I spotted an ad in a local free paper the other day, requiring a dog walker for a 6-month old Lurcher pup. I emailed saying I had one too, and as I was already walking one, I may as well be walking two. Plus, I thought that Puffin would love to meet another pup. The lady replied saying that she usually worked from home, but that she sometimes had to work away, so just needed cover once in a while. Hmmm... sounds familiar, I thought.
So she brought her pup over the other evening - Flory. A beautiful jet black Lurcher with a smooth coat (and two white toes on each paw). We let them loose in the garden and after they spent the first 15 minutes grappling with each other (in some strange Lurcher wrestling contest), they settled down and happily chased each other around. Perfect!
Rikki said she usually paid for her other dogminder (who had since bought a business and couldn't do it anymore) but I suggested a kind of swapsie scheme instead, if she was willing to take Puffin on the days I need to work away. She agreed and we set up another 'play date' for the dogs before I look after Flory for a couple of days next week. All good.
About 10 minutes after they left, I went back out into the garden to find a small black dog sitting by the enclosure gate. Smaller than Puffin, but more sturdy. I have an area fenced off at the back (with 'That Bastard Fence' as it was referred to during construction), under RSPCA requirements that there is an enclosed space, with fencing at least 4 feet high. Not that it's made much difference to Puffin, she cleared it 2 days after being neutered (much to my horror).
Anyway, this dog was very timid and scared, she looked like she'd been sleeping rough for a couple of days and it took some gentle coaxing to get her to come to me. But she did, and submissively rolled over onto her back for a tummy tickle. All of her nipples were extended which makes me think she had recently given birth. She had no collar and no ID but a nasty deep scratch on her chest. She kept licking the roof of her mouth, so I (after securing the gate) popped back into the cottage to get her some food and water. I took about 30 seconds.
Coming back out, there was no sign of her. Puffin - swiftly shut in the cottage while this was going on - was bouncing off the walls by this point. She hates being left on her own at the best of times (she has severe abandonment issues, which I can only assume are due to whatever she went through before the RSPCA found her) and her yipping and barking was probably what scared the black dog away
Now, while Puffin can clear the fence, this mysterious little dog was too short and rotund to do likewise. So I was mystified. I spent about 20 minutes walking around the garden - there is a biggish area at the back which is overgrown with hip-high nettles and the like... but could find no sign of her. I left out the food, water, a dish of milk and something for her to sleep on and came back in.
Despite regular checks thoughout the evening, she didn't reappear and in the morning, all the food was untouched. Poor little dog. Hope she is OK, wherever she is. All very strange.
Friday, 28 May 2010
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Crows
One day, several weeks ago, I awoke to the sound of BANG flap flap flap BANG flap flap flap BANG flap flap flap...
Wondering what the hell was going on, I blundered sleepily downstairs and opened the living room door, to find a crow sitting on the back of the armchair. It took one look at me and tried to fly through what it thought was the window. BANG. It hit the floor, and flapped around, having failed to break through the mirror on the wall opposite the window. Then it saw the real window and headed for that. BANG flap flap flap (the window was closed).
I tried to open the window and realised the window locks were... locked. And I had no key. And all the while, BANG flap flap flap was going on, with Mr Crow getting more and more agitated.
I dashed off to find my pliers, hoping it didn't have a heart attack in the meantime. Mr Crow tried to hide under the sofa at this point, failed and tried to hide under the (then empty - this was pre Puffin) dog basket.
Eventually I managed to open both sides of the window, and after a couple more BANG flap flap flaps - between the closed pane of glass in the middle of the two open windows and the mirror - he flew out and off.
Phew!
The only possible way he could have got there was down the chimney - it's an open fire place although I don't use it, as my landlords had said it was blocked.
I thought no more of it until I returned home from a couple of days away, about a week or so later, to hear shuffling sounds coming from the living room... hang on a minute, I thought, I know that noise. God knows how long this one had been there. (It was dark by this point). But I got the windows open, threw a blanket over him, and out he went.
This has now happened 6 times. Maybe it's the same daft crow every time - I don't know. But while it was getting a bit spooky around the third crow, I'm now a dab hand at getting them out in record time. Not a skill I ever thought I would have or need, but there you go. So if you ever find a crow in your living room, give me a shout.
Wondering what the hell was going on, I blundered sleepily downstairs and opened the living room door, to find a crow sitting on the back of the armchair. It took one look at me and tried to fly through what it thought was the window. BANG. It hit the floor, and flapped around, having failed to break through the mirror on the wall opposite the window. Then it saw the real window and headed for that. BANG flap flap flap (the window was closed).
I tried to open the window and realised the window locks were... locked. And I had no key. And all the while, BANG flap flap flap was going on, with Mr Crow getting more and more agitated.
I dashed off to find my pliers, hoping it didn't have a heart attack in the meantime. Mr Crow tried to hide under the sofa at this point, failed and tried to hide under the (then empty - this was pre Puffin) dog basket.
Eventually I managed to open both sides of the window, and after a couple more BANG flap flap flaps - between the closed pane of glass in the middle of the two open windows and the mirror - he flew out and off.
Phew!
The only possible way he could have got there was down the chimney - it's an open fire place although I don't use it, as my landlords had said it was blocked.
I thought no more of it until I returned home from a couple of days away, about a week or so later, to hear shuffling sounds coming from the living room... hang on a minute, I thought, I know that noise. God knows how long this one had been there. (It was dark by this point). But I got the windows open, threw a blanket over him, and out he went.
This has now happened 6 times. Maybe it's the same daft crow every time - I don't know. But while it was getting a bit spooky around the third crow, I'm now a dab hand at getting them out in record time. Not a skill I ever thought I would have or need, but there you go. So if you ever find a crow in your living room, give me a shout.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
A lively day
Today started with an early morning crow* down the chimney at 6am - perfectly timed with my alarm (most considerate). After chasing him out, Puffin** and I hopped in the car at 7am to drop her off with T and S and their canine/feline/equine family.
Then onwards to Haywards Heath, where I ditched the car and jumped onto the train, then the tube and was at my desk in Hammersmith by 9.10am (20 minutes early, to make up for being 20 minutes late yesterday). A productive day working in a building I've now been paid to write in for 3 different agencies.
Today involved lots of writing about a new drug to help with the treatment of Multiple Sclerosis. My job was to turn fairly some dry, clinical copy into something a little more empathetic and human. I enjoyed the work, and it was nice to work alongside a bunch of people I hadn't seen since last summer (apart from yesterday - it was a 2-day gig). Lots of sniggery banter going on, while I always enjoy.
Then... back on the tube to Victoria station, where I found all the trains in complete disarray due to 'a body on the line' at East Croydon.
Now, don't think me unsympathetic (and yes, here's the) but... I think suicide is a selfish option most of the time (except perhaps, for people so mentally unwell that they know not what they do). Doing so in a way that you know will disrupt tens of thousands of people - all just trying to get home to loved ones at the end of the day - well, that pushes you from 'selfish' to 'spiteful' in my book. But who knows what the story was...
Just short of 3 hours later, I picked Puffin up and gratefully drove home. Arriving home about 40 minutes ago***. Total time spent working today - 7.5 hours. Total time spent traveling - 5.5 hours. Thank God I don't have to do it every day.
* Number 6 in the last couple of months or so. More on this another time.
** Definitely more on her another time.
*** Oh yes, I am most definitely enjoying a glass of wine as I type this.
Then onwards to Haywards Heath, where I ditched the car and jumped onto the train, then the tube and was at my desk in Hammersmith by 9.10am (20 minutes early, to make up for being 20 minutes late yesterday). A productive day working in a building I've now been paid to write in for 3 different agencies.
Today involved lots of writing about a new drug to help with the treatment of Multiple Sclerosis. My job was to turn fairly some dry, clinical copy into something a little more empathetic and human. I enjoyed the work, and it was nice to work alongside a bunch of people I hadn't seen since last summer (apart from yesterday - it was a 2-day gig). Lots of sniggery banter going on, while I always enjoy.
Then... back on the tube to Victoria station, where I found all the trains in complete disarray due to 'a body on the line' at East Croydon.
Now, don't think me unsympathetic (and yes, here's the) but... I think suicide is a selfish option most of the time (except perhaps, for people so mentally unwell that they know not what they do). Doing so in a way that you know will disrupt tens of thousands of people - all just trying to get home to loved ones at the end of the day - well, that pushes you from 'selfish' to 'spiteful' in my book. But who knows what the story was...
Just short of 3 hours later, I picked Puffin up and gratefully drove home. Arriving home about 40 minutes ago***. Total time spent working today - 7.5 hours. Total time spent traveling - 5.5 hours. Thank God I don't have to do it every day.
* Number 6 in the last couple of months or so. More on this another time.
** Definitely more on her another time.
*** Oh yes, I am most definitely enjoying a glass of wine as I type this.
It's been a while
Not sure why I stopped blogging other than, 'Worked at home, didn't speak to anyone, went for a walk, ate food and went to bed' probably wouldn't make for very interesting reading on one day, let alone a couple of months' worth.
Anyway, I have decided to dust off my blogging hat and get back to it. I'll update from now and chuck in anything of note that's happened as and when I can think of it. (The arrival of a very cute 6-month old Lurcher called Puffin definitely deserves a post of its own at some point).
Anyway, I have decided to dust off my blogging hat and get back to it. I'll update from now and chuck in anything of note that's happened as and when I can think of it. (The arrival of a very cute 6-month old Lurcher called Puffin definitely deserves a post of its own at some point).
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
People are nice
Now that sounds like a rather limp-wristed title for a blog post (and indeed one that doesn't smack of any meaty story or topic). But what the hell. I've come to the conclusion that, on the whole, when we're not trying to bomb/kill/strangle/shoot/stab each other, invade each others' countries (or indeed have altercations about boundary fences) human beings actually want to help each other. In a nice way.
My recent examples:
My neighbour helping me push my ageing and somewhat gnarly car down the hill to get it started. On a very cold morning.
The lady in a garage being incredibly helpful, after I'd accidentally filled up said car with diesel, instead of petrol. (It turns out that Tesco will get you off their forecourt - and to a nearby garage - for free. But they don't advertise this in case their forecourts are suddenly overrun with dodgy motors). Please note, this is an unrelated incident to the one above.
My Mum, and a man she kind of knows, helping me push said immobilised, full-of-diesel car out of the way of the petrol pumps.
The AA man who turned up at the Tesco garage to rescue me who a) Didn't laugh, b) Didn't take me to the nearest garage like he was supposed to, but instead took me to another garage which was c) Open on a Sunday afternoon and d) Much cheaper. Oh, and he e) Drove me to a cashpoint after remembering that they probably wouldn't take cards.
The lady who helped me push the SODDING car into a layby down the road yesterday after it wouldn't start (again). In the mud. (Unrelated to the two other car incidents above, my life is a bloody barrel of laughs, I tell you).
And all that within a mere 48 hours.
Other examples of niceness I can think of right now:
A couple of who came to my aid when I keeled over in Gatwick Airport a couple of years ago (had had a couple of crazy days working full time, plus freelance jobs on the side, plus legging back to watch my Mum get her PHD then trying to fly out to see my sister, with not much sleep and even less food along the way). I still have no idea who they were, other than one of them was a doctor, and they left me their phone number along with my passport and boarding card. And called me an ambulance.
A black cabbie in London who offered my friend Lou a free ride home on cold dark winter's night in Holloway, because he saw someone following her and wanted to make sure she'd get home all right (she didn't have any money, and he would have refused it anyway).
A now very good friend who offered me his flat when I was heartbroken and homeless a couple of years ago (after a bad breakup). I think he'd met me twice at that point. He was working abroad so his flat was empty and I badly needed somewhere to stay. He never asked for any rent either. His only reward? Well, he now gets lots of phone calls about how to build fences/fix cars/mend things I've broken. Usually a couple of times a week.
Oh, but there are many more examples. And not just in my life, but all over the place. Try this one for starters.
Take a look around you, and wallow in niceness for a change.
My recent examples:
My neighbour helping me push my ageing and somewhat gnarly car down the hill to get it started. On a very cold morning.
The lady in a garage being incredibly helpful, after I'd accidentally filled up said car with diesel, instead of petrol. (It turns out that Tesco will get you off their forecourt - and to a nearby garage - for free. But they don't advertise this in case their forecourts are suddenly overrun with dodgy motors). Please note, this is an unrelated incident to the one above.
My Mum, and a man she kind of knows, helping me push said immobilised, full-of-diesel car out of the way of the petrol pumps.
The AA man who turned up at the Tesco garage to rescue me who a) Didn't laugh, b) Didn't take me to the nearest garage like he was supposed to, but instead took me to another garage which was c) Open on a Sunday afternoon and d) Much cheaper. Oh, and he e) Drove me to a cashpoint after remembering that they probably wouldn't take cards.
The lady who helped me push the SODDING car into a layby down the road yesterday after it wouldn't start (again). In the mud. (Unrelated to the two other car incidents above, my life is a bloody barrel of laughs, I tell you).
And all that within a mere 48 hours.
Other examples of niceness I can think of right now:
A couple of who came to my aid when I keeled over in Gatwick Airport a couple of years ago (had had a couple of crazy days working full time, plus freelance jobs on the side, plus legging back to watch my Mum get her PHD then trying to fly out to see my sister, with not much sleep and even less food along the way). I still have no idea who they were, other than one of them was a doctor, and they left me their phone number along with my passport and boarding card. And called me an ambulance.
A black cabbie in London who offered my friend Lou a free ride home on cold dark winter's night in Holloway, because he saw someone following her and wanted to make sure she'd get home all right (she didn't have any money, and he would have refused it anyway).
A now very good friend who offered me his flat when I was heartbroken and homeless a couple of years ago (after a bad breakup). I think he'd met me twice at that point. He was working abroad so his flat was empty and I badly needed somewhere to stay. He never asked for any rent either. His only reward? Well, he now gets lots of phone calls about how to build fences/fix cars/mend things I've broken. Usually a couple of times a week.
Oh, but there are many more examples. And not just in my life, but all over the place. Try this one for starters.
Take a look around you, and wallow in niceness for a change.
Thursday, 10 December 2009
The world is my in-tray
So I've been toiling over a hot MacBook for a few weeks now on a project. This involves me typing away in what's now the study upstairs, with a lovely view over the churchyard.
For the most part, I write in silence. I find songs with lyrics mess with the words in my head, and so does the radio. Then it's all too easy for errant words to end up on the page, in the middle of a sentence about Ethernets or suchlike. And no good can come of that. Instrumentals and classical can be soothing, but mostly it's just silence.
Anyhow, I had to rouse myself from a transcendic copy daze yesterday and nip out to get some more toner. For some reason I looked to see where this particular cartridge had been made: Malaysia.
This triggered off an exploration of all the everyday objects within my reach. (OK, this might in part have been a copy avoidance technique, mid-way through a rather dull white paper).
But this is where they all come from:
MacBook: 'Designed in California, assembled in China'
Mouse: China
External Hard Drive: Thailand
Blank DVDs: India
Landline handset: China
Stapler: unidentified (where does it come from? WHERE?)
Blu-Tack: UK
Paperclips: UK (in fact about a mile down the road from my Mum)
Black Sharpie: USA
Yellow highlighter Sharpie: China
Black Uniball Microline pen: Japan
Yellow notebook: Cheshire, UK
Lipbalm: France
Plastic beaker: Kansas, USA
So there you have it. Or rather, there it was. Stuff from all over the world, all over my desk.
But does that make a global citizen? Or merely a glutton?
PS: Try it for yourself, it's strangely addictive.
For the most part, I write in silence. I find songs with lyrics mess with the words in my head, and so does the radio. Then it's all too easy for errant words to end up on the page, in the middle of a sentence about Ethernets or suchlike. And no good can come of that. Instrumentals and classical can be soothing, but mostly it's just silence.
Anyhow, I had to rouse myself from a transcendic copy daze yesterday and nip out to get some more toner. For some reason I looked to see where this particular cartridge had been made: Malaysia.
This triggered off an exploration of all the everyday objects within my reach. (OK, this might in part have been a copy avoidance technique, mid-way through a rather dull white paper).
But this is where they all come from:
MacBook: 'Designed in California, assembled in China'
Mouse: China
External Hard Drive: Thailand
Blank DVDs: India
Landline handset: China
Stapler: unidentified (where does it come from? WHERE?)
Blu-Tack: UK
Paperclips: UK (in fact about a mile down the road from my Mum)
Black Sharpie: USA
Yellow highlighter Sharpie: China
Black Uniball Microline pen: Japan
Yellow notebook: Cheshire, UK
Lipbalm: France
Plastic beaker: Kansas, USA
So there you have it. Or rather, there it was. Stuff from all over the world, all over my desk.
But does that make a global citizen? Or merely a glutton?
PS: Try it for yourself, it's strangely addictive.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Storms of a different kind
I headed back to London last weekend, for a now annual Thanksgiving meal, tirelessly prepared by an American friend. I hope he won't mind me talking about this on here. No names will be mentioned, and the couple of people who read this blog, who will know who I'm talking about, I know have the discretion and loyalty he deserves.
It was fun to see everyone, if a little overwhelming (hell, I'm now used to seeing an average of 3 people a week, including the postman). I brought chairs, plates and cutlery, another friend provided the flat we were eating in, another brought a selection of vegetable dishes, yet another had cooked stuffing and bought a case of champagne... you can see how this is all working.
So, the table(s) groaned under the weight of the food. I think there were 13 of us in total, a mix of old and new friends, neighbours, ex-neighbours, and ex-flatmates. The turkey met a round of applause. The chef raised a toast (and nearly made everyone cry) by thanking us for being there (surely we should have been thanking him). We sang a somewhat confused version of the Star Spangled Banner and then we feasted... We drank. We laughed. We reconnected (or at least I did). We had a spectacular afternoon and evening.
Until his girlfriend kicked off. I'm trying to explain this in terms that are not derogatory to anyone, but the whole thing now just makes me rather sad. For reasons known best to herself, she destroyed all the goodwill harboured by mostly everyone within hearing (if not striking) distance. Before being told in no uncertain terms to go home.
Now this may sound harsh, but it wasn't the first time this has happened. Last year, the very same meal, in the very same flat, followed a very similar form (although that year it was gravy that ended up all around our host's home, this year it was red wine). In fact, the kicking off has become a 'when' part of any social gathering, rather than an 'if' (neither of which should ever have to be a consideration - be it pub, party or dinner at someone's house). And none which is fair on our American friend.
The following day was filled with multiple apologetic emails and tearful phonecalls, full of self-loathing and self-hatred from the (now, ex) girlfriend. Unfortunately, it fell mostly on deaf ears as she had, so to speak, well and truly cooked her own goose. Most friends are just fed up with tolerating her behaviour. And why not? She is a major pain in the arse. Quite often.
But surely underneath this obnoxious (and it was) behaviour, lies something else? Why would someone bright, vivacious, intelligent and caring, keep destroying whatever relationships they have, which they claim matter to them more than anything else?
A couple of us (including myself) have kept communication lines open, in the hope (and with very clear requests) that she goes to see her GP. Whether she does or not is up to her. Whether she manages to salvage any of the now broken friendships is again up to her. Am I pissed off with her? Yes. Am I worried about her? Yes. Will I shrug in a couple of weeks and say 'Oh, it's OK, everyone will have forgotten by now'? No.
Let's face it, none of us is perfect. And sometimes it's not the mistakes we make that define us, but rather if (or how) we redeem ourselves that does.
But we are all responsible for our own selves, and our own behaviour.
Until then, all bets are off.
It was fun to see everyone, if a little overwhelming (hell, I'm now used to seeing an average of 3 people a week, including the postman). I brought chairs, plates and cutlery, another friend provided the flat we were eating in, another brought a selection of vegetable dishes, yet another had cooked stuffing and bought a case of champagne... you can see how this is all working.
So, the table(s) groaned under the weight of the food. I think there were 13 of us in total, a mix of old and new friends, neighbours, ex-neighbours, and ex-flatmates. The turkey met a round of applause. The chef raised a toast (and nearly made everyone cry) by thanking us for being there (surely we should have been thanking him). We sang a somewhat confused version of the Star Spangled Banner and then we feasted... We drank. We laughed. We reconnected (or at least I did). We had a spectacular afternoon and evening.
Until his girlfriend kicked off. I'm trying to explain this in terms that are not derogatory to anyone, but the whole thing now just makes me rather sad. For reasons known best to herself, she destroyed all the goodwill harboured by mostly everyone within hearing (if not striking) distance. Before being told in no uncertain terms to go home.
Now this may sound harsh, but it wasn't the first time this has happened. Last year, the very same meal, in the very same flat, followed a very similar form (although that year it was gravy that ended up all around our host's home, this year it was red wine). In fact, the kicking off has become a 'when' part of any social gathering, rather than an 'if' (neither of which should ever have to be a consideration - be it pub, party or dinner at someone's house). And none which is fair on our American friend.
The following day was filled with multiple apologetic emails and tearful phonecalls, full of self-loathing and self-hatred from the (now, ex) girlfriend. Unfortunately, it fell mostly on deaf ears as she had, so to speak, well and truly cooked her own goose. Most friends are just fed up with tolerating her behaviour. And why not? She is a major pain in the arse. Quite often.
But surely underneath this obnoxious (and it was) behaviour, lies something else? Why would someone bright, vivacious, intelligent and caring, keep destroying whatever relationships they have, which they claim matter to them more than anything else?
A couple of us (including myself) have kept communication lines open, in the hope (and with very clear requests) that she goes to see her GP. Whether she does or not is up to her. Whether she manages to salvage any of the now broken friendships is again up to her. Am I pissed off with her? Yes. Am I worried about her? Yes. Will I shrug in a couple of weeks and say 'Oh, it's OK, everyone will have forgotten by now'? No.
Let's face it, none of us is perfect. And sometimes it's not the mistakes we make that define us, but rather if (or how) we redeem ourselves that does.
But we are all responsible for our own selves, and our own behaviour.
Until then, all bets are off.
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