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.
It wasn’t a completely lucky strike on my part. I knew a thunder storm had been forecast so I took my camera to bed with me. It was a hot and humid night and I was struggling to sleep so when the storm started, around 2.30 a.m. I was ready. The weather forecast made it sound like it was going to be really dramatic but it wasn’t. The thunder rumbled and grumbled and the lighting was mostly hidden behind the clouds so I’m really chuffed with what I got. Can I go back to bed now, please?
After the previous week and all it’s dramas Boofuls and I needed a few days by the seaside, beside the sea.
In a rare moment of forethought we’d already booked a caravan in Paignton so once all our guests had left we headed of down south for a few days of relaxation. It’s a shame Douggie was still so poorly, he really could have done without a six hour journey but we stopped to give him plenty of breaks and to be honest I think he just needed to sleep.
Now, when I say a few days of relaxation I mean that that was the plan. It took four days for us to remember how to be on holiday. We were suddenly free to do whatever we wanted but somehow couldn’t work out how to do it. We’d make plans which never came to fruition as we kept going off half cocked and messing it all up. Once my eyeballs had stopped rolling round in my head and I calmed down enough not to snap at the slightest provocation and Boofuls recovered his equilibrium we actually had a really nice time.
Douggie didn’t help matters much. We’d just settled down on our second evening there with a nice bottle of wine, courtesy of one of the party guests, to watch my favourite ever film, Strictly Ballroom, when Douggie had a fit.
Honestly, we must have been bad buggers in a previous life because we are bloody well paying for it now. My Mum used to have a saying that really niggled me. Every time something went wrong she’d take it personally and her favourite saying was , “Well that’s another kick in the teeth.” Last week I totally related to that phrase. We really did feel like we’d had a good kicking. Douggie having a fit was the final straw. There was tears and snot everywhere, even normally calm Boofuls was beside himself. We ended the day silent and upset.
The next morning we had a meeting with the bank manager about our proposed move to Devon. See, told you we didn’t know how to be on holiday, we were still in our business heads while we were there. Anyway, As you can imagine there was a fair amount of trepidation, particularly as we were both feeling like the universe was conspiring against us. We both feared the worst.
The meeting went better than I could ever have dreamed possible. After we left the meeting we took a phone call and got some more excellent news. Could have……whisper it…..finally turned a corner? It actually feels like we may have.
Boofuls and I celebrated that night, raising our glasses and drinking a toast to corners. Here’s hoping.
Douggie the doggie’s health continued to improve, maybe it had something to do with the sea air. He was able to summon up enough energy for a rampage round on the beach and then he’d have to sleep for a few hours to get ready for the next adventure. You’ll be glad to know he’s completely back to his old self now.Here are a few of our holiday snaps:
Oh yes!!! Quick update courtesy of Annabelle who jogged my memory. On the day of Boofuls’ party we also had viewers for the house! I had to make it all look like a show home as well as everything else. No pressure!!
This post actually started on Wednesday night and has been done in disjointed sections. It’s a bit like my brain at the mo – disjointed sections.
It’s ok. It’s not the big brother house but it is 3 a.m. So.
Where am I at such an ungodly hour? Answers on a postcard please. The best answer will win a snort of approval from me.
Where am I really?
I’m at the emergency vets with Douggie the doggie. Here he is drugged and dripped.
It’s been a funny, and by funny I mean strange, week. After all these weeks we have a viewer for our house … What? Tell you about Douggie? I will. All in good time, dear reader.
Obviously this viewer could only come in the most inconvenient time possible. Friday. Exactly when I am cooking for 50 people who are turning up from all corners if the British Isles to help us celebrate Boofuls’ 60th birthday. It’s a good job dawn cracks about 3.30 at this time year because that’s when I’ll need to get up to get everything done.
Just to throw a couple more spanners in the works. The tiler didn’t turn up till today and only did half the job and the builder didn’t show up at all. Git.
The outside privy isn’t working and we have one loo to service 50 people. No pressure. I fuckin’ love life.
Back to Douggie:
First thing this morning Douggie threw up. In an attempt to stop the vom hitting the carpet I caught it in my nightie. Ew. Douggie continued to throw up all day becoming worse as the day wore on.
We took him to the vet who drugged him with some hefty drugs, to no avail. He continued to deteriorate.
At the point when he couldn’t lie down because of the pain and he was becoming confused due to dehydration I decided at 1a.m. to phone the emergency vets – and here I am. This is one poorly doggie.
Fast forward to today.
Douggie is almost back to normal after being on a drip for two days and having massive amounts of drugs. The exact cause of his illness wasn’t established despite many blood tests and x rays and £1000+.
Best guesses are pancreatitis, gastroenteritis and poisoning.
We picked him up from the vet’s on Friday.
Remember I mentioned Friday?
Ah yes, Friday.
The day of Boofuls’ birthday. The day of Boofuls’ party. The day we had viewers for the house and the day I had to cater for many people and prepare for a massive party. The day that some of the guests turned up mighty early. The day my brother decided to drop by.The day the weather that had been glorious for weeks decide to change and deliver many weeks worth of howling wind and rain all at once.
The day I was tearing my hair out.
The only possible course of action was to get my head down and keep paddling.
The poor dog could really have down without a massive party, I’m sure his attitude to it was the same as mine, that he really wished it wasn’t happening – but it was, so get on with it.
You know what?
It was alright.
It was better than alright, it was brilliant. Guests were told not to feed the dog. We had decorated the barn with fairy lights and chinese lanterns and it looked lovely. The plus side of that was that the house was kept relatively quite. We put up a canopy outside so there was shelter for the smokers and it was all really nice.
I’d very cleverly prepared food that didn’t require too much attention. Two potato and meat pies, one butter pie, a chilli, a chicken curry, a cheese platter, a large joint of beef cooked beautifully rare and some other bits and pieces. Lashes, Gembolina, Len’s mum and Big Marge all brought stuff as well and The Rev made a fantastic birthday cake. Winklepop made a point of looking after Douggie for me.
All in all it was a successful night and we didn’t get to bed till 3.00a.m. Just before we set off to bed Boofuls decided to have his final fag. Now stop it you Americans!! Fag means cigarette in Blighty.
I was tidying the kitchen when suddenly I heard a howl from outside. “Oh no!!!” The canopy had finally given up the ghost and collapsed, depositing all the rain collected on top of it – straight onto Boofuls. Oh! How I laughed. Especially since I’d had my own soaking earlier in the evening.
Why did I get a soaking?
Well, dear reader, let me tell you.
About a week ago one of my friends was nominated for ‘the water challenge’. It’s just a bit of summer silliness and it just means that you allow yourself to get a soaking and post a video of it on Facebook. She in turn nominated me.
Just about exactly at that rime I got an email from Cancer Research suggesting that we hold a BBQ in aid of their ‘Burger off Cancer’ campaign. Hhhmmm, I could probably incorporate this into the party and do a bit of fund-raising at the same time, I thought.
Lashes had the brilliant idea of auctioning of jugs of water to the guests so they could throw it over me. I was gutted how many people were willing to pay money to throw water over me.
It’s been warm here at Boofuls Towers.
We aren’t used to it being warm. We get as much sunshine as everyone else but are more used to shivering in a stiff breeze while the rest of the country basks in their back gardens enjoying the glorious weather. Oh well, that’s the price you pay for living on the top of a mountain I suppose. It’s not windy at the moment, it’s just hot and sticky.
While we are on the subject of the rest of the country – you may or may not have noticed that there has been more football than normal on tv. Ah yes, the World Cup. Sigh. The four yearly footy fest that causes us such angst time after time.
Here in good old Blighty, still clinging on to 1966 and hoping for a long overdue repeat performance, we get the flags out and festoon our houses with them in readiness for the same.
By we, obviously I mean the rest of the country. Personally I would rather watch paint dry than watch football or indeed any sport but shhh…I don’t want lynching by the hoards of people who seem to enjoy sport.
The streets echoed with cries spilling out of pubs and houses all over the country: ” INGERLUND! INGERLAND! GO ON INGERLUND!” That is until we were quickly and ignominiously ejected from the competition. Honestly, it was hardly worth the pilot of the jet the players arrived in turning off the engines. He might as well just have kept it ticking over.
The streets are now bare of flags and bunting and the cries have been silenced. Oh well, you have to applaud the fans’ optimism. I have to say I find it slightly offensive that our English flag so often has the word ‘England’ printed on it. I would expect us to recognise our own flag without prompts – or is that just me?
Anyway, that’s the World Cup covered. Let’s get back to the plot.
It’s been warm here at Boofuls Towers.
As it’s been so hot here at Boofuls Towers, we have been sleeping with the windows open at night. Unable to sleep because I was still fired up from the paint I’d been watching dry, I got up to go to the bathroom. I don’t put the light on because I know my way to the bathroom quite well.
Something touched my hand.
Oh my God! What was that?
I ran back to my bedroom in a panic.
Boofuls, having been forcibly ejected to the spare room for snoring, was still sleeping soundly, the racket emanating through the door told me that. No help from that quarter then.
There was no way I was going back onto the landing. I planned to just close the door tight and wait till morning. Oh wait. I needed a wee. I really needed a wee. Dagnabbit. Why is there never an en-suite when you need one?
Hhmm, what to do? That sounded like I was calm. I wasn’t calm, my heart was beating like a drum.
The thought process went a bit like this: If I put the light on then whatever it is will come towards the light and towards me. If I don’t put the light on then whatever it is will be loose in my house and I really, really need a wee.
I put the light on. OH MY GOD!!!
A bat was flying around the landing. A bat!!! It must have come in my bedroom window. OH MY GOD! THERE WAS A BAT IN MY ROOM!!
While all this was going through my mind the bat did as I feared it would and flew towards the light – straight into my bedroom.
So much for my plan not to disturb Boofuls. In a situation like this you need a man.
“BOOFULS! A BAT! THERE’S A BAT!! THERE’S A BAT IN THE BEDROOM! GETITOUTGETITOUTGETITOUT!!!!
Poor old Boofuls has never woken up so fast, I think he thought the house was on fire. Bless him. He immediately took charge while I cowered in the bathroom. He managed to get the bat out without hurting it just by wafting a towel around every time it flew towards him. Eventually it got the idea and flew back out of the window.
Ugh. The strange thing is, I didn’t know I was scared of bats – not until one flew into me in the dark. The rest of the night I spent in a sweltering hot room with the windows tight shut, dreaming about vampires.
I came across this earlier and immediately thought of my Far Fetched Friend who likes a word game. So. Vanessa, this is just for you.
The word ‘STARTLING’ is one of the only words in the English language where removing one letter at a time yields a new word:
St r ing
S t ing
Heh. Happy Sunday!
Well, it’s actually the field next to the garden but it’s close enough.
Resorting to desperate measures to sell the house because the witchcraft didn’t work, I decided to go out and shoot a few pictures for advertising it in different places. These lovely horses just happened to be in the next field and took flight as I startled them. Not literally took flight, then they wouldn’t be horses would they? Then they’d be …….pegasuses? Pegasi?
Answers on a postcard – or just enjoy the picture.
Here’s the actual garden.
You know how people sometimes ask you a question just so they can get your answer out of the way and talk about themselves?
Well, I’ve just done it to you. Sooooo, let’s talk about me.
What’s my favourite time of year?
Hhhhhmmmmmm, let’s have a think.
I love summer for the light nights. Going to bed at 11.30 and there still being some light in the sky just makes me happy. I don’t know why, silly, isn’t it?
I love summer for the sunshine and the warmth. Going out without a fleece or a coat, even into the evening? Wow! That makes me feel like I’m on a foreign holiday and I like that feeling.
I love the combination of bright colours and the high contrast when the sun is shining. Ok, that’s the photographer in me, but have you ever marvelled at the sheer blueness of the sky when it’s really blue? It’s amazing. Just me then? Dang.
I love the smell of the woods when the weather is hot. No, not the dog poo, tune that bit out. I’m talking about the scent of the pine and that dry tree smell. It transports me to Greece in my mind and I like that.
Pimms, white zinfandel, gin and tonic and other summer drinks that it just seems wrong to drink at other times of year. Some drinks just have summer written on every ice cube. I love the summer fetes, the barbecues, the bunting.
I hate the flies, particularly the horse flies who seem to head straight for me to take a chunk out of me and to add insult to injury I get an allergic reaction which is very painful. While we’re on the subject of insects. I hate flies in my kitchen *shudders* midges who won’t et us sit out at night and general creepy crawlies.
I hate being hot. I am a plant of the tender varietal and can’t tolerate being in the sun or getting overheated. as much as I love the hot weather I can’t actually be in it. Anything over about sixteen degrees makes me wilt and get headachy and tetchy. At the moment in this glorious weather I’m sidling along in a decidedly shifty fashion trying to keep in the shade. I don’t keep these youthful good looks by allowing the sun on my face. Oh dear me, no.
I hate the pond life that seeps out of Jeremy Kyle’s studio and onto the streets, walking round with cans of beer in their hands and shouting. I also hate the assault to my eyeballs when stout, portly or downright fat men decide to walk round topless. Bleurgh. Similarly for the ladies who walk round in outfits so small and tight that they look like an overstuffed sausage.
MY EYES!!! MY EYES!!!!!
Ok, just take a deep breath, avert your eyes and look at the sky. Oooh, pretty. That’s better.
Blimey. I didn’t realise I had so much to say about summer. I might have to call this ‘part one’ and do it in instalments. I’m guessing four should cover it. What do you think?