Up Dates.

Charlotte The Pug.

As some of you will remember, after months of agonising, I decided to have Charlotte put down.  At which point the mad, French Artist up the road rescued her from me.

Four weeks later, Marie decided that I wasn’t wrong after all and took Charlotte to The Vet to have her put down.

The Vet decided that Charlotte was worth rescuing, and the last I heard Charlotte was living with The Vet.  Best place for her.  I couldn’t have dreamed that one up.  She was never what you could call ill, just comatosed most of the time, when not stuffing her face and peeing in the house.  So, Long Live Charlotte.

Turmeric and Circumin.

All was going really well, until I went to Carnac to have a proper look at The Stones.  This involved rattling around on a Tourist Train for several hours, which thoroughly put paid to my neck.  I am in agony again and back to creeping around and popping far too many pain killers once more.

The Stones are just Grave Stones, as I have long suspected, albeit impressive.  Some bright sparks have tried to prove otherwise, and failed miserably.  They have tried digging them up, but just found artefacts.  Glass beads and other such items.  No Bones, but apparently the acidic soil in Brittany took care of those.  It was a very long time ago.  BC something or another, like about 6,000 years before.

They now graze Sheep and Goats to keep the grass down, which seems like a good idea to me.  Worth a visit, but beware of that Train.

The Little Swine.

O’Connor is over a year old now, and still a Little Swine.  I sometimes wonder how he has managed to survive this long.  I sometimes wonder how I have managed to survive this long.

He is still a very beautiful Snake Eye and still very sweet.  My God gave him something by which to survive the slings and arrows of his outrageous fortune.

Heart Beat.

I have now watched all of the Eighteen Series of this glorious show.  Such delight that I cannot begin to explain.  Some really good memories, and some regrets.  I do still wish that I had visited other parts of Yorkshire apart from Leeds, although Leeds wasn’t half bad.  You can’t know what you missed if you never saw Mucky Hunslet.  It’s gone now, but it was a Community and the people were kind to a smart arsed Londoner.  Leeds can only be the poorer.

And then there was Belle Isle.  I used to walk up the hill between Wakefield and Leeds and look down on the factory chimneys and the coal mines, all belching smoke, but with a beauty all of their own.  Quite stunning to a twenty year old Londoner who had never seen anything like that, or imagined that a chimney could have it’s own beauty.

Thanks to a friend, I am now watching Where The Heart Is.  Not quite so good, but with a charm of its own.