the lovely smells out there as we go. Anyway, Keith left me in the van, securely attached by my lead (as he thought) while he got on with the job and I was quite happy watching the world go by - at least, I was until an enormous truck went past. Nothing remarkable about that, you might think, except that this truck was filled to bursting with squealing, fat, juicy pigs!
Well, how could any self-respecting terrier not react to that? As it happened, I was able to get out of the van quite easily and raced after the truck as fast as my little legs would carry me. The truck was going slowly, so I easily kept up with it and, very cleverly I thought, dodged in and out between its wheels in an effort to see more of those delicious pigs.
By this time, of course, Keith was following in the van, flashing his lights and hooting the horn. I think he was trying to get the driver to stop, which he eventually did, at the farm down the road. Very thoughtful of them, I thought, it would give me a chance to get at least one mouthful of pig, but no! Why is it that humans always spoil a dog's fun?
The driver, the farmer and Keith started chasing me round, trying to catch me, which they eventually did, but not before the driver had done a flying tackle and wrestled me to the ground.
Keith didn't seem very pleased. I guessed this from the loud voice and rude words he used as he dragged me back to the van. He tied me up again, but this time very securely and I heard phrases like 'back to the rescue centre' and 'swap you for another dog' which didn't bode well.
When he was telling Jenny about it, I heard him say that I was lucky to be alive and not to have been squashed under the wheels of the truck. Well, cats can have nine lives, so why not dogs?
Anyway, maybe I won't try that again, not for a while, anyway. So for now, I'm doing my best to keep my head down and be good -
but it is such hard work!
It happened on the Saturday. Keith had a job to go to out in the sticks and took me with him. I love going in the van. I get to sit on the passenger seat, sniffing all the lovely smells out there as we go. Anyway, Keith left me in the van, securely attached by my lead (as he thought) while he got on with the job and I was quite happy watching the world go by - at least, I was until an enormous truck went past. Nothing remarkable about that, you might think, except that this truck was filled to bursting with squealing, fat, juicy pigs!
Well, how could any self-respecting terrier not react to that? As it happened, I was able to get out of the van quite easily and raced after the truck as fast as my little legs would carry me. The truck was going slowly, so I easily kept up with it and, very cleverly I thought, dodged in and out between its wheels in an effort to see more of those delicious pigs.
By this time, of course, Keith was following in the van, flashing his lights and hooting the horn. I think he was trying to get the driver to stop, which he eventually did, at the farm down the road. Very thoughtful of them, I thought, it would give me a chance to get at least one mouthful of pig, but no! Why is it that humans always spoil a dog's fun?
The driver, the farmer and Keith started chasing me round, trying to catch me, which they eventually did, but not before the driver had done a flying tackle and wrestled me to the ground.
Keith didn't seem very pleased. I guessed this from the loud voice and rude words he used as he dragged me back to the van. He tied me up again, but this time very securely and I heard phrases like 'back to the rescue centre' and 'swap you for another dog' which didn't bode well.
When he was telling Jenny about it, I heard him say that I was lucky to be alive and not to have been squashed under the wheels of the truck. Well, cats can have nine lives, so why not dogs?
Anyway, maybe I won't try that again, not for a while, anyway. So for now, I'm doing my best to keep my head down and be good -
but it is such hard work!
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