Behind schedule?

 

So a couple of friends have been asking if the renovation and remodelling work on the Torridon cottage is yet complete.

While politely reminding my readers that this is supposed to be a dog blog and not a home improvement blog, I am happy to take you for a wee sniff around inside the cottage to see how things are going. 

 

So what do you think? 

Gail recalls how when she first bought the cottage (November 2002) a German neighbour warned her the prevailing attitude in the NW Highlands was deep suspicion of the 'mañana' concept as it implied far too much haste! Over the past few months, the pandemic and associated restrictions + Brexit + Highland Council's slow processing of a building warrant + the particular vagaries of the builder, have all combined to make for slow progress. The delays were to some extent anticipated, and Gail is working hard (and mostly succeeding) at not getting too frustrated by the situation...

And who can feel cross for long when just behind the cottage there are mountains to explore?

That's more like it! 

It's a tough life...

... being always on duty to ensure one's human rouses herself from the sofa and stops reading the newspapers and obsessing about the woes of the world.

But some dog's gotta step up to the plate.

Let's go out! After all, we have a beautiful country to explore.

Liathach

Loch Torridon

The Coulin estate

In Duthie Park

Loch Torridon again

Glen Tanar

Upper Deeside

Glen Muick

All feeing better now?

Crying into my EU flag neckerchief...

In anticipation of my October trip to Germany I have been proudly wearing my EU flag neckerchief these last few weeks.

What a good job it was handy, so Gail could wipe the tears from my eyes (and then her own) when we heard the news from Westminster today...

Not quite 87 hours in Torridon

The March weather has gone a bit bonkers in Scotland - lions and lambs flying in and out and in and out again like nobody's business. So I trust you appreciate the amount of rain, hail, sleet and wind endured to capture on camera the occasional moments of brightness in the Torridon area last weekend.

And I do hope you liked the picture of the Highland Coos searching for the pot of gold. I rarely approve of including photos of non-dog species on this blog, but having first successfully negotiated extra treats, I decided to allow Gail just the one.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. Thank goodness this country has at least one canny negotiator...

An excellent Brexit decision...

Does your human ever tease you in a manner that is SO TOTALLY NOT FUNNY?

Mine does.

For example, on Sunday morning after breakfast, Gail said this to me:

"You know what Bertie? There are some very important Brexit decisions being debated in Parliament this week. It is a matter of great national importance, so I suggest that, instead of our usual Sunday outing, it would be a good idea if we stayed indoors and spent all day reading all the papers and watching our 'commentariat' pontificating on TV about the likely outcomes of Tuesday's vote at Westminster. What do you think Bertie?"

Gail watched my fuzzy little face fall as fast as the pound sterling will in the event of "No Deal", then laughed and said:

"Only kidding Bertie. I think a brisk walk in Glen Tanar is just the pick-me-up we need at this time of political turmoil."

So we put aside the newspaper and headed to Glen Tanar, and this turned out to be an excellent decision.

Although I admit I was a tiny bit miffed to find out that some Capercaillie has apparently taken up residence in my favourite part of the forest and put up a 'do not enter' sign.

So anyway, we diverted to a path across farmland, where Gail insisted on stopping to admire four handsome horses and a procession of very orderly sheep.

All in all, so much better than thinking about Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg...

Bertie deconstructs Brexit, sort of...

Hmmm. It's hard for those of us who live in the UK to avoid the dread topic of 'Brexit' altogether, much though many of us would like to.

First let me belatedly congratulate my fox terrier brethren, pictured below, who took centre stage at a special canine anti-Brexit rally in the autumn last year. Well done my friends - I'm proud of you!

You will have noticed that one of the posters in the photo refers to Brexit as a 'dog's dinner'. Many a commentator over here has made use of the same phrase, or the morning time equivalent, 'dog's breakfast'.

While I understand that this is meant to imply that the whole Brexit business has become one colossal mess (which is undoubtedly true), please forgive me for being a tad pedantic here and regretting the implied slur on the eating habits of my species.

I for one believe that my customary dinner, which consists of kibble with maybe an add-in of 'Butcher's Tripe' for taste, should in no way be used as a metaphor for disorder and confusion.

In fact, I would suggest we might rather look at a certain human's eating habits in this context.

I guess the problem is that describing Brexit as: "A single woman's dinner after a busy day at work, resulting from her googling the random (and probably past their use-by date) contents of her fridge plus the word 'recipe', and conjuring up some bizarre concoction of dubious nutritional value", does not neatly fit into the space allowed for the typical newspaper headline....

If only we could all just agree to 'Remain'...

The Wooferendum

Do you think there's any chance I could persuade Gail to take me on the Wooferendum March on Parliament in London next Sunday?

Oh how I would love to take part.


I fear she might think it expensive to travel down specially from Aberdeen.

But I would only demand a First Class ticket on the train and overnight accommodation at London's most dog-friendly five star hotel.

Cheap at the price if it were to help stop Brexit, don't you think?

PS I'm writing this from prison, Gail having most inconsiderately gone away for a few days with my main alternate carer Yvonne. They sent me these pictures. Can anyone help me find them?

(Apparently this fine fellow is called 'Chispa'.)

A word about Wojtek

I expect you would all prefer that I steered clear of the dreaded topic of Br*x*t.

Well I do try to keep my mind on higher things, but you know how it is, every now and then, something reminds you of what a pickle my country has got itself into.

So on Thursday, en route to Nottingham by train, Gail and I stopped off for a walk around Edinburgh for an hour or so, and we ran into these fine fellows in Princes Gardens.

Meet Wojtek, the brown bear from Syria, adopted by a company of brave Polish soldiers in World War Two. Wojtek helped carry ammunition in the battle against the Nazis at Monte Cassino and had many other adventures before spending the final years of his long and remarkable life in Edinburgh Zoo.

Many Polish soldiers who contributed so much to defending our country settled in Britain after the War (including the fathers of Gail's school friends Bronia and Halina). More recently, of course, large numbers of enterprising Poles have come to the UK for work, enjoying the fruits of decades of peace in the European Union.

Gail and I think we know what Wojtek and his Polish soldiers would have thought of the knaves and fools in charge of this country's future relationship with the rest of Europe.

We visited Human Granny yesterday, and found her in good spirits, if ever more bent and also worried about what sort of a country her grandchildren (who most certainly did not vote for Brexit) will inherit.