I can't do this anymore...

When you write a blog...

I think the criteria you must meet is...

1.  Be informative

2.  Be fun and full of fizz

3.  Say and do outrageous things

4.  Be entertaining

5.  Make folk chuckle

6.  Swear... if appropriate...

7.  Without fear of folk pulling the plug

on being a follower, which take it from me they will

8.  Be political

 9.  Not have a care

10.  And the most important in my book...

be true to yourself and your beliefs

So for the time being...

I'm signing off...

Alright I am fully aware I might be 

blogging's answer to Frank Sinatra

and will have more come backs than
is good for a girl...

but hey-ho...

Toodle-Pip!

   

I'm in deep mourning...

no, not this time for Lettice.

For the integrity of our politicians.

This government I liken to Jimmy Savile...

They are raping our country for their own evil ends.

By turning a blind eye, we the public could be likened 
to the police and the many others 
that were in the pay of that ghastly paedophile...

Why are we doing it?

God knows?

For example...

once the law is passed to get the Chinese

to 'kindly' sort out our

 wonderful nuclear energy programme

for us...

can the next party elected, reverse the it?

Of course they can't!

The reason in my view is that as 

George Osborne says

'Otherwise the taxpayer will have to pay!'

His real meaning is, his party  doesn't want to lose votes by

raising taxes.   This is despite the fact that we would then keep

 the energy provisions that haven't 
already been flogged off, under our own control.

Smog and pollution of the past...
here we come!
The Chinese will then have...
 make no mistake about it...
our tacit agreement by us sitting by 
doing bugger all
and letting it happen.
They've screwed their own country
now it's our turn.

As we sat across the...

Friday night table we got to

reminiscing about past experiences.

Sadness overlaid our evening meal.

I make no excuse about us grieving for a dog...

a very special dog for all that.

Those that don't get it...

look away now...

in fact,  not to put too fine a point on it,

best you... be gone.

Alright I know where you might be coming from and

I can understand...

with all the evil in the world...

why pine the loss of a

dog?

Hold tight is it dog on dog?

Or man on man?

The world's problems are coming from

the 'higher' species...

mankind.

Dad always said...

'Don't kiss the dog!'

Me being a spoilt brat always replied

'Okay!'

And of course over the years carried on

doing just that.

Planting a kiss on the top

of their heads, where is the harm?

Last thing every night, I would knee

down to Lettice kiss her and say

'If kisses were pounds you'd

be a millonaire!'

Ted always waited patiently, while

I  settled her and said all the stupid things;

 the fact she couldn't hear me was 

neither here nor there.

On Lettice's last afternoon, I kept myself busy,

 sorting and tidying, all in her sight line.

She slept and sometimes woke 

to watch me, all was very calm. 

My greatest concern was that I would lose it, 

and convey my fear to her.

How I managed to keep calm, 

I don't know, but I did.

I cleaned my teeth, and washed my hands in the 

Pears soap, that would every night in her world 

have been the last smell she would have of me.

The vet came and asked if I'd experienced

this before, she then gently explained

what would happen.

Lettice saw their arrival and didn't seem 

at all phased by it.

She was ready, I could see that.

Ted said his farewells.

I sat at her head, kissed her and said

'Night, night!'

Very gently they shaved her paw,

 the first injection went in,

the next I didn't see, as

I was kissing her good bye.

Lettice was dead. 

In happier times

A Proud Dog...

Lettice

14.2.1998  -  7.10.2013

Lettice... the latest...

After much discussion we came to the decision

that this week we would get our lovely

vet to come to put Lettice to sleep.

The weekend had been a roller-coaster 

ride of emotions.

On Saturday evening, we were

planning to be out for a couple of hours.

Ted was singing in a choir at the next village,

the plan was for us to go separately in order

 for me to pop home and check that she was  alright.

The show was a sell-out...

Am-drams at its best..

Shepherds pie too!

My ticket was bought... the show must go on!

Lettice was sick and decidedly unhappy,

standing by me with head bowed.

'Take my ticket and hopefully someone

can enjoy the show, free!'

Cosy in her bed with one of my scarves

as a comfort blanket; I sat on the floor beside her

 telling her, that she was free to go.

Wishing in my heart that 

she would heed my words.

She settled and when Ted got back, we sat

talking through what we had always said,

that we would do the right thing

earlier rather than later.

At 3 a.m. when Ted went down to let her out

she was okay.

I got up at 6 a.m. and sitting quietly reading, 

all seemed normal.

What wasn't normal was the great lump of

pain in my chest, which sat 

like a physical presence.

All yesterday she seemed bright,

the small meals, little and often, she kept down.

Yesterday was a good day.

Which then of course begged the question...

'Were we doing it too early?'

We talked, we rationalised, we convinced

ourselves that the decision was sound.

This morning, she was sat in her bed looking bright and alert,

which only turned the screw even tighter.

I phoned the vets to ask if our vet

 would call me back to discuss the

way forward.

He was on holiday and wouldn't be back until next Monday!

'It was meant to be!'

A week's respite.

The trouble was, not long after the call,

she once again was sick and looking mis.

She is now sat quite content in her bed after

a soupçon of chicken.

She, as far as we can tell isn't in

any pain, if she was then naturally 

we would act.

Obviously if she does go downhill, we will

 get another vet to come. 

And so it goes on.

The vipers nest of...

cables, by the law of Sod

we threw away last Sunday.

The scrap metal man was only 

too pleased to take them.

What do we need today?

The cable that connects the Canon wireless printer

to my new laptop.

Wireless?  I hear you cry...

you don't need a cable.

By our own admission, we aren't

computer whizz kids,

nor would I want to be.

The trouble is, the printer will scan

things to the computer,

but not print bumpf from the computer.

We have followed all directions,

stuck the disc in to start over 

 and still the same.

We discover looking at the instruction book,

us old folks think a hard copy

is preferable to on-line help;

reason being, the computer lobs the odd

mumbo-jumbo computer speak at you...

we need the lead in order to reset it.

Can you cotton-picking believe it?

It is so frustrating that we haven't got that innate

computer understanding that

 most people many years our junior seem to have.

The biggest puzzle to me,

 is the fact it works one way

and not the other.

Addendum... Nay, a sodding great humongous... Addendum...

I've only gone and blown the doors oft!  By trial and error, I've sorted out the problem...

How, heaven only knows?  The only trouble now is... has common sense come and bitten me on the bum... 

I bloody hope not... as I've made my name by being ditsy with tact having no place in my life.

Crimplene and bobble slippers here we come............  Hold tight!

After a lifetime of always...

looking on the bright side,

and in the main succeeding,

I've hit a sodding great rock face.

My face is flattened, my head is pounding;

not unlike Jerry in the Tom and Jerry

cartoons where he falls back...

flat, squashed, squished.

The reason is...

Lettice.

She is coming to the end of her days;

thin, eating, but sometimes bringing it

all back up again.

This morning taking her out for her little stroll,

we were slower than usual. 

She has taken to sitting out in the utility room,

where as the weather changes, you have to ask yourself...

'Is this a good idea?'

This old dog that everyone looks at with

pity when out walking, doesn't seem so bad

when back at home.

Last night I looked up attaxia, and the right time

to euthanise your elderly dog.

With head in hands and tears ready to fall, 

the expression that jumped out of the page was

'It is better to be a week early, than a day late!'

I've always said I would do the right thing by her

and I will.  But how blooming hard that is to

implement.

People say she will tell you.

I just don't want to leave it until she cries

out trying to tell me.

Today is National Poetry Day...

I can be an old cynic at times...

well to be brutally frank...

most of the time...

however...

today is National Poetry Day.

And yes, every day is some

National day

i.e. 

National Cones Hotline Day

National nose picking Day

National Bunion Day

National Tofu Day

National You Day

National Me Day

National ? Day

I love words, trite I know:
 I don't care!

Today my poem...

The Mower

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found

A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,

Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.

Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world

Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.

The first day after a death, the new absence

Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind

While there is still time.

Philip Larkin

Lottery...

syndicate...

I need some help and

sage advice.

Years ago I joined a staff

lottery in an 'important' household

(well in their opinion)

I left in 1998 and every new year I've sent off

my £52 subs.

I phone the cook for a news catch-up

once a year or so, and apart from 

a smallish win in the early days

we haven't won a bean.

Any small wins have been ploughed back.

Now the lottery is going up to

£2 what do I do?

Any suggestions?

I could send the outstanding amount until the year end

and then call it a day.

The thought of sending off £104 every year

doesn't have the same appeal.

By the law of Sod, you can bet your bottom dollar

that they will then go on to win!

I ought to own up, the sole reason 

for me being in the syndicate is to knock the family

off the tabloid front pages...

'So&So's staff lottery syndicate

win squillions of millions of quids'

Not altogether showing myself in a good light

I know; however perhaps you might feel the

same when you'd worked your socks off 

for a paltry pittance.