I had to go to the vet on Thursday - something to do with a 'booster' whatever that is, and a health check. The appointment was early and I think Jenny arranged that specially because, when we got there, there were no cats, no animals of any kind, in fact, and we went straight in to see the vet. She poked and prodded me and said I was a nice dog. I was doing a lot of sniffing around the floor and Jenny said I had probably picked up the scent of cats.
"He likes cats, he just couldn't eat a whole one," she said and the vet said, "Ah yes, he has Border terrier in him," as if that explained everything. I don't know why Jenny assumes I couldn't eat a whole one, she's never given me the chance to try!
Anyway, I bore my injection very stoically (Bet you didn't think I would know a word like that!) and then the vet looked at my teeth and said that they could do with cleaning, so she suggested either Dentastix (yum, yum) or a dog toothbrush or special wipes.
Later, Jenny went shopping and came back with Dentastix and some dental wipes.
You're really going to put your fingers in his mouth?" Keith asked incredulously (See, another big word).
Well, so far, she's given me Dentastix.
The pot of wipes is still sitting on the dining room table...
Cats!
It was great going out for my walk today. There were TWO cats right out there, just WAITING to be chased, but of course, I was on my lead. When will Jenny realise, I only want to play with them! Off we went up the path. By now, one of the cats had run away, but the other, a raggy old black one, was sauntering up the path right in front of us. Of course, I assumed my stalking position and crept along steadily behind him, and all of a sudden, the stupid creature SAT DOWN in the middle of the path, right in front of me. How cheeky is that?
I thought all my birthdays had come at once.
Unfortunately, Jenny was quicker, dragged me to the side of the path and pulled me past the cat, who was still sitting there, smirking!
I won't forget, Pussy Cat! Oh no, I definitely won't forget.....!
I thought all my birthdays had come at once.
Unfortunately, Jenny was quicker, dragged me to the side of the path and pulled me past the cat, who was still sitting there, smirking!
I won't forget, Pussy Cat! Oh no, I definitely won't forget.....!
Dreams
I have slept in this morning. If you are looking at the time of this post and thinking, "9.15am on a Sunday? What's she on about?" well, it is late for me. Keith (apparently) sprang out of bed at 5.30am, which is not unusual for him and I am generally up and about between seven and half past at the latest. I was late this morning because for some reason, sleep had eluded me between half past two and about half past four so, in all fairness, I was entitled to make up for that.
Those last few hours were spent in Dreamland. I don't often remember my dreams but they are generally about losing and searching fruitlessly for my purse or searching unsuccessfully for a toilet in some large building in which I happen to find myself. Sometimes they are about my finding myself in front of a strange class and trying to obtain information, assistance and the whereabouts of the materials I need. (Common theme of anxiety here?)
This morning, it was about being in hospital with something very minor, although I can't remember what, and being informed that I would need an operation in which my neck would be broken and then reset and it would be done by a student nurse who had never done such a procedure before. Perhaps I need to stop watching Holby City and Casualty.
Having politely turned down the operation, well then I spent the rest of my time searching for a toilet!
Those last few hours were spent in Dreamland. I don't often remember my dreams but they are generally about losing and searching fruitlessly for my purse or searching unsuccessfully for a toilet in some large building in which I happen to find myself. Sometimes they are about my finding myself in front of a strange class and trying to obtain information, assistance and the whereabouts of the materials I need. (Common theme of anxiety here?)
This morning, it was about being in hospital with something very minor, although I can't remember what, and being informed that I would need an operation in which my neck would be broken and then reset and it would be done by a student nurse who had never done such a procedure before. Perhaps I need to stop watching Holby City and Casualty.
Having politely turned down the operation, well then I spent the rest of my time searching for a toilet!
A new boiler?
On Monday, British Gas Man came to service the boiler, which was working fine.
"It's 16 years old now," he said, "I'm supposed to persuade you to get a new one, but, don't worry, the parts for this one are still available."
After a conversation about why I objected to the fact that the only boilers that we are now allowed to have are condenser boilers, which, I have read, are not very reliable in very cold weather and about Dad's boiler which is now 45 years old and still going strong, he left.
Yesterday, Keith had a call on his mobile phone, asking for me. (Don't ask!) It was British Gas Call Centre Man. In tones of deepest gloom and darkest warnings, he began to tell me that, as our boiler is now 16 years old, it is FAR more likely to break down and it will be ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE to get parts for it if it should. Boilers are only meant to last ten years, so I should really be thinking of replacing it and would I be interested in a free, no-obligation quote?
"No," I said.
"Can I ask why?" he said.
"Yes," I said, "I am certainly not going to spend over £2000 buying a new boiler when the old one is working perfectly well. If boilers only last ten years, they're really not worth the money, are they?"
I could almost hear the shuffle of feet as he backed away from his phone in shocked silence. Then,
"OK, no problem," he said in a faint voice.
"It's 16 years old now," he said, "I'm supposed to persuade you to get a new one, but, don't worry, the parts for this one are still available."
After a conversation about why I objected to the fact that the only boilers that we are now allowed to have are condenser boilers, which, I have read, are not very reliable in very cold weather and about Dad's boiler which is now 45 years old and still going strong, he left.
Yesterday, Keith had a call on his mobile phone, asking for me. (Don't ask!) It was British Gas Call Centre Man. In tones of deepest gloom and darkest warnings, he began to tell me that, as our boiler is now 16 years old, it is FAR more likely to break down and it will be ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE to get parts for it if it should. Boilers are only meant to last ten years, so I should really be thinking of replacing it and would I be interested in a free, no-obligation quote?
"No," I said.
"Can I ask why?" he said.
"Yes," I said, "I am certainly not going to spend over £2000 buying a new boiler when the old one is working perfectly well. If boilers only last ten years, they're really not worth the money, are they?"
I could almost hear the shuffle of feet as he backed away from his phone in shocked silence. Then,
"OK, no problem," he said in a faint voice.
Waving what?
Quote of the week from tonight's episode of Holby City
"Did you happen to notice how long Nurse Tate had been absent? No, of course not. You and Dr Hamilton were too busy waving your genitalia at each other!"
Excellent!
"Did you happen to notice how long Nurse Tate had been absent? No, of course not. You and Dr Hamilton were too busy waving your genitalia at each other!"
Excellent!
Thomas the Tank Engine?
Here's some good news, a new, faster train service from Holyhead to Cardiff, noteworthy because the journey length will be four hours 17 minutes, which is nine whole minutes shorter than Y Gerallt Gymro service which runs in the morning.
Four hours, 17 minutes? I hesitate to say one could almost walk quicker, as this would add fuel to Keith's conviction that I am prone to exaggeration but, really, one could almost WALK quicker.
Still, at least we should be grateful that it is actually going to stop in Wrexham, which is not always the case with these services. But as there is only a single line section of track between Chester and Wrexham (Well, at one time, the welsh were not allowed inside Chester's walls after sundown, you know), the Holyhead to Birmingham service will now go via Crewe instead of Wrexham, which won't please Wrexham people wanting to go to Birmingham.
So, is this a cunning ploy to keep the welsh on their own side of Offa's Dyke or is Wales still struggling to hop into the 21st century. After all, here in Wales, we still don't do motorways.
Oh well, just off to get out the horse and cart...
Four hours, 17 minutes? I hesitate to say one could almost walk quicker, as this would add fuel to Keith's conviction that I am prone to exaggeration but, really, one could almost WALK quicker.
Still, at least we should be grateful that it is actually going to stop in Wrexham, which is not always the case with these services. But as there is only a single line section of track between Chester and Wrexham (Well, at one time, the welsh were not allowed inside Chester's walls after sundown, you know), the Holyhead to Birmingham service will now go via Crewe instead of Wrexham, which won't please Wrexham people wanting to go to Birmingham.
So, is this a cunning ploy to keep the welsh on their own side of Offa's Dyke or is Wales still struggling to hop into the 21st century. After all, here in Wales, we still don't do motorways.
Oh well, just off to get out the horse and cart...
Cake!
For her birthday, Kathy decided she would like some Cath Kidston china, so Claire bought her the cake stand and I bought her some plates. Her goal was to be able to do the 'ladies who do tea' thing with her friends.
And so she did, yesterday.
I shall make two comments about this:
- She obviously didn't make the cakes herself, but cheated and asked Mr Kipling to do it instead.
- I shall have to make sure Keith doesn't get wind of this or he will be very upset that she had cake and didn't invite him.
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