Saturday, 25 October 2008

Wednesday 24 October 2007

Right, let's be clear about one thing. Birthdays (such as mine, which was yesterday, for example) are to honour and celebrate a life. NOT to cruelly mock the one celebrating his natal day.

Long-time readers of this blog may recall that, last year, when I was being tormented by the Hedgepig (still around, still being carefully ignored) the card from my partner's parents featured a prominent grinning hedgehog. This year, the disrespectful humiliation continued: this card was adorned with a large squirrel. And these cards are HAND MADE by my partner's mother. Grrrowl. As last year, it was handed over amid much laughter, in which I refused to join. Well, if such narrow japes amuse the feeble-minded of this world I am happy for them. I really am.

At least Maisie knew how to behave appropriately. She made me a delicious birthday cake. Its base was of mashed potato, followed by a layer of cooked minced beef, then a mashed hard-boiled egg and topped with a chopped-up beefy stick. It was adorned with two little candles. All most acceptable.
Here I am being presented with the cake:


Here I am attempting to blow out the candles (my partner helped me with this):


Here I am enjoying my cake. It was delicious.:
Mmmm....

A most enjoyable day, on the whole. Thank you to all of my friends in blogland who sent me birthday greetings. I was touched by your kind words and wishes.

The evening had its drawbacks, however. I was happy to accompany my partner to the pub to oversee a set-building meeting, pertaining to the play she is currently directing. She gave a lift to a young man named "Chris", also attending the meeting, and I - on my day of days - was relegated to the BACK of my little green Corsa so that Chris could sit in the front. This is simply unacceptable.

The seat of privilege in the front is MINE, not for any male that my partner happens to pick up. Honestly - it has taken me ages to exorcise the scent of HIM, Her Favourite, from the car - and now my nostrils tell me that there have been AT LEAST three young men in my seat in recent days. Grrrowl. The little green Corsa is MY private carriage, not some random man-mover. I am very cross indeed.

Speaking of prize numpties (actually, I wasn't - I am sure these young men are not numpties - I refer to my so-called partner), my lady managed to get us lost in the woods today. I am not happy. Two and a half hours it took us to get out. TWO and a HALF HOURS. I hope that is not laughter that I can hear.

We decided to investigate a different path this afternoon - all most enjoyable, until my partner realised that she had strayed beyond her knowledge. In her efforts to regain a familiar path she had not attended to her route and we were soon hopelessly lost. Oh bottoms. We walked down a very very long track, hoping to ultimately gain a road, but neared instead a most bizarre building. It was an ENORMOUS brand new factory-type construction, but bizarre sounds and smells were emanating from within. It was absolutely huge and gave both myself and my partner a high sense of unease. A few moments' consideration brought the realisation that this was an establishment for battery hens - where unfortunate fowls are permanently caged in a sunless hell for as long as they can squeeze out eggs. Dear God; what is wrong with this world - even in these days of insolvency, my partner and I refuse to spend a single penny in supporting this wretched industry. Our eggs come from the local market stall, where the hens live in the lady's gardens. "Oh, my god." muttered my partner, "We're not going any further down here, Jazz." and we abruptly turned to irritably retrace our steps.

Fortunately, I had had the presence of mind to stop and chat to some affable horses in a field in the early stages of our exploration of the new path and my partner spotted the corner of their field through the trees. Thank heavens. We had to circumnavigate the whole bl**dy field (and it was a big 'un), passing the somewhat bemused horses yet again, but at least we knew where we were - a blessed relief. Now my paws hurt and, to judge from the way she is hobbling, so do my partner's. I have scant sympathy for her. There were some nice plump, fresh squirrels in the new bit though. But we shall not venture there again. Exploration is not always a good idea - look what happened to Captain Cook.

I may start speaking to my partner again tomorrow; I have not yet decided on the quality of my mercy for this day's work.

Good night.
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