Monday, 29 June 2009

Monday 29 June 2009

The weather was excessively hot yesterday. And it seems that it was just as warm today - possibly the hottest ever day since records began. This is no time to be a Staffie. I want my partner to shave me bodily but she refuses, saying that my fur will "grow back funny". Hmmm... I believe that is a chance I am willing to take... oh dear.
With all this heat, I am unable to tend to my garden as I would wish. A pity, as I have been pleased with the progress of my tomatoes. As mentioned previously, they came from Lincolnshire, which is hundreds of miles from my estates down here in the South. I will explain, before you surmise that I have taken leave of my senses and am gadding about the country in search of seedling vegetables. Some weeks ago, my partner ventured up North for a family wedding. During some free time, she took Delightful Nephew Ewan to visit a working windmill (he's very keen on those) in North Leverton (here's a link to the windmill's website: - very interesting and a friendly and knowledgeable miller will show you around if you ask! The milled flour makes nice bread, too). Here are some pictures:

The Mill

Sweet Ewan helps the Miller fill his flour-sack

Anyway, at the windmill, small tomato plants were on sale at 50p each, so my partner purchased two for our garden. Here I am with the fledgling re-potted plants on my estate:

Aren't they wee? Bless 'em. More of the tomato plants later...

I have just returned from a delightful walk in the woods, in the cool of the evening air. Alas, the occasion was a scene of distress for my luckless partner. Soon after entering the woods, she was caught short - as the best of us sometimes are - and had to pop behind a handy bush to download an urgent weemail.

Now, I concede that, when enveloped in the shady shelter of a coppiced beech in the early evening, the diminished light would make it difficult to distinguish between different types of plants and their leaves. However, I think that even my partner would agree that inadvertently grasping several stinging nettles (along with more harmless specimens) and wiping one's most intimate parts with them, post-wee, is a step best avoided in future.

I watched carefully as my partner's facial expressions on regaining the path progressed through "a slight tingling sensation", via "an increasing warmth", to "exceptional pain and swelling". At that point, I beat a hasty retreat, lest my convulsed guffaws be mistaken for - - - well, actually, no. They could not have been mistaken for anything other than helpless laughter. I felt guilty laughing, but still the tears of mirth ran down my cheeks. You will not be surprised to learn that we only took the short circuit of the woods this evening.

And now, as I type this entry, my partner is seeking relief in a hastily-improvised remedy. This involved a wet towel being placed into the freezer until thoroughly cooled. The chilled towel has now been placed 'twixt her rosy rear cheeks, with the added occasional and careful application of an ice-cube to the lips she doesn't kiss with.

I do not trust myself to watch without laughing, so I return to the subject of the tomatoes.

One of the plants is thriving and bodes well for a healthy crop of love-apples. The other (the one that my snout points towards in the picture above) has died completely. Upon examination, my partner expressed her suspicions as to its killer.
"Someone," she said, glaring at me - most injudiciously, in my opinion - "has been regularly urinating into the plant pot. Do YOU have anything to say about this, Jasper?"
Well, of course I didn't. I had never seen my partner (or myself, for that matter) pee-ing into the pot - and I had OFTEN been standing right beside it, while lifting my leg and trying to aim my- oh. Suddenly, the full force of my partner's argument struck me and I developed an urgent need to be somewhere else. I slunk away, my partner's glare burning into my retreating back.

Hmmm.... well, at least I didn't use a stinging nettle to wipe all the way from my intimate Box of Delights to my Little Chocolate Starfish...

Good night.

Monday, 22 June 2009

Sunday 22 June 2009

Blimey. What a tumultuous few weeks we have had.

Firstly, my partner's lump returned and she was very, very ill (now thankfully on the mend). In addition, we have been experiencing financial difficulties of apocalyptic proportions. It was the bank's fault. My partner missed ONE direct debit payment of £3.82 last month - for this, the bank charged her £58. £58!! The heartless b*st*rds. Were it not for the kindness of friends, we would have nothing at all to eat. My partner kindly made feeding me her priority and has been existing on just one meal per day. These have not been happy times. But still, we will not complain. We have our home and we have each other. That is sufficient for life.

I have seen the rat once since our misadventure. He spotted me in my garden and came sidling over. "Bit of a close shave, the other day, eh?" he grinned through his horrid yellow teeth, referring to our narrow escape from the rightly-enraged mother-cat. I wasted no time in telling him to clear off, gruffly informing him that I had no time in my busy schedule for liars, child-murderers or fools. "What?" he asked, in a poor imitation of innocence. I turned to him with gritted fangs.
"Thanks to you," I muttered, "I have been liberally p*ssed up every wall, streetlight and gatepost in the town. It's only thanks to that fellow next door" (Starsky) "that my name wasn't made public. I nearly died of dehydration trying to cover up all the weemails on the subject. AND you tried to stitch me up with the kittens' mother. Don't think I didn't hear you trying to shift all the blame on me. Now," marching right up close to him, "Be gone from my presence and never return. And if I catch you anywhere near those kittens again, I will PERSONALLY bite your kn*b off and make you watch me eat it. And then I will deliver up what is left of you to the kittens' mother, complete with a ribbon around your scrawny worthless neck."

There was a long silence.

"Well." sneered the rat. "You think you know a chap. I had high hopes of you, my friend. Together, with my stealthy brain and your strength and might, we could have lived like kings. You're nothing but a worthless coward."
"It's my pleasure to disappoint you." I barked, "Now b*gg*r off."

And - thankfully - I haven't seen him since.

My partner's gardening schemes continue apace. Yesterday, I helped her with some weeding. Alongside roses and other flowers, we are growing some potatoes and tomatoes. The spuds came from some shop-bought ones that sprouted and we planted on the off-chance. The tomatoes came all the way from Lincolnshire. More of them to follow.

For now,

Good night.