humour

Don’t Lick the Dishwasher

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Holiday Guide for Dogs

Many of our humans take us to stay with their friends and relatives, which can be a bit of an ordeal, but mostly better than being sent ‘on a little holiday,’ their euphemism for dumping us in a boarding kennel.

It is important to beware of the pitfalls of staying in another house, but also to be understanding, remember, there are no bad humans, only badly trained humans.

After a testing journey in an overpacked car or crowded train, how you are greeted is a good indication of how the visit will pan out.

‘Oh he’s so adorable.’

I’m a girl!

‘Who’s a cutsie wootsie little puppy then.’

I’m two… and for goodness sake, aren’t there any humans around here with intelligent conversation?

But that’s better than

‘I hope he’s not allowed on the furniture.’

Where do they expect me to lie, surely not on the floor.

‘Oh good, you’ve brought his cage.’

‘It’s a crate not a cage Mother’ says your owner.

‘Well whatever it is, put it in the laundry.’

No you’re both wrong, it’s my personal safe space which I like to have placed somewhere nice.

After making an effort to enthusiastically greet your hosts it’s time to explore. If you smell something nice cooking be sure to head straight for the kitchen to show your appreciation. There will probably be tasty treats left on the edge of the work top for you.  

Hosts enjoy the fun of having more than one dog to visit and soon their quiet, boring house will have turned into a happy hub bub, causing much hilarity.

‘Si..monn.. come and get your dogs out of my kitchen NOW.’

I wish I had hung onto that stair gate, it’s worse than having toddlers around… DEREK, De rekkk… can you rescue Aunt Mary’s tapestry cushions and put them in the top of our wardrobe and while you’re up there shut all the doors.  Oh my god, what have they brought in from the garden, is it a dead rat? A toy squirrel? When we were children the only toys dogs had were a few sticks and a ball.’

Your host’s garden is bound to be more interesting than yours. They may have a fun paddling pool with real fish, or if they are the sort of humans who decided to have little humans as dog substitutes, there will be balls to chase and swings, slides and climbing frames for you to chase the little humans up. They will love it.

‘Mummmee, he’s bitten my football and bursted it.’

But playtime must come to an end for dinner time. If you are asked to stay in your safe space while they rather rudely eat dinner without you, be patient and stay alert for conversations such as…

‘Yes of course they can have a few leftovers, I’m not surprised they prefer roast chicken to that horrible dry stuff you give them…’

Hurrah, the host is on your side.

‘Balanced nutrition, whatever happened to marrow bone jelly and tins of chum?’

After a lovely roast dinner pop into the kitchen to see if you can help tidy up, but be careful of your manners if the dish washer is open. Strangely some humans don’t like you licking the dishwasher, even when everything inside is nice and clean.

Soon you hear the hopeful words

‘Yes okay, an evening walk in the park to get rid of their energy sounds an excellent idea, you staying here relaxing after your long drive does Not. Your mother and I are not picking up dog poo or running after escaped dogs.’

Everyone’s spirits are high as you run around and explore the local park and make new friends. Your hosts make new friends as well.

‘Oh aren’t they gorgeous, bet they’re a handful, are they yours?’

‘No they certainly are not, just visiting.’

Perhaps your humans will want to catch up with old human friends and pop into the pub on the way back. Lie quietly under the table and hopefully you will get the sort of treats you’re not allowed at home. Patience is required though as humans get so busy talking they forget about you.

‘Has he had the chop then, poor old thing, mind you not a good idea to breed from an ugly mutt like him, ha ha haa. Oh, they’re pedigrees?  Here have some hot and spicy BBQ crisps Mr. Pedigree and Miss Pedigree. Not allowed crisps? Oh oh, they’ve wolfed down two packets each.’

Finally don’t forget to protect your humans from danger when visiting all these new places. A good snarl will tell that dog under the next table to stay put. When you finally get back to your hosts’ house check the garden for foxes and cats and send them running.

‘SiMOn, what Are your dogs doing out there, they’ve set off that wretched dog next door barking.’

At last it’s time for a well earned sleep in you safe space, if you can get to sleep with that overpowering scent of washing powder in the laundry.

Tuesday Tale – Dream House

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I ignored the large envelope, some charity begging letter, it was us that needed charity.  It soon disappeared beneath lunch boxes and homework books. Our tiny kitchen was always cluttered. I opened the back door and the children rushed upstairs to open all the bedroom windows. They knew the drill, at least this unseasonably warm September made it easier to air the house out from the smell of damp and mould.

It was five o’clock already, we had stopped at the swings to get some fresh air before being cooped up for the evening. Time to get on with dinner. I checked their homework books and started clearing space to cook. The colourful envelope had written in large letters across the top, DO NOT throw away, contains important information for the addressee. Definitely rubbish. I put it aside to read the more important looking letter in a white envelope from a solicitor?

I ripped it open, what on earth could it… notice our tenancy would not be renewed… my mouth went dry, I leaned against the narrow work top. We had assumed we would renew our tenancy again next month. That wasn’t the only bad news today, the announcement that the Wilko chain of stores could not be saved had been the only topic of conversation at work that morning. Hope was no longer an option for we staff.

When Mark walked through the door I could not read the expression on his face.

‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first.’

‘Bad’ I replied automatically.

‘Derek has had a heart attack.’

‘Oh that’s a shock, is he dead?’

‘Not quite, intensive care.’

I was relieved on two counts, the bad news wasn’t ours and at least Derek was not dead.

‘So what is the good news?’

‘I’m taking over his job, supervisor at last.’

‘Oh great’ I tried to sound enthusiastic, Mark’s good news cancelled out by me losing my job and of course The Letter. I grabbed it off the counter top, knocking the junk mail envelope to the floor. Dream House in big letters on the back, probably full of raffle tickets I could not afford to buy…

‘Cheer up Chelle, I heard about Wilkos, we knew it was coming, my pay rise will help till you find something else.’

I held out the dreaded white envelope but at that moment the children came rushing down the stairs and the door bell began ringing frantically.

‘I’ll go, if that’s Maggie I need the money she owes me, but I don’t need her coming in for a chat.’

I opened the door to be confronted by a young man and woman dressed very smartly.

‘Good evening, Mrs Michelle Gallager?’

‘Erm yes…’

‘We have some very good news for you.’

‘I’m sorry, I have my own beliefs and I’m trying to cook dinner.’

‘No, no we’re not bringing you news of eternal life, something much better. You have won your dream home. Did you get our letter today?’

‘Mark, Mark, bring that letter from the kitchen.’

They waved identity cards in front of me, but I was not going to let them in, this was obviously some kind of scam or trick, perhaps we were being filmed for reality TV.

It was not a scam, not as far as we could tell. Mark and I sat up after the children were in bed tapping on the iPad, checking the charity running the competition and the solicitor assigned to us. I go in for lots of competitions; I once won a family ticket to a third rate theme park and another time a year’s supply of washing powder that gave our youngest a rash. I didn’t recall the dream house, the second prize was a holiday to Bognor Regis, maybe that’s what had drawn me in. Apparently I had neglected to tick the no publicity box, but they were holding off on that for a week until we had decided what to do. What was there to decide, the house looked fabulous and right on the seashore.

‘…and we can sell it and buy our own sensible dream house where we want to live.’

I tuned back in to what Mark was saying.

‘Sell… no it’s our chance to have a new life.’

‘Chelle, we still have to eat and pay the bills and there’s my job. We’ve never been north of Watford and we know nothing about Northumberland.’

‘Room for relatives to stay, fresh air and scenery and the children can have a dog and I can get a job in a seaside café, it will be one long holiday…’

On Sunday we travelled up in a mini bus with ‘our team’ to visit the house. They looked shattered by the time we got there, excited children munching through happy meals at motorway services and talking non stop on the long drive ‘Will it have a drawbridge… and horses and a helicopter pad?’

It was a dream house, exotic looking at the front with picture windows upstairs and downstairs at the back, looking over the sea on a lovely evening. The children rushed round screaming with delight, slipping on polished floors and turning taps on in the various bathrooms. The team seemed eager to get away.

‘Now we will leave you alone for a week, it’s fully furnished as you see, bed linen and everything provided and a week’s worth of food. Don’t rush into any decisions, but we will be back next Sunday with the film crew.’

Mark and I stood on the balcony of the master bedroom looking at the stars. We could hear the children still chattering, faintly as their bedrooms were at the other end of the house.

 ‘I am so glad we haven’t told anybody yet Mark. Let’s enjoy this week, who cares if the children are missing school.’

‘We’ll have to watch them on that open staircase and that information brochure says to watch out for rip tides.’

The next day the sun shone on the sea and we went exploring. Glorious sand dunes and rolling heath, no sign of civilisation. I loved it.

‘Mummy, when can we go to the shops?’

‘We don’t need anything yet.’

‘But I want to go to the pet shop, you said we could have a puppy.’

‘…and you said I could have a pony.’

On Tuesday we realised there was no Broadband. On Wednesday it started raining, by Thursday most of the food had run out, our team obviously did not know how much food a family eats and we still had not found the shops. On Friday there was a power cut and the cinema sized television did not work. At least on Saturday the sun came out and we found a field of sheep and walked along the shore till we came to a fence that said Ministry of Defence Keep Out.

‘Daddy, can we go home now?’ said our youngest that evening.

On Sunday we waited anxiously for the charity team to return.

  

Tuesday Tiny Tale- Murmurings

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The sun was going down and my stress levels were going up. It was time to all gather, decide where we were going to perform this evening. I didn’t get any peace during the day either, had they never heard of Me Time? It was a constant ‘Let’s go down the quay’ or ‘Ah there you are, what are you having for lunch? Come on, you don’t want to eat alone…’

There was no chance to grab another bite to eat before the performance. With such a large cast you would imagine my absence would go unnoticed, no such luck. They were all chattering now, so loud I had a headache, but I couldn’t hide for long.

‘Come on, it’s a lovely clear evening, time you got in place, stick with Jet and see if you can get it right this time, we’ve got a big audience.’

I sighed, was I the only starling who couldn’t get the hang of murmurations? How I wished I was a robin, singing sweetly by myself in the apple tree, king of my own territory, friend of gardeners. What was it about starlings, always having to stick together. Even worse than the mumuration was roosting; flapping and squawking, deciding where to settle for the night, then ending up in the same old tree we always went to.

I thought longingly of the garden, robin hopping around as the gardener topped up the bird bath for him, a last bit of digging in the new bed before the light failed. Pausing, staying motionless as her favourite bird hopped closer, grabbing gratefully at the worm in the newly turned soil. Dewy eyed as she marvelled at his stick thin legs, the sheen of the downy red feathers on his chest and the strong melody issuing forth from his tiny beak when he retuned to the apple bough.

Why did I have to be reincarnated as a starling and not a robin? There’s my wife telling all her friends I have come back as her robin. Be just my luck that ‘her robin’ is that awful Derek down the road, who died the week before me in that mishap with his lawn mower…

Weird Wednesday

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A giant Dachshund and a miniature doll.

Your last chance to grab a skeleton as this shop goes into administration.

when you can’t remember where you put the ironing board…

Butterflies For Buddleias need your help to save innocent Buddleias in gaol.

Fed up with puppies and kittens? Post your favourite fly pictures on social media.

Lauren’s Tale

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What if I had stayed? I felt guilty just having that thought after what I have put my family through. I feel no guilt about my brief stay in 2099, that was beyond my control and I would never have chosen to leave my home and family to venture into the unknown future.

As I sat down for another attempt at writing my official report I felt a surprising emotional pull to those few weeks in that very different world. The memories were coming back to me more vividly as the weeks passed and the initial shock and trauma began to wear off. The quiet life in our ‘safe house’, a magnificent country mansion, was making my real life in a 2023 London suburb ever more remote.

The clear skies, wonderfully fresh air and sheer abundance of nature were what many urbanites dream of, though probably not the primitive, dangerous life of The Hunters in 2099. I couldn’t help yearning a little for the comforting scent of roasting spits and the simple life they led, completely at one with their environment, the only life they knew.

I wanted to explain this in my report, I had not typed a single word yet. By 2099 London and presumably the rest of planet Earth, had returned to nature and yet it was not as it should be. Human interference in every part of life for more than a century had resulted in nature recreating itself into a form that terrified the Bunker People, who cowered in the remains of subterranean London.

My status as the mythical Lauren of London meant that I was protected from the dangers that lay outside The Hunter’s large camp. I had persuaded them once to let me go out with the women, children and old men gathering wild fruits. That wasn’t sexist, there were women hunters as well, the tough ones, though every woman was pretty tough. I surmised that anyone with a family predisposition to poor health had not survived the catastrophic breakdown of society. Truly survival of the fittest, these hunters had survived against the odds, plunged back into a prehistoric life without the generations of folk lore to guide them.

The computer screen remained blank and I could hear my boys fighting just outside the library window, I wondered where their father was. I hadn’t got my old life back yet, but after much negotiating my family had been allowed to come and stay here during the school holidays. My poor husband was subject to counselling and scrutiny, sworn to secrecy and his phone confiscated, but the last thing he wanted was to talk to the press after they had treated him as a murder suspect when I was missing. The staff here had persuaded him to listen properly to what I had to say, but he was not totally convinced. He promised to support me if I wanted to admit I was a part of some terrible hoax.

Our sons believed me. When you are five and seven everything in the world is new and amazing. For youngsters obsessed with dinosaurs and fantasy in films and books, it was easy to believe their mother had been transported to the future and back again. They were mainly interested in the strange creatures that grazed and hunted over the grasslands and woods that had spread out from natural parklands and gardens. Amazing creatures have always inhabited the earth and even in our own time if you met an elephant for the first time you would be terrified. Now add in the selective breeding that had gone on for centuries and the more recent legal and illegal tampering with DNA; even a non-scientist like me could guess what had gone wrong when infrastructure broke down and animals made a bid for freedom from farms, zoos, safari parks and laboratories.

The hunters could not understand this evolution, they just knew what to hunt for food and which creatures to escape from and scare off with their burning torches and thunderous drums.

My sons suddenly came rushing up to the desk.

‘Mummy, Mummy tell us about the wild cat again and the giant bison and the huge ram that ran you all over and why did you have to go and lose your phone so you couldn’t take any pictures?’

‘A tabby cat bigger than a lion, with teeth like a sabre toothed tiger attacked me. The hunter on a strong stallion rescued me and we galloped safely away, but I dropped my handbag…’

That was as close as I could get to describing the most terrifying moment of my life, I did not want to give them nightmares, but during the day they lapped up the stories.

‘And what happened when you were picking fruit?’

‘We all stayed close together, the hunters on horseback circled around us all the time with their flaming torches and loud drums, the fierce camp guard dogs warned them as soon as they caught a scent of dangerous animals, even before they came into sight. The dogs started barking in a frenzy and suddenly a ram bigger than a bull came charging towards us. He was not interested in attacking people, he had just seen another ram trying to round up his sheep, like we saw on that farm visit, but these sheep were as big as cows.’

‘What did the ram look like Mummy?’

‘He had curling horns as large as roller coasters and he wanted to attack the other ram, we just happened to be in the way. We crowded together, the fruit gatherers knew what to do and pulled me with them down into a dip, hiding in a prickly thicket. The hunters circled us out of the way and the ram thundered past, trampling a dog and knocking a hunter off his horse.’

‘Was the hunter okay?’

 ‘Yes’ I lied, shuddering at the memory.

‘Why didn’t they kill the ram?’

‘The spears they had found in the ruins of the Tower of London would never penetrate his mega thick fleece.’

I wasn’t sure where the hunters got their weapons from, passed down from their fathers they said, so this seemed a likely explanation. As I looked at the mixture of fear and delight on the boys faces I was so thankful I had survived to come back to them. No, I would not have wanted to stay.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Lies

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Lies, all lies. Secrets and Lies? No, if I had any secrets I wouldn’t have needed to make up all those lies to sound more interesting on Facebook and WordPress. Today I looked back at the first post on my new blog, Millennium Me.

‘Born as the new millennium started I owe it to the world, to history, to set the design for Twenty First Century Woman. Now in 2016 I know the world is at my feet.’

Okay, so I was born in 1978, nobody could tell from my avatar. It had started as a joke on Facebook where everyone was presenting their oh so fabulous or exciting lives. How do we know any of it is true?

I clicked onto my second blog post.

‘When I left school I vowed never to sit at a desk again. The jungle would be my office, orangutans my colleagues, the desert my holiday breaks.’

My desk job was only meant to last a few months till I had enough money to start my adventures, but every time I thought of leaving I would get one of those persistent colds I’m a martyr to.

2018 and my blog was really taking off.

‘Who would have believed I would celebrate my eighteenth birthday on top of Mount Kilimanjaro, especially after losing my right leg to bone cancer.’

I spent my fortieth birthday quietly, my knee was playing up again so I went to Toby Carvery with Joan from the office, she was glad to have a break from looking after her mother.

2019, romance was in the air and I had more followers than ever.

‘February 14th 2019 – When Your Parents Disapprove of Your Lover.

We were married in a tribal ceremony; just because it was not a recognised marriage in Britain or the catholic church, who cares. We were made for each other, for life, me and my Zulu Warrior.’

2020 and the world wide pandemic found me isolated in KwaZulu Land, truly isolated…

‘I can hardly bear to write that the love of my life has been brutally murdered by an Xhosa warrior.’

I spent all the various lockdowns working from home, one of the handy things about an office job. I had to kill off the Zulu warrior as I have never been further south than the Isle of Wight and I don’t know a lot about Zulus. I was also beginning to get quite a few South African followers and they might have started to get suspicious.

In 2021 I trekked north across the African continent.

‘I spent my twenty first birthday with a Bedouin tribe, never imagining I would find love again. But it was not to be. I was not prepared to share him with his other three wives and I set my goal for the oceans.’

In 2021 I decided after all that lock down business that I needed a holiday, explore some of my own country before venturing abroad. I would have been more adventurous, but I thought taking Joan to Scotland on a coach trip would do her good after the death of her mother.

‘My first blog post for 2022 finds me out on the ocean wide and the oceans are wider than I ever dreamed. Despite having just completed ten rounds of chemotherapy after the return of my cancer, I was determined to take up my place on the round the world yacht race using only seventeenth century navigation techniques. Luckily the other three crew members are experienced.’

The Poole to Cherbourg trip did me a world of good. I loved the open seas and I wasn’t seasick at all during the four and a half hour trip. A chap even chatted me up, but there wasn’t time for a shipboard romance as I had to keep an eye on Joan with her dodgy hip.

In 2023 I have been pondering whether I should wind up this blog. I am beginning to run out of ideas, Liedeas I call them. Revealing that I had just realised I was a Lesbian, or perhaps bisexual had not been a good idea. I received some nasty comments from certain extreme religious groups and also from the LGBTQIA+ community. I think I may have got some of the initials wrong, or at least the right initials, but not necessarily in the right order.

Perhaps I should go out with a bang, reveal the lies, how I fooled all of you…

      

Mellow Monday

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Mellow yellow? You would be far from mellow if you suffered from Xanthophobia, fear of the colour yellow. Xanthophobia from Greek xanthos, yellow .

If you could prove your condition you could opt out of work and many life situations. If we are to be an inclusive society we would need to take drastic action to help sufferers.

There may be a good reason for fearing yellow; which came first, the yellow warning signs or the danger?

In the work place even a cleaning job would be out of the question with those yellow plastic boards warning of wet floors. The police are no longer the Boys in Blue, but the Girls and Boys in yellow. High Viz jackets are standard wear for many jobs now and yellow tabards are worn by everyone from stewards at events ‘Look at me, I’m important and I’m not afraid of yellow’ down to school outings.

Even if you have obtained exemption from work, yellow lurks everywhere. Roadworks going on outside your house? All the council vehicles will be bright yellow. Going on holiday or a day trip? You are sure to come across a yellow bus or even an amphibious vehicle.

You will certainly not be safe in the garden, the Xanthophobic will pray for a cloudy day so the gazanias don’t open up and mow the lawn every day before the dandelions get a chance to pop up and attract those awful bees with their furry yellow stripes. Turning our lawns to meadows must be a nightmare for the Xanthophobic community.

Check before you visit your friends who have been decorating, what colour schemes have they chosen? It seems there is more to choosing paint than we imagined.

‘For all its decorating potential, yellow should be used with due consideration and care. Yellow primary action is to trigger emotional responses,’ says Karen Haller, colour psychology specialist. It has an impact on the nervous system. As a result, yellow is the strongest colour in psychological terms. 

While yellow is a colour to use with caution, decorating with yellow has a relatively long wavelength and is emotionally stimulating, making us feel confident, positive and optimistic. but the wrong tone of yellow can lead to feelings of irritation, nervousness and depression.’

If you are Xanthophobic better not come round my house. But Xanthophobics would not be reading this as my website is yellow. I don’t know when it became my favourite colour. In the late seventies it was orange and brown, later it was pink. I’m not sure how I settled on yellow.

How does such a phobia start? Perhaps early exposure to Mr. Men books, the constant company of Mr. Happy and Mr. Tickle…

Do you have a favourite colour or a colour you cannot abide?

August Weekend

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Few words needed, but anyone having visitors for the weekend will know the importance of the weather, especially if dogs and children are involved, but the good news is… smart phones still work even if you drop them in the sea and swimming in the sea was the most popular activity.

SATURDAY

SUNDAY

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Rewilding

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When Findlay Cummings cycled up the long driveway of the country mansion on his latest visit to interview Doctor Chowdry, he was astonished to see the usually restrained doctor up an old oak tree. Circling round the trunk in great excitement was the head gardener’s loveable ten month old Labrador. Grabbing hold of his collar wasn’t as easy as Fin expected, the dog thought it was part of the game, while the doctor appeared in fear of his life.

‘Have you got a gun? Fetch help, I think I’m going to fall.’

‘No, no, it’s okay, Ptolemy is just a big old softy.’

Despite loving dogs Findlay was still glad to see Ptolemy’s owner hove into view, he did not want to have to explain to the boss that their precious visitor from the future had broken his neck falling out of a tree.

A sharp whistle from the head gardener and the dog retreated; Ptolemy knew who the pack leader was.

The gardener marched off, not wishing to get involved with the strange guests and visitors to the normally peaceful mansion, but Findlay raced after him to ask if he had a ladder.

‘Thanks Mr. Cummings, that’s the last time I venture outside’ said Doctor Chowdry, as the woman who seemed to be responsible for medical checks bathed a few cuts and scratches.

 ‘I presumed it was the first time you had ever climbed a tree and I remembered, from when I used to play with my big brothers in the woods, that climbing down is often harder than climbing up. But honestly there is no danger in the grounds.’

‘All animals are dangerous, especially ones with teeth and I have read in the newspapers that dogs kill people.’

‘Oh em, well not often and not that sort of dog.’

‘And cows.’

‘What?’

‘Your cows kill people.’

‘No, they just wander round fields eating grass…’

‘Come with me to the library and I will show you my reading and studies, why I haven’t had time to do more interviews, go exploring outside. I wanted to gather evidence to explain my theories, to myself as much as to world leaders.’

The normally sedate and dusty library was full of newspapers and scientific magazines, in piles on the floor and spread over tables with cuttings and photos snipped out. Children killed by dogs, walkers trampled by cows…

 Initially the doctor had been entranced by the wonderful old books, but then he became obsessed with fresh writing. Brought up in the bunker with only a few old books and tatty documents it was paradise for him to see freshly printed paper and glossy magazines. Intelligent articles on science and medicine were an antidote to the mindless prattle of Belinda Billington and Lauren Smith and the various persons looking after or guarding Belinda and himself.

‘Look Mr. Cummings, your citizens don’t need to be scientists, play with DNA to create new breeds. Bully dogs bred from the toughest specimens and what happened when they roamed wild? And this, introducing strange animals, calling it rewilding… your people don’t know what they are doing, if they saw the real wild lands …’

‘But plenty of countries have all sorts of wild animals, people have always co-existed…’

‘But when man started interfering with nature, changing DNA; safe in the laboratories perhaps, but when infrastructure breaks down, when all the beasts escape, mixing breeding, evolving…’

‘Okay, I understand your theories, but how did cities fall apart as you say they will?’

‘Look at today’s paper, Artificial Intelligence.

 

 It is not me making things up. I am just beginning to understand how it all started to go wrong and we must tell everyone.’