Two days ago, I took part in the annual rounding up, shearing, and manicuring of 20 sheep at a friend’s small holding. The 100 strong flock (yes we only managed to ‘process’ a fifth) are a mixture of Soay and Boreray. The former being a primitive breed dating back thousands of years and the latter being one of the rarest breeds in Britain!
Being a lover (not in the Biblical sense) of all things cute and fluffy, I spent most of the day hugging the lambs, chirping at the newly hatched chickens, stroking the farm cats and feeling sorry for the sheep being manhandled into submission. Boreray are supposed to be self shearing – not with a razor, foam and a mirror – and under the right conditions, their fleece falls off, is rubbed off against a tree or can easily be removed by hand (ruing).
Unfortunately, quite a lot of the sheep had matted fleeces which required a little more than gentle teasing off. So, with the owner wielding his newly purchased electric clippers and his helpers armed with hand shears, we chopped and hacked away at the panic stricken sheep for 6 hours! It was back-breaking, messy work and far from leaving the sheep beautifully coiffed, the result was not too dissimilar from a child’s attempt at giving Barbie a haircut with a pair of blunt, plastic school scissors. To add insult to injury, the newly acquired clippers left gouges on their flanks and knicks on their chins! As we stood back to view our tragic handiwork, we contemplated what revenge may befall us should there ever be a sheep uprising!
I recently noticed a tailless blackbird outside my flat! I named him Bob for obvious reasons. Coincidentally, there is also a three legged cat lurking about the buildings. I haven’t named him but I imagine the two have some stories to tell.
Yesterday our big fat ginger cat left for a new home and a new life. The decision to give him away seemed sensible given that we will be starting a new chapter in our own lives too. A move to a new city, a new job and a new flat (which doesn’t allow pets) meant we had to make a difficult choice.
Since adopting the cat three years ago, he has been the source of many different emotions: annoyance at his 20 minute conversations that consist of ‘meow, meow, meow’ even after he’s been fed and groomed to within an inch of his life; murderous when he tangles himself around your feet if you are in a hurry or carrying pans of hot food across the kitchen; disgust at his tendency to drool whilst purring and padding in contentment on your tummy or worse, when he sneezes the excess drool over your face if something tickles his nasal passages; amusement at his ‘mad’ half hour when he runs around the house batting anything that moves; delight when he loudly attempts to sneak up on a fat pigeon then visibly sighs when he inevitably fails; but most of all, he made us love him and now he’s gone, the house feels empty and the rooms are all quiet.
There’s no one to great you as you step through the front door or feline calls of ‘is anyone there, I need company?’ if we are upstairs busying ourselves in the office. I miss the half hour before bed time when he chooses to sit on my lap and keep me company with a purr like an outboard motor. My big, fat ginger friend has gone and I miss him. So here is a tribute to fatty – I hope they look after you in your new home and appreciate your loveable personality and odd little quirks!
Yes, it is really, really cold. -4C to be precise! Ok, so everything is relative, I mean the conditions aren’t on a par with North Pole (yet) but the latest Big Freeze is quite enough to give me an insight, and frankly, unless I had my own supply of seal furs, walrus blubber and an Eskimo, I’m quite happy to continue whinging about -4C.
Last night I had the misfortune to travel for two hours on a train with no heating! Everyone on board was wrapped up, grown men were shivering and tourists were pulling spare jumpers from their suitcases for extra warmth. It feels like a real winter – we just need some snow.
My friend walks past my house most mornings as she takes her daughters to school. And most mornings my cat spends the hour between 8.00 and 9.00am gazing dreamily out of the window, gawping at passersby. Recently, one of my friend’s daughters said she saw ‘fatty’ (yes that’s his name) smiling at her.
I pondered this for a time – perhaps it is like the question – ‘do bears S*** in the woods’? We know they probably do, but we never see it happen. So I reckon my cat does smile at the children as they pass by, but only briefly and not while the parents are looking.
I have attempted a cartoon strip that illustrates how I think it happens… It needs some work, but here is the first attempt.
My friend Newt is gathering quite a following. He doesn’t know it but he isn’t actually a Newt and no-one dares tell him that. He’s happy as he is and you can follow him on twitter @newtydanewt. He often moves between Wales and England so I have drawn him a flag for both countries so he can display either/or, depending on where he is.
I have a fan!! Well I’m assuming he’s a fan – yes he may be a friend, and yes he may spend far too much time on the computer, but when he asks why there hasn’t been an entry for 2 weeks then suggests I crack on with it, I think he officially becomes a fan, don’t you?
The problem is, I was not born a writer. This stuff doesn’t just splurge onto parchment from my feather quill – I have to wait for inspiration and sometimes it doesn’t hit for weeks on end even with the copious amounts of coffee and the thinking I do. Writing also requires a good deal of brain power of which I have very little to spare. And lastly, I have to live a life! But seeing as my fan base has chided me into writing something – and you know who you are – I suppose I should get on with things.
Hmmmm what to write about?Well it’s been three days since I hit the big THREE OOHHH.I found another wrinkle, L has been tweezing out some grey hairs (mine not hers) and my boobs have moved another notch closer to my kneecaps but all in all I still feel the same!I have however, started to spend way too much time considering the meaning of life? Why do we spend so much time working to pay the mortgage, raise the kids, buy snazzy cars and go on fancy holidays when life is over before you can blink? I know it’s a bit morbid but if, lets say, I live to 60 then…. I’m now officially MIDDLE AGED!!!!
In our relatively short lifespan, what contribution do we actually make to the world?We take much, much more than we actually give.We use more than our fair share of natural resources, destroy the existence of other living creatures by removing their habitats and killing off their food sources, we over fish, over farm and pollute the earth with allsorts of waste such as methane, C02, plastic, dead skin and god knows what else. Then, when we’ve taken all we want, we just up and die. “goodbye and thanks for all the fish”I’ll leave you to mull this over…
Now, on to something more light-hearted…. L took me to Crufts last week! For those of you who don’t live in the UK, Crufts is the biggest dog show in the world (is that right?). They have competitors from Europe to Japan with over 22,000 dogs shown over 4 or 5 days. Now, pretty much everyone I mentioned this to, rolled their eyes and pretended to be happy whilst secretly thinking “I can’t think of anything worse” and “POOR L”.
I have to say, when L gave me the tickets I was shocked, not because of the nice gesture but because it had to be her idea of HELL.I’m afraid I have an uncontrollable reaction to animals of any sort.Anyone who knows me well will vouch for this but on discovering something cute and fluffy, I can’t stop myself grabbing the closest person to me, pointing to the animal in question and saying “isn’t it CUUUUUTE” in a pitch which is best suited for dolphin communication.I don’t know why, but the words are out of my mouth before my brain can engage.I have often been left stroking a stranger’s puppy and cooing while L saunters on pretending not to know me.
So now you can understand why I was so shocked at the gift – In actual fact, the day turned out to be great fun.Even L seemed to have a good time.The venue was huge and sprawling – after 6 hours of traipsing around we couldn’t possibly have seen everything.L remained patient throughout even though I screeched and pointed for most of the morning.But by midday, after seeing up to 60 dogs of the same breed, when there were over 56 different breeds, even I couldn’t muster an “aaah how cute”.
We amused ourselves watching people brush and fuss their dogs.Some wore ribbons, others had bibs on to stop the drool ruining their hair dos.Collies were practicing their heel work, and Great Danes were looming over their owners but mostly they all looked worn out and fed up with being poked, prodded and mauled by the judges.
We joined the crowds to watch the agility heats and developed a new found respect for Poodles. Don’t knock ‘em, they may look poncey but boy they are masters of the agility course. We ‘Oohed’ and ‘Ahhed’ when the dogs did a round in a particularly fast time or got eliminated by jumping over all the wrong jumps in overwhelming excitement. I cried at the doggy dancing and laughed at the police dog antics.It was all thoroughly enjoyable. And for your perusal, here are just a couple of pictures:
Above: Poncy Poodle “look at meeee”
not a great pick but it gives you the idea
above: This Dog is famous!! She was one of the
Corgis in the film The Queen!
above: with a face like that, is there a
reason for living?
above: some people prefer dogs that don’t
require much looking after.
above: this bearded collie was one of the stars
in the film Holiday and some other movie I can’t remember.
Watch the video to see what happened when he completed his round!
Over my Birthday Weekend, (this has since been extended to a Birthday Week) I was graced with the presence of BOTH my parents.It’s extremely rare to have a visit from Mum and Dad at the same time! So in preparation for their arrival, I spent two solid days cleaning frantically and chastising the bunny for moulting everywhere.I screamed at L for not doing her fair share, grumbled at the lack of space to hang washing out to dry, and had restless nights worrying about the sleeping arrangements.
By the time they arrived I was worn out and there was still bunny hair floating around!However, we had a lovely weekend filled with fine dining, walks, card games and a trip to the world’s smallest cinema. With 21 seats and barely enough room to sip your luke warm tea from a polystyrene cup, it couldn’t help but maintain the air of the seedy, peepshow room it once was.
Cinema aside, everything was good fun and the weather added to the occasion by being bright and sunny for the full three days.By the end of it, I was sad to see my parents go… that’s odd. Aren’t we supposed to sigh with relief when our parents leave?
Anyway, now that I have satisfied my one fan with another entry, I shall get back to sorting out my portfolio for an interview next week! Yes, some paid freelance work with a design agency no less. If all goes well I might be inspired to tell you about it.So until next time….
So it’s about time I wrote another installment – I always have things floating around in my head but never seem to get the time to sit down and commit it to paper/my virtual diary. There are a couple of things I wanted to cover. Firstly, I guess I should let you know that I’ve had my first feedback session re my university progress.
Things are better than expected. I was worried I wasn’t up to scratch but without trying blow my own trumpet – more appropriately a penny whistle – I’m on for a high 2:1 which could be pushed to a first if I iron out a few tweaks. My essay work has come back with a first which I’m very pleased about and thankfully we still have another two terms before the marks start to count towards the final degree. So with a little more ‘oomph‘ I might be able to make the grade!
It’s strange how the marks massage my little ego and make me feel like a school girl who’s just been given a gold star! I was clipping my heels and skipping down the street after my feedback. So pat on the back for me!
I am however, starting to slip deeper into student mode and although I’m still getting out of bed around 7 or 7:30am (an obscene hour for a student) and going to bed at 10pm, I seem to be getting a good healthy dose of daytime television. Of course, my fellow students know exactly where I’m coming from when I talk about “bargain hunt”, “to buy or not to buy” or “cash in the attic” but I fear it’s lost on my other circle of friends.
There is a vast choice of trashy middle-aged-house-wife type programmes but I’d consider myself a fairly picky viewer, preferring to stick to the programmes that give advice about money, buying new houses or how to cook a sumptuous three course meal. I have set myself standards and will not stoop to watching Ricky Lake (amazingly still going), Divorce Court or Loose Women, however lazy I’m feeling.
Sadly, when I try to engage my hardworking, employed friends in a conversation about my day time television bingeing they usually do one of two things:
a) look at me blankly then change the subject or
b) look at me with a slight narrowing of the eyes and a curl of the lip as if to say “you disgust me you, white, couch-potato trash – how could you stoop so low” and then change subject.
In my defence these programmes are never watched with my full attention as they tend to be background noise while I potter, clean or draw. And hey, if I want slightly more erudite background noise then I listen to Radio 4.
I can’t mention TV without saying that I think the BBC Breakfast News programme is dreadful. In fact, I think they should just drop the word ‘news’ completely unless one considers a 15 minute debate on ‘how to wear your scarf’ or a lenghty discussion on ‘whether fashion sneakers with wheels implanted in the heel cause your child physiological damage’ news.
I can’t believe they can dedicate 15 minutes of a ‘news’ programme to three camp men showing you how to tie your scarf when there is a whole world of important news to broadcast. Trivial little interludes are the sort of drivel you’d expect from ITV but NOT the BBC which I….. sorry…… L pays a television license for! And why is everything dumbed down to the level of Dodo IQ? The programme is swamped with over-simplified graphs, moving charts and animated lists to ensure we understand exactly what’s being said…. “Yes! I HAVE a BRAIN”!
Oh my god…. I sound like one of those crazy people who have nothing better with their time than to write to Points of View and criticise advertising and TV programmes. I’d better lay that one to rest before I start to rant about the ridiculous worldwide attention recently devoted to one particularly dreadful reality TV show. ARRRRGH ok B-R-E-A-T-H-E
A change of subject now to earning a crust! It’s been ages since I’ve had any paid design work and I was beginning to think I was never going to get another enquiry but in the last couple of weeks I’ve had two!! One of the jobs I’ve got in the bag – a lot of hard work which I’m not looking forward to (on top of my Uni projects) but at least it will go towards a flashy new Apple MAC…. This is my DREAM! Well, part of my dream. The other part involves a lovely little farmhouse, chickens, ducks, two dogs, a cat, an allotment and a large studio! But that might be a few years down the line yet.
The other job is a bit iffy, I’m just waiting to hear for a full brief but it’s basically three large illustrations for an interpretation panel on a nature reserve… COOLIO!
Now, I vowed I would never write another word about my rabbits in case you got the impression that I’m a 21st century Dr Doolittle but I couldn’t resist this.
Today, I went into our utility/rabbit pen/junk room and couldn’t find Clive. After much searching I heard a scrabbling noise and was shocked to find this…..(spot the Rabbit)
I just thought I’d give you a real picture of “the Tail”… obviously we don’t have Rosie anymore but I will hang on to this tail (perhaps put it on a keyring- not) and let her memory live on.
above: the two love-buns Flopsy (white) and Clive
Oh and here is a short video of Clive going bonkers while Flopsy tries to have a kip. Apologies to all you non animal lovers.
It had been a long treacherous drive. The temperature outside hovered around zero whilst snow flakes danced in the orange glow of the street lamp. She’d waited a long time to meet someone who could whisk her off her feet, someone who could make her heart whole. She turned to face him.
He was dark and handsome, small but perfectly formed. He had an air of nonchalance about him which unnerved her. She took a few paces back.
As he stepped towards her he could feel his pulse rise. She was beautiful! Her soft milky body sent shivers down his spine. He sensed she was afraid but reached for her anyway. Something stirred deep down in his soul…. he wanted her!
OK enough with the Mills and Boone – its RABBITS I’m on about here.
The last couple of weeks have been a roller coaster ride of bunny emotions and owner trauma. We’ve had Flopsy almost 8 months now and everything we read suggest that all rabbits should have companionship (preferably another rabbit). We do give her lots of attention but as much as we try, it’s difficult to lick a rabbit’s ear in quite the same way as another rabbit could. So we decided to get her a friend from the RSPCA.
On adoption day, L refused to come along for fear she would be tempted to rescue ALL the stray animals. Actually, I this was a cleverly constructed excuse to avoid being manipulated into adopting a puppy or a kitten at the same time. So, on my own, I stroked several abandoned rabbits in my quest to find Flops a suitable companion. I found RALPH!
The RSPCA are quite strict about adoption. I had to fill out reams of paper work and undergo a home check to ensure we were responsible owners. During the home visit, Flopsy presented herself well giving the inspector a look-at-me-I’m-so-adorable-and-I’m-obviously-well-looked-after pose. So thankfully, we passed the check with flying colours. The whole process took over a week by which time I was oozing with excitement about bringing Ralph home.
Well, we had Ralph for just over a week and I followed all the guidance about introducing them slowly. I had to keep them apart (via a cage) but allow them to be within close proximity so they could get used to the company. The house became a circus, juggling two rabbits to ensure both of them had plenty of run-around time. Flops was noticeably put out by the situation. She normally has the run of the house but during this time, she kept going off in huff, anywhere that was away from the little black furball.
After four days, there were still no signs of friendship- Flopsy scrabbled at Ralph’s cage like a demon possessed and Ralph responded with similar aggression. The rabbit forums assured me “everything would be ok” and to “persist with the process”. I was dubious, but knew it could take several weeks.
One day I left them alone in the kitchen, separated by a six foot wire frame. I’d been gone a couple of hours but on my return I noticed things didn’t look right.
There were piles of fluff everywhere. When I inspected further, it was obvious an aggressive fight had occurred. One or the other had pulled the frame aside to create a hole just big enough for Ralph (quite small) to squeeze through (Flopsy, taking after her owners, is a little on the chunky side so could never make the great escape). Ralph had ventured into Flopsy’s territory and suffered the consequences.
The scene resembled a post apocalyptic pillow fight, yet the two rabbits were in their respective areas looking fairly subdued. So, I set about cleaning up the mess and considered knitting a rabbit fur jumper from the remains. Then, to my horror, I found RALPH’S TAIL!!!! The WHOLE TAIL! RALPH WAS TAILLESS! not a rabbit’s foot, A RABBIT’s TAIL! small and black and fluffy – OH MY GOD! NOOOOOOO
Ralph was rushed to the Vet’s to have the damage assessed – it was nothing short of horrid. His tail had been skinned and all that was left was a bloody stump which had to be amputated.
When I recovered from the news of the amputation, I was bowled over by two more bombshells a) the cost and b) RALPH was a GIRL- the RSPCA made a mistake!!!
No wonder they didn’t get on. Every single piece of advice given to me before adopting our new rabbit included “don’t put two females together”. Poor Ralph/Rosie would had to spend the night at the vets and endure one week of oral antibiotics! Awwww poor little thing – as soon as she was better we took her back to the RSPCA.
Sad story isn’t it, but have no fear everyone… three nights ago, Flopsy, L and I met a Bunny Rescue lady in a car park on the M1 (not by accident, the meeting was arranged). She brought two little boys, Clive and Dooley to meet Flops and under the cover of darkness, we bundled them into the back of her car and let Flopsy decide who she liked best.
Clive it was and since then its been a hassle free introduction. Contrary warnings about females becoming aggressive and territorial, Flops has been more than welcoming. I can just imagine her hopping around the house saying in a posh voice “now this is the living room where you can relax in front of the fire and munch on carrot whilst being groomed – just make yourself at home darling”.
Clive is still settling in and is already litter trained but he has an unfortunate rabbit-lust for Flopsy. I think she was hoping for some gentle head licking and some warm snuggles but the little guy is mad for it! Apparently, according to the forums, he’s just ‘asserting’ himself… For Flopsy’s sake I hope he calms down – she is looking a little harassed and now sits cleverly with her rear end against a wall or other immovable object.
So people, you may not be rabbit lovers or should I say lovers of rabbits…. actually lets just say you might not appreciate rabbits as pets, so I apologise for this post. I must sound like a complete weirdo – probably worse than a dog lover – but I do think there’s a moral to this story somewhere. Let me think… or maybe you could suggest one!
Big Hair Metamorphosis 