We hate Donald Trump!

Serious matters today folks.

We went for a walk by the sea at Balmedie earlier today. (Oh don't fuss, yes OF COURSE I've recovered from last Sunday. I wasn't really that tired you know...)

There's a wonderful beach, HUGE sand dunes, interesting little creeks with unusual wildflowers. All unspoilt, peaceful, pristine.

Gail told me that I could go exploring anywhere. So it was a bit of shock when we came across this sign:

What on earth could be going on?

Well.

Apparently some horrid man called Donald Trump has bought the land and is going to build a golf couse, a HUGE high rise hotel and about a thousand houses. He says the area will be "improved".

But how can you improve on what is already perfect?

Well I bounced right past the sign and went exploring anyway. (Don't worry, my American friends, you're not allowed to shoot trespassers here).

I promised Gail I would try out my brand new teeth if we came across this Trump character.

So, truth to tell, I was just a wee bit disappointed that he was nowhere to be seen.

PS I hope you like my new sand-in-the-beard look? It means you get that extra tingling sensation when I kiss....

Dog poop - it's a gas!

Doggie pals, are you fed up of being thought a drain on our planet's resources?

Would you like to 'DO' something for the environment?

Then how about this for a fine idea from the Park Spark project?

You know how, when you go to the park, you take a human servant along and they will pick up any 'little messes' you leave behind and put them in a smelly old bin.

Well, what if, instead of a smelly old bin, your poo got fed into an 'anaerobic digester'? That's a fancy term for an underground container full of microbes which can transform your poop into methane gas and so produce renewable energy.

Here's how it's supposed to work:

The energy generated could be used to light the park at night. Or to fuel an ice-cream cart (just wishful thinking....)

I don't think that they have any of these systems up and running yet.

Spiffing wheeze though isn't it?

PS from Gail: Readers may not know that my day job is co-ordinating a project called MethaneNet, which aims to promote communication between methane researchers. It's amazing what you come across in the line of duty....Meanwhile, Bertie is being rested up this week after Sunday's exertions.

A Simply Splendid Sunday Stroll in Sometimes Sunny Scotland

Actually it wasn't a stroll at all it was a VERY LONG WALK with Gail and her friends Kate and Henry.

And I had SO much work to do. For instance, waking Henry from his post-lunchtime nap.

Meanwhile, I am learning fast about this posing business.

But I have no idea what Kate thought was so funny at this particular moment.

It was a lovely walk, but also VERY LONG.

And I was very happy when, eventually, we got back to Kate and Henry's cottage.

PS From Gail: Bertie has not been weighed lately, but I can report with confidence that he is now far too heavy to carry comfortably in my arms for the last two miles of a seven mile hike....

Nature red in tooth and claw...

Scientists are always arguing about Nature versus Nurture.

One of the things you have to put up with if you live in a scientific household is that your human is endlessly speculating about the origins of your behaviour.

Take toys for example. Just something to play with, right? Some are more fun than others, end of story?

Oh but no.

You see I have this great little mouse (or is it a hamster?) It was given me by a lovely lady called Diane. I have lots of wonderful toys but this one's my absolute favourite. It's all brown and fluffy and if you pull the tail it vibrates as it scoots across the floor. If I'm quick I can catch it in my mouth mid scoot, and after a few seconds the vibrations cease. I find this immensely enjoyable.

So of course there has to be a theory about why I like this toy best. A certain person, a friend of Gail's whom we shall call 'Rhoderick' ('cos that's his name) put forward the idea that when the vibration stops, it's as if the animal has died, and the reason I like the mouse is that it satisfies some primal urge to kill. An urge not otherwise satisfied if one's food supply comes in the form of dried pellets out of a packet labelled 'Burns Mini Bites'.

Well I wonder what you think about this hypothesis?

Should I be insulted by the implication that I may not be quite as sweet and innocent as I sometimes appear?

Or should I be proud of my killer instincts?

[By the way, for this blog post, Gail wanted me to pose for a photo with the mouse in my mouth, dripping tomato ketchup, but I vetoed the plan on grounds of bad taste. Aren't you glad?]