This swan business is getting completely out of paw.
My partner took me swimming yesterday afternoon and I was having a lovely time in the cool water when a sudden flash of white feathers made me almost swallow my own body-weight in river-water. I was out, on the bank, and safely behind my partner in a matter of seconds, only to have a second peep tell me that it wasn't the swan but a harmless little white egret. It is with some sadness that I have to report that my partner laughed. Callously in my opinion. But this is Easter-time, so I will forgive her. For now.
Actually, I haven't seen the tragic waste of duvet-stuffing himself for a few days now. Maisie reports that he has found a mate and is currently nest-building with her - as well as indulging in the foul deeds of swan procreation, I've no doubt. As much as I do not wish to dwell on this topic, it does raise one key question in my mind, which is this: how come that belligerent old git can find a mate when my beautiful, warm, intelligent partner cannot achieve romantic happiness with BC? It's beyond my comprehension.
All I can say is that there must be some bl**dy desperate pen (female) swans out there. I pity her.
But enough of this. Amongst all the various excitements of the past few weeks, I completely forgot to share a recent picture of my handsome young self with my blog. It was taken when we visited Essex for the second time, for my partner's costume fitting. Look where I've been!:
Hee hee hee. But I don't intend reducing my speed for anyone...