Get your big girl knickers on


You know that golden hour ? The one hour of the day when all the chores are done and you can lounge around watching telly in your jammies safe in the knowledge that visitors won’t be turning up at that time. That one hour to do whatever you like without that little voice whispering in your ear, “shouldn’t you be…….”

I was spending that hour watching Russell Howard last night. On TV I hasten to add, not in a stalky or creepy ‘get into my car and I’ll give you something you didn’t expect ‘ kind of way.

Naturally, about three nanoseconds after the programme started there was an ad break.

What caught my attention was the image of a youngish woman pulling on what looked like a pair of potty training pants. Eh?

The next thing I see is a roomful of women in tight jeans dancing around, presumably all wearing incontinence knickers and happily pissing themselves while they danced.

WHAT? !?!?!

Let me tell you something, girls. As much as the marketing people might like you to think its normal to pee your pants at the drop of a hat ( or a knicker ) it’s not. See your doctor !

As for that ‘oops moment’ ad when the woman gets her dress caught in a lift door and flashes her incontinence knickers to a chap as she gives him a saucy wink, presumably while she pisses herself, don’t even get me started. Oops moment? I’d be effing mortified! Again: SEE YOUR DOCTOR!

I think it’s disgraceful that the media is allowed to mislead women into thinking that loss of bladder control is normal. Honestly, what companies will do to earn money never ceases to amaze me.

Rant over.

Douggie the Dancing Dog


It’s a little known fact that Boofuls and I are keen ballroom dancers.We’ve been dancing together for about 27 years.

Well, I say keen dancers, we used to be until Boofuls’ hips decided to give up the ghost. Now we just go along for a lesson once a fortnight but haven’t actually gone out dancing for quite some time. It’s never crossed my mind to find a new dance partner – until now, that is. A certain blonde haired young man called Douggie.

Move over Boofuls, Douggie Dancing Dog is here.

We actually made it to our club’s HTM competition last weekend and what a weekend it was. Even turning up was quite an achievement when you consider that of the four competitions we’ve entered, we missed one because of his epilepsy, we competed in one in May and gained a 6th and then a 7th place. Then we missed another competition because of his tummy upset, which he swiftly followed up with a major fit, that was a week from hell, that was. Over the last couple of weeks though all has been peaceful on the health front. I was quietly hoping that we might actually *whisper it* get to compete in our club’s competition. I kept my fingers and toes crossed and hoped for the best.

It’s not always been an easy ride this HTM lark. Douggie’s epilepsy quite often makes him tired so we have to go easy on the training with short bursts of as little as ten seconds several times a day. At the club we often sit out of the training out so he doesn’t get over tired. Other times he’s raring to go but he’s a sandwich short of a picnic and he forgets quite a lot so we have to go right back to basics. Sometimes we have a lovely time training and he amazes me with his skill and just occasionally he really can’t be bothered in which case we go and do something else instead.

It’s been challenging, frustrating, infuriating, joyful, character building, inspiring and downright blooming good fun. I know we’ll never get to Cruft’s but that has never been my intention, this is a just hobby and bonding time for me and my boy and we both love doing it.

On Thursday night, club night, he gets all excited while I get his treats ready and we make our way to training where he can see all his mates and have a great time.

I’d entered us into four rounds: starters heel work x 2 and starters freestyle x 2. I knew we’d have no chance in the heel work as we’d not even put a routine together, I just thought it would be good experience in the ring for him and we could use it as a training round and have a bit of fun with no pressure. Good job really, what a load of old cobblers we were in the first round. I don’t know about being a sandwich short of a picnic – the whole bloody picnic went AWOL. What a disaster. However, during his second attempt I thought I’d see it thorough to the end and we got 5th place! No one was more surprised than me.

The freestyle we’ve been working on for a while but it’s all a bit hit and miss. I think the technical term is an ‘on the the day dog’. We started the routine and he stayed with me but without much enthusiasm. I expected it all to fall apart at any moment and then – he decided he wanted to join in after all and guess what?

We won!! Both rounds! I’m so very proud of him that I could burst.

Douggie the Dancing Dog

Here’s the routine on YouTube. Remember if you watch it, it’s starters HTM. Don’t be expecting Ashleigh and Pudsey. Hey, I was just thrilled when Douggie joined in about halfway through, up until that point I was just dancing round like a twonk!

 http://youtu.be/_C9itToXqdc

Can dogs tell the time?


Victoria Stillwell, the goddess of dog training put an article on her Facebook page this morning which I found quite interesting. It was about whether or not dogs could tell the time. Here is the full article but just in case you don’t want to go and read it I’ll give you the highlights.

Anyone who has owned a dog knows that when it gets to walkie time or dinnertime your pooch will be at your side, sticking a wet slobbery nose onto you to inform you that it’s time to stop what you’re doing and get on with the much more important task of being a dog owner.

The article discusses exactly this and debates whether dogs and other animals really know what time of day it is, whether their actions are determined by learned behaviours and or whether they pick up on other clues such as the length of shadows. It’s an interesting read but my feelings are that much more research is needed as they haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.

Douggie the doggie’s own routine dictates that I can have exactly half an hour after getting out of bed to drink a cup of coffee and do a bit of facebooking and general catching up with the world. Once my allotted time has elapsed he’ll come and sit by my side sighing and staring pointedly at me until I shift my ample behind and get him out for his morning walk. Nothing too incredible about that, I suppose.

What I do find incredible though is that when either Boofuls or I have gone out anywhere in the car Douggie will carry on with his usual activities, usually sleeping, until suddenly he will sit bolt upright and go and stand at the patio door staring intently up the track. His behaviour is so specific that for some time we used to get up to go and se what he was looking at and of course there was nothing there.

Somehow he knows when we have almost arrived home and turned off the lane onto the farm track even though it’s several hundred yards away and round two corners. A good two or three minute drive from home. He can’t possibly see, hear or smell our approach, not even with the hot weather we had recently when the word of the day was s.w.e.a.t.y. It doesn’t matter if it’s day or night so we can’t say that he saw headlights in the distance.

How on earth does he do this? Is it some kind of sixth sense? Is he psychically tuned in to us? Have you had experience of your dog knowing when something is about to happen?

Moving onwards and upwards – well some of us are.


What an absolutely brilliant day Monday was. It was one of those days that stays in your memory forever. A rare, happy go lucky, relax and enjoy day.

Just like the when the stars come into line, all the events worked out and I found myself in the happy position of playing host to all three grandchildren. Happy day indeed, especially as they were all in a good mood and in high spirits. As the sun was shining and the day was neither too hot nor too cold, neither too windy nor too still, we decided to take the dog for a walk up a nearish by big hill. The clingons thought that was a real adventure so we packed supplies to keep them going on the arduous journey. Cartons of juice and sweeties, what more does an adventurer need to keep their strength and spirits up?

Douggie the doggie came along as well and decided that he wanted to be a real golden golden retriever instead of his usual white so he found a ditch full of orange muddy water to wallow in. Dear Lord, what a mess.

Other than that we had a delightful walk and even managed to find a geocache. Dangerous was the team leader for that one. Taking the directions quite literally and taking us in a line as straight as an arrow to the cache, she plunged straight off the path and onto the heathery moor sinking right up to her knees in the springy moss. Poor old Batty was terrified but bravely carried on when she’d have been perfectly entitled to have sat that one out. She really is an inspiration. It was worth the trauma she endured though because she was thrilled when she actually found the cache. Munki couldn’t wait to get her head into it to see what the treasure was. Such a lot of excitement for a plastic container with a pen that didn’t work, a small note book and a few miniature plastic toys. We celebrated by cracking open a box of butterscotch sweets, eating them with relish as we enjoyed the amazing view and congratulating ourselves on being brilliant treasure hunters.

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Later in the afternoon I had to take Pebbles, yes, the very one that this blog is named after, to the vet for a pedicure. I dropped two of the clingons off at home and took Munki with me. Pebbles, always a timorous wee beastie, has grown even more timid as she’s got older. Estimates vary as to her exact age but we know for a fact that the least she is is twenty and possibly as old as twenty two. She deserves to be handled with a bit of care. The vet picked up the clippers and took a chunk out of the first toenail. None too gentle as she did it she also took a chunk of the poor little cat’s toe as well. There was blood everywhere. I was not best pleased. Eventually we got the rest of the claws clipped and Pebbles slunk gratefully back into the safety of her box, the very same box I’d fought to get her into an hour before. Poor thing was traumatised, she wouldn’t come near me for the rest of the day but at least she can all comfortably now – or will when that wound heals.

On the way home from the vet’s I dropped Munki off at Lashes’ work. There is a new sign offer the door. RECEPTION. “Nanny, why does it say reception?” “Well, that’s how people know where to go when they come to visit. “Mummy works in reception, doesn’t she? That means when I go back to school I’ll be in year one but Mummy will still be in reception!”

Hahaaaaaaaa. She’ll go far, that child!

Leave it airt!


Lesley:

My Far Fetched Friend inspired me to re-blog this. Enjoy it while they’re little, eh?

Originally posted on Tripping over Pebbles in the Dark:

You may not know this but my Boofuls is a southerner, or as northern folks say, ‘poncey southerner’.  He hasn’t lived in the south for many years though and has largely lost his southern accent. The odd ‘northernism’started to creep in a long time ago, although he’d never admit it, Many’s the time I’ve caught him saying  things like: “I’m going for a bath.”  at which point I gleefully reply ” Bath”? Did you say just say bath?”

“No. No. I said barth.” he  always replies in his best received pronunciation. I half expect him to say ‘Ding Dong’ at the end of a sentence and give me a saucy wink while he twirls his handlebar moustache, he sounds so much like Terry Thomas.

Southern accents, to a born and bred northerner, are generally to be treated with suspicion, in fact anyone with a southern accent is considered to be…

View original 456 more words

hoe-ass


Being born and bred in Littletown as she was I suppose that it was inevitable that despite half of her family coming from outside the area Munki was going to pick up the local accent.

It wasn’t too bad while she was at nursery school but once she started at ‘big’ school the full Littletown accent has come to the fore. Oh Dear Lord.

ELOCUTION LESSONS NEEDED OVER HERE, STAT!!

Only last week she was telling me about a beautiful hoe-ass she’d seen.

“A beautiful WHAT?!?!?

“Hoe-ass, Nanny.”

“Did you mean ‘horse?”

“That’s what I said, hoe-ass.”

“No. You said hoe-ass. Try saying horse.”

Quick as a flash she replied, “Ok Nanny, I know what to say: “Pony!”

Clever clogs. Had she not pronounced it as pawny it would have been hysterical.

She really has a a veritable smorgasbord of witty and clever comebacks. Not bad for a five year old. I always used to tell Lashes that one day she’d have to deal with a child like herself and I’d stand back and laugh and laugh while reminding her that she was exactly the same at that age. Well. Here it is. Retribution time, Lashes! Heh. Funny isn’t it how what goes around comes around? God help us all when MUnki’s fifteen. Then she’ll be witty, clever AND have an attitude as well as have the ability to come up with a really reasoned argument as to why we should allow her to something completely unreasonable.

Anyway, let’s put the ghost of Christmas future back in it’s box and return to the present day: Munki’s little Littletownisms, while they usually make me laugh also assault my ears and make them bleed a bit when I hear them.

It’s not long ago that she was telling me that one of her friends had a toe itch that they’d taken to skoowul. “A toe itch? Have they got athletes foot?” “GNAW NANNY!! A toe-itch!! To shine a light with.”

“A torch! Why didn’t you say so?”

The word ‘more’ has turned into ‘mowah’ ‘short’ has turned into ‘show-ert’ Just about every single syllable word has had an extra syllable added but on the other hand letters, and in fact whole words, are frequently left out of sentences. For example: ‘I’m going bed now.’ GAAAAHHH ‘TO’ bed!I’m going TO bed. It’s not difficult!!

Recently I heard: “I keep getting texies “It took just about all the resolve I had not to walk over and quietly whisper ‘texts’ in her ear. It’s not unusual in shops and pubs to hear people asking for a packet of crisp. Crisp? Crisp what? Do you mean crisps? No wonder visitors from outside of the area think all northerners are thick.

Moving on before I bust a blood vessel:

I popped into the local beauty salon for an eyebrow wax and tint. Due to my unusually tender and delicate skin I ended up with my poor eyebrow area all red and swollen. Not only that but the beautician had obviously misunderstood when I said I like my brows arched and gave me at the whole McDonald’s golden arch shape – except in dark brown, not gold. That would be silly. I left the salon looking like a sad clown with my big semicircular brows and red face.

When I got home Boofuls took one look at me and asked me why I got my eyebrows waxed and tinted. “To make them more prominent and frame my face.” “Mission accomplished” he said in a scathing tone and just walked off, leaving me standing there now looking and feeling like a sad clown. Harsh.

Let’s have a public flogging!


Social media has become a massive part of the lives of many people. I quite often hear the question, ‘Twitter or Facebook?’ A few years ago I would have looked at the questioner as if they needed mental health care for asking such a seemingly stupid question. Now I don’t even blink before answering “Facebook.”

Answering Facebook immediately marks me down as being less posh and more working class that a Twitter user. “Oh! My twitter was going mad last night.” is a comment I’ve heard more than one occasion and on more than one occasion it’s made me titter like a schoolboy. Oo-er missus, how’s yer twitter tonight?

I like Facebook. I like the fact that it keeps me in touch, if only in a tiny way, to people I would otherwise have lost touch with completely, people we have met on holiday, distant family, dog club friends and so on. I like the jokes, the platitudes and the photographs, it makes me feel connected.

It seems to be turning into a repository for posts about lost dogs, cats and kids, a selling forum. Recently though I’ve noticed that Facebook is taking a more sinister turn, into a lion’s den into which the accused, guilty or not are thrown in to be mauled without mercy. It seems to me that anyone who feels they have been wronged in any way thinks it’s ok to potentially destroy the life of another person. “Share the hell out of this and make the bastard’s life a misery!” “Who knows this person? Let’s name and shame them.”

Only yesterday a very nice person, a dog trainer, put on a post about how a puppy had turned up in her class after having previously been to a trainer who’s training methods were at best questionable. The point of her post being that the puppy now has issues it didn’t have before and has lost it’s trust in humans and that positive training methods are the best training methods. It’s an emotive issue, I totally get that. Animal cruelty, or indeed any kind of cruelty, I find abhorrent.

While the person who posted about the incident kept it factual and civilised the number of people who jumped onto the bandwagon with suggestions that the other trainer be publicly shamed, victimised and even physically attacked really shocked me. A long stream of comments become more and more abusive as they day went on. It quickly turned into an angry and abusive mob. All of these people with such strong feelings should be contacting the proper authorities if they have genuine concerns but instead they choose to mouth off instead.If only this was an isolated incident but it’s far from it.

It seems to be becoming socially acceptable to behave like a thug online. To attack, insult, hurt, argue and generally make the life of another person a misery and potentially destroy them. A forum that I’m certain was built with with nothing but good intentions has turned into a platform in which the worst of human nature comes to the fore at the touch of a keypad. It saddens and sickens me.

One of these previously mentioned platitudes turned up the other day asking how you would explain to an alien visiting our planet that we have a resource that gives us the knowledge of the whole world at our fingertips and yet we use it to look at cute and funny pictures of cats and get into arguments with total strangers. Food for thought.

What are your thoughts?

A few photos of Douggie


The sun has most certainly got his hat on this week. We’ve been basking in the sun now for ages and it’s getting hotter and hotter. Now when I say we’ve been basking I mean other people have been basking. Isn’t it funny how when you use a word a lot it starts to sound funny. I think I shall juts keep inserting the word ‘basking’ wherever I can in this post purely for my own amusement.

I haven’t been basking. I’ve been hiding in the shade quietly dissolving. It is without any fear of contradiction from women of a certain age such as myself that the combination of hot weather and hot flushes in in no way pleasant and definitely makes basking, unless it’s in a pool, a ‘not going to happen’ event.

Anyway, now we’ve resolved the basking issue. Let’s talk about Douggie.

His model good looks and a beautiful sunset the other night triggered my photographer reflex and I grabbed a camera to get a few shots.

There is no doubt about it, the boy’s a looker. Good looks and brains – he’s got the lot!

Talking of brains – and in Douggie’s case occasionally misfiring brains, Boofuls spotted the onset of a seizure the other day. Without hesitating, which is a good job or it would have been too late, he gave Douggie a dose of belladonna and stopped the seizure in it’s tracks. WELL DONE BOOFULS!!! He’s broken the two week seizure cycle! For the first time in three months Doggie has been seizure free for over two weeks. YAY!

(Grammar rule about to be broken alert!!)

Because Douggie has been having so many seizures it was with a heavy heart that we made the decision to try him on conventional medicine. We took him yesterday to pick up a new but less dangerous epilepsy drug called Pexion. I haven’t given it to him yet. I can’t quite bring myself to do it, especially after the brilliant result with the homeopathic remedy the other day. The trick is catching it. If we can see it coming we can stop it. The jury is still out on whether I administer it or not. It seems like a sledgehammer to crack a nut.

Moving on: Here are the photographs I know you’ve been dying to see: Douggie in al his glory.Copyright

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