"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a blog in days such as these." wrote Jane Austen. Or, at least, she might have, had she been around today. I think Miss Austen would have been a great fan of the internet and its blogging capacities - and she wouldn't have neglected hers as much as I do mine. Hee hee.
I am ashamed of myself. Or, rather, my partner says I should be. Allow me to explain. The other day I awoke with a headache and sore throat. My throat had been sore for a couple of days and my partner was as caring and nurturing as she could be. Until, that is, an accident befell her mother. In clearing out my garage, her mother dropped a sizeable slab of chipboard onto her leg. My partner had to rush to her side with painkillers and a bag of frozen broad beans (which I endeavoured to eat, without success), and then she drove her in my little green Corsa to a surgeon. Fortunately, no permanent damage was sustained, but my partner was devoted to her care for the rest of the day. I became insanely jealous, and did not hesitate to make my views clear. I placed myself firmly between my partner and her mother and endeavoured to prevent further ministrations. For goodness' sake. The woman has already had cancer TWICE - how much more sympathy does she need in one lifetime? Could she not see that I had a sore throat? My partner was not impressed.
"Jasper, you have been feeling better since lunchtime - stop faking it, and don't be so mean." Mean? MEAN? So it has come to this.
I sought solace in the arms of my teddy bear. I tried to explain things to him, but he would not answer me. Upon grooming him, I noticed that he possessed no "Little Teddy Bear" (in much the same way as I have my "Little Jasper"). How did he go to the toilet? I asked my partner, but she pretended to be busy and would not answer me. He probably does it in his fur.
It was one week yesterday until my birthday, and I grow excited. I will be nine - and still with the energy and vigour of a puppy. Alas for my partner - her birthday is the day before mine and she is less keen. She says she will spend the day hiding under her duvet, sobbing, mourning the passing of another year of unlooked-for celibacy. I will take her for some squirrel-chasing and that should cheer her. The only gift she desires is a birthday kiss from BC, but this will not be forthcoming. I shall kiss her instead, and that will cheer us both.
I am grown concerned at the appearance of a book, a gift in previous years from my partner's brother and his wife. It is titled "How Smart is Your Dog? A Self-Scoring Intelligence Test." I sense trouble ahead. My predecessor in this house, a collie/lurcher cross named Tess, who lost her life to cancer aged only 7, was tested properly and found to be in the top 2% of intelligent dogs - officially classed as "gifted". Apparently she was remarkable in her intelligence and lateral thinking ability. Uh oh.
More of this to follow...