Saturday, 28 March 2015

On returning to Scotland from Nottingham


No more flatland Trent-side walks
On claggy floodplain clay.
I'm back amongst the heather'd hills
The bonnie banks and braes.

Enough of dismal redbrick towns
And concrete urban sprawl
For now. I'm home, a home that's built
Of silver granite walls.

Goodbye to triffid pylons marching
Over hedgeless fields and wastes.
Hello to birches, burns and bogs.
I'm back. This is my place.


Friday, 27 March 2015

FFHT: Hamish at Cruden Bay

It's Murphy and Stanley's FFHT time again. And after missing the last two months due to Gail being distracted by other matters, we are delighted to be taking part again.



HAMISH AT CRUDEN BAY (OR, WHEN THEY REALLY SHOULD HAVE MOVED THE GOALPOSTS…)

Sometimes, of an evening, when I am cuddled up on Gail's lap, I like to hear stories about my predecessor Hamish the Westie. The best ones are, of course, those in which Hamish commits some dreadful misdemeanour.

This is what Gail related last night:

Bertie, did I ever tell you about the first time I took Hamish for a walk on the beach at Cruden Bay, when he was about four years old? I knew I would remember this incident forever, because of the reaction of the lady who witnessed it…..

It was a lovely sunny afternoon in the middle of summer - well, lovely at least by Aberdeenshire standards. The haar had stayed offshore and, although hardly tee shirt weather, it was warm enough not to need an anorak. Quite a few other folk were enjoying the beach that day, including one family party who were working off their picnic lunch with an impromptu game of football. Discarded clothing served as goalposts. 

Imagine my horror when Hamish made a beeline for the makeshift posts and cocked his leg. Before I could stop him he had generously 'decorated' a jacket made of highly absorbent material. What's worse, a lady about my age, presumably one of the family, was standing right there watching him. 

"Oh I am SO SORRY", I grovelled, "I should have been keeping a closer eye on him, I feel terrible, please you must let me give you some money for dry cleaning, oh dear, Hamish you are a BAD DOG!"

But you know what? The lady just stood there and laughed. 

"Oh don't you worry about it, it's not a problem at all, it's only my husband's jacket!"  


Bertie at Cruden Bay,  June 2014

Wednesday, 25 March 2015

Does such a creature exist?


Coffe shop near Human Granny's new residence

Sunday, 22 March 2015

A new home for Human Granny - mixed emotions

Note from Gail: Due to some scheduling confusion (details too boring to explain), I'm repeat posting this blogpost as I know many of Bertie's friends are concerned about Human Granny. 

I was all bouncing with delight to learn that Human Granny was finally coming out of the rehabilitation hospital this week. I've been so missing her fond pats and her calling me Petsy (no-one else does that). This house in Nottingham feels a bit empty when she's not here.

So then I felt sad when Gail told me that HGY is moving to a new home called 'Westcliffe', where she can be looked after night and day. Gail says it is for the best as she has been very ill indeed and even before that she was struggling so much after Human Grandad died.

Checking out the garden at Westcliffe

Has Human Granny really been so ill? Yesterday Gail took me to see her and she looked better than she has done for, oh, for ever so long. She was sat in a nice comfy chair in a bright room overlooking a well tended garden, reading the paper and appearing content. There were other old ladies in the sitting room, and one of them seemed friendly and gave my ears a rub and told Gail she was born in 1916.

Now relative youngsters like me are all about excitement and new experiences, but Gail tells me when you are older these things get harder, and she suspects Human Granny is wearing a brave face, something her generation are often good at.

But that is so much better than wearing a glum face isn't it?

I have my paws crossed that she will be OK.