Now What?

You must all be bored half witless.  I know I am.  This should have been an ideal time to write a load of crap and get away with it.  Unfortunately, my brain has switched off and I am only thinking that I could be dead next week.

My dreams are bloody awful.  I can only be thankful that I don’t remember most of them.  At least not in detail.

The Sun is shining and the grass is growing so everything else out there is absolutely fine.  It’s only Humans who aren’t doing all that well.

I have taken to Painting things again.  The Garden Chairs are looking good.  I was given those because they looked awful, and I did think that they were past redemption.  But this wasn’t true.  And No, she can’t have them back.  Don’t ask me why I painted them.  I was probably feeling sorry for them.  I do this.  I credit inanimate articles with emotions. I used to pick and choose knives and forks in case they felt neglected.  Which probably says more about the Knives and Forks than it does about me.  Plates?  I am not so worried about.  Plates are just plates.

I have finally given in of The Rotten Little Swine.  He simply doesn’t understand that peeing in the house isn’t on.  So I hoik him out first thing in the morning and then a hour later.  But he does have to be told.  God knows what he thinks we are doing in the garden at 8 o’clock but I doubt that it is much to do with Peeing.  Peeing is just a passing fancy for him.  He has a pee while he is out there.

Why am I doing this?  This is just the way things are.  And there is so much more to him than peeing on the floor.

I am never going to be able house train him.  He just doesn’t get it.  And if you think about it, why should he?  Eighteen months and still no improvement.  Thank God for a tiled floor is all I can say.  Heaven knows what I would do if I had carpets.  Or where I would find a sweeter dog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blogging.

What’s it all about, Alfie?

Fine if you can think of something.  Which I often can’t.  But since I largely only do this for my own pleasure then I don’t suppose that it matters all that much.

Nothing much going on around here but then we’ve all been locked up for eight weeks.

My nearest neighbours are locked up in England so I feed The Cat.  This has become so much more fascinating than I thought was possible.  She is quite a nice cat but not exactly riveting.  I think she likes me, but I am not entirely sure about that.

However, there is this offing great Ginger Tom who scares her witless.  I presume he is a Tom Cat for obvious reasons and I think he might be nicking her food.  This is not a problem because he would be hard pushed to eat it all.  Fortunately she has been seen to, otherwise God help us all.

Stray cats are a bit of a problem here, and while I am not a Cat Person I don’t like to think of them going hungry.

So back to O’Connor.  The Rotten Little Swine.  He is absolutely fine.  Never was there such a loved dog.  Oh Dear, he just peed on the floor again.  What a naughty boy he is.  What is this, I say to him, but I don’t think he gets it.  I don’t think he does it on purpose.

But thank God for French tiled floors, so there isn’t much point to getting upset about this.  I might have gotten a bit more particuliar if I had carpets.  Life grabs you as it is. So why get upset and cross about something that doesn’t actually matter.  And everyone who has ever owned a Dachshund will tell you that they are almost impossible to house train.  They give back their existence in your house in other ways that most dogs don’t have the ability to do.  And Jeezus, they aren’t half clever.

Anyway, enough of him.  I shall be eighty one next week.  Very boring and not nearly as interesting as eighty.  Eighty seemed like a land mark to me while eighty one is just the next step to ninety and then to One Hundred.  Blogging helps.

 

Brain Scramble.

Yep, my brain is not doing well at the moment, possibly something to do with Full Moon, again.  Always my Bet Noir.  I don’t bother to check anymore because I know when it is coming simply by how I feel.

No, I don’t actually want to Murder anyone, well, not often.  And I wouldn’t have the energy if I did.  So I pull the duvet over my head and sleep for three days, or I eat a lot of Black Grapes.  There is a biological reason for why Black Grapes help.  Best you Google it if you are interested.  It’s The Pips and The Skins, by the way.  Tomorrow is The Night.  I shall be fine again after that.  Until the next time.

The Moon has long fascinated me.  Did you know that it has a Nineteen Year Cycle?  The Sun is boring by comparison.  Although, “The Sun Also Rises” is not an absolute Truth because we don’t actually know if it will.

“Isn’t it pretty to think so” is one of my very few favourite expressions.

Another one is, “Thou hast committed adultery, but that was in another country and besides the wench is dead.”   What a hoot.  I often laugh at that one.  Christopher Marlow, by the way.   The Jew of Malta.  Did he write The Works of Shakespeare?  Probably not.  Christopher Marlow had a genuine sense of humour.

CoronaVirus?  I really don’t know, but I ain’t going anywhere for a good while yet.  The Second Wave isn’t going to catch me if I can possibly avoid it.  I am much too young to die.  Even if I am old.

Tomorrow is the passing night.  And then I will feel much better.  There is a very bright star to The West at the moment.  I have no idea of which star it is.