It's late on a Saturday evening. The Quirky Muffin has yet to be written. A rejected draft on writing supporting statements for application forms has been, well, rejected. Re-assessing reviews for legendary turkey movies 'Her Alibi' and 'The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou' remain on the slate for future entries. What to fill up the space with this time?
Should this be a commentary on being sick and suffering multiple ice slip abrasions all in one day? Should it be about one of the most stonking defeats ever suffered in 'Ticket to Ride Europe', where not a single route ticket was accomplished? Should it even be about 'The Big Over Easy', that wonderful Jasper Fforde I just finished re-reading for the umpteenth time? It's hard to say. Inevitably, if this goes on, it could end up being a post about what the post could be about. No, that's just too meta, and the Meta Police are already after me for crimes committed in commentaries. When the 'Forbidden Planet' commentary goes up we may all have to hide in the Film Bin Vault until the New Year!
No, no meta, just gibberish. Gibberish is easy with a rusty mind. In fact it's beneficial. The saga of 'Wordspace' has been preoccupying the rusty mind recently, with no end in sight and the perils of a first person narrative weighing it down. Every weakness has a strength on the flipside if you can but find it. We have a narrative wherein there exists a Wordspace, populated by the words of the English language, all of whom are defined mostly - but not totally - by their dictionary meanings. Our protagonist is Mystery, who has to date met a word from another dimension (ie language), been to meet the Silly Stone in the point of intersection between all worlds, discovered another possible invader was loose in the Wordspace, returned to devastation, journeyed to the Zone of Meaningless Jargon to negotiate with and release the destructive words long imprisoned there, and is now somewhat at a loss for things to do while the long wrongly exiled War and friends set out to defend their home space. Mystery is at a loose end... It's entirely possible that his story has finished, and I missed it. Oh no, a missed natural ending?
Blast this coughing. If it weren't so late I would be listening to some Merrison/Williams Sherlock Holmes right now, but it is late, and there is not time. That's a strange thing to say on a weekend! Oh, for those wonderful weekends of not being compelled toward anything! They must have happened sometime, somewhere, and to someone.
O.
Saturday, 13 December 2014
Thursday, 11 December 2014
Story: Oneiromancy, XIII
(Part O , XII , XIV)
The hypnotist's office smelt nice, like a warm loaf of bread straight from the oven. Dr Kibbel stood before the fire, hands steepled before him, his thoughts concealed for now. Stanley lay half-exhausted in one of the easy chairs, watching Kibbel and Helen alternately from beneath half-lowered eyelids. Nothing about being a geography teacher had prepared him for this.
Helen was reading deeply, rubbing her tired eyes from time to time, skimming through the abstracts of academic articles, cuttings from various newspapers, and what looked like signed accounts of tales various and unknown to him. He could swear he had seen one page that looked like a picture of a cute brown donkey pass through her hands as she parsed through. He was willing to bet waitressing hadn't prepared Helen for any of this either.
"Dr Kibbel," Stanley began, "you might try to explain to me what's going on as my friend reads."
"Yes, I might." Dr Kibbel said blankly.
"That's not hugely helpful."
Kibbel shook his head, as if coming out of a trance, as he probably had been from his meditative air. "You're right, you're right, it's not helpful. I had allowed myself to become ensnared in past events. You must both have been through most harrowing events. I still can't believe it's happening. Before I begin I should tell you that I can help you both with your dreams to some extent, but that your only sure recourse for safety is the drastic one of dealing with 'The Tweedy Woman'."
The doctor settled down onto the only spare seat, a stool, and began to tell a story as if they were all out camping in Yosemite instead of in a hypnotist's small rooms in quaint old Britain. "A long time ago, my mother was part of a project called Alpha Dreamline. It wasn't 'hush hush' so much as 'dull dull'. No-one talked about it due to everyone thinking it completely crackers. The theory was that certain people could tap into a communication channel that ran through the collective unconscious. It was one of Jung's pet ideas that he kept under his hat and ran through various friends and students. Mum was apparently a great receiver, but as time went on it became clear that the dreamline had a singularity, an event horizon, a blockage in the line. You get the idea."
Helen was by now listening as well. "Yes, we've met the blockage in question."
"And you've named her, we'll assume it's definitely a her for now, 'The Tweedy Lady'." An ironic grin touched his lips for a moment, before an incoming iciness. "She has a lot to answer for. For decades now Alpha Dreamline has been dead, an artefact of another age, no trial successes, nothing new from past sensitives except for old chatter fading away. Tweedy Lady is exercising her block for all it's worth and the project is all but gone, as are the minds of many a person we think might have been tapped in to the channel. You two are very, very lucky to have not joined those poor souls."
Helen already knew why. "It's not so much luck as force of numbers."
"Yes, somehow your close proximity means you communicate very clearly and act in unison, protecting each other." Kibbel hesitated. "The only horror being possible if either of you were asleep without the other also asleep. But we can fix that to some extent. Our knowledge of the brain has advanced just a little since Alpha Dreamline was in full flight. At least we can ensure that you go to sleep simultaneously."
Stanley Simonson stood up and faced the hypnotherapist. "That all sounds very neat, but how does a hypnotherapist end up with so much information about a non-secret project like this? Just because your mother was part of it?"
"No, because I am still part of it, and now for better or for worse, you both are too."
There shall be more...
The hypnotist's office smelt nice, like a warm loaf of bread straight from the oven. Dr Kibbel stood before the fire, hands steepled before him, his thoughts concealed for now. Stanley lay half-exhausted in one of the easy chairs, watching Kibbel and Helen alternately from beneath half-lowered eyelids. Nothing about being a geography teacher had prepared him for this.
Helen was reading deeply, rubbing her tired eyes from time to time, skimming through the abstracts of academic articles, cuttings from various newspapers, and what looked like signed accounts of tales various and unknown to him. He could swear he had seen one page that looked like a picture of a cute brown donkey pass through her hands as she parsed through. He was willing to bet waitressing hadn't prepared Helen for any of this either.
"Dr Kibbel," Stanley began, "you might try to explain to me what's going on as my friend reads."
"Yes, I might." Dr Kibbel said blankly.
"That's not hugely helpful."
Kibbel shook his head, as if coming out of a trance, as he probably had been from his meditative air. "You're right, you're right, it's not helpful. I had allowed myself to become ensnared in past events. You must both have been through most harrowing events. I still can't believe it's happening. Before I begin I should tell you that I can help you both with your dreams to some extent, but that your only sure recourse for safety is the drastic one of dealing with 'The Tweedy Woman'."
The doctor settled down onto the only spare seat, a stool, and began to tell a story as if they were all out camping in Yosemite instead of in a hypnotist's small rooms in quaint old Britain. "A long time ago, my mother was part of a project called Alpha Dreamline. It wasn't 'hush hush' so much as 'dull dull'. No-one talked about it due to everyone thinking it completely crackers. The theory was that certain people could tap into a communication channel that ran through the collective unconscious. It was one of Jung's pet ideas that he kept under his hat and ran through various friends and students. Mum was apparently a great receiver, but as time went on it became clear that the dreamline had a singularity, an event horizon, a blockage in the line. You get the idea."
Helen was by now listening as well. "Yes, we've met the blockage in question."
"And you've named her, we'll assume it's definitely a her for now, 'The Tweedy Lady'." An ironic grin touched his lips for a moment, before an incoming iciness. "She has a lot to answer for. For decades now Alpha Dreamline has been dead, an artefact of another age, no trial successes, nothing new from past sensitives except for old chatter fading away. Tweedy Lady is exercising her block for all it's worth and the project is all but gone, as are the minds of many a person we think might have been tapped in to the channel. You two are very, very lucky to have not joined those poor souls."
Helen already knew why. "It's not so much luck as force of numbers."
"Yes, somehow your close proximity means you communicate very clearly and act in unison, protecting each other." Kibbel hesitated. "The only horror being possible if either of you were asleep without the other also asleep. But we can fix that to some extent. Our knowledge of the brain has advanced just a little since Alpha Dreamline was in full flight. At least we can ensure that you go to sleep simultaneously."
Stanley Simonson stood up and faced the hypnotherapist. "That all sounds very neat, but how does a hypnotherapist end up with so much information about a non-secret project like this? Just because your mother was part of it?"
"No, because I am still part of it, and now for better or for worse, you both are too."
There shall be more...
Tuesday, 9 December 2014
Serial
Up until 1956 there was an extra element of fun associated with going to the cinema. Not only would you get a couple of movies, the news reel, and some cartoons for your entrance fee, but you might also get to see a chapter of a serial. Yes, the serial stories that infest this show have both cinematic and literary forebears. It seems like a whole other world now, that land of double features, matinees and serials at the cinema house.
My thoughts have been turning towards serials of late after finally beginning to watch the 'Superman' serial from 1948, which along with its sequel form the live action precedent that allowed 'The Adventures of Superman' to land on television. In fact television is what killed off the movie serials, but that would be a subject for minds more learned than mine to expound upon. The serials practically were early television, but far more thrilling than the plays of the week you would find on the magic box in the living room.
How marvelous it must have been to turn up week after week, ready to get that set of celluloid entertainment you were expecting, and wondering how they would resolve that cliffhanger from the week before? Well, I'm assuming that chapters were released weekly, which seems sensible. The 'Superman' serial is brilliant, and so much fun that I'm regretting not having played the DVDs before. With 'Atom Man vs Superman' still to come, and the two Batman serials, a whole new world of fun adventure could blossom before my eyes. The titles of these golden age serials are so tantalising! Oh, how could anyone resist 'King of the Mounties', 'Zorro's Flying Legion', 'The Drums of Fu Manchu', 'Perils of Nyoka', 'Jungle Girl' and all the other serials that flashed before the eyes of all those people? Politically correct? Probably not. Fun? Certainly! Fun fun fun!
Fortunately the serials aren't gone completely; The most popular and iconic ones are out there on DVD, as are the serials that have fallen into public domain. There's even fan work in restoring some notable examples of the form and redistributing them. Oh, some day, some day, we'll all be able to dig into some of the long neglected serials that thrilled people with excitement and peril. Roll on the next job, so some money can be diverted to sampling these pulpy sequences of cliffhangers and resolutions.
Pulp, now that's a theme that's popped up a lot recently...
O.
My thoughts have been turning towards serials of late after finally beginning to watch the 'Superman' serial from 1948, which along with its sequel form the live action precedent that allowed 'The Adventures of Superman' to land on television. In fact television is what killed off the movie serials, but that would be a subject for minds more learned than mine to expound upon. The serials practically were early television, but far more thrilling than the plays of the week you would find on the magic box in the living room.
How marvelous it must have been to turn up week after week, ready to get that set of celluloid entertainment you were expecting, and wondering how they would resolve that cliffhanger from the week before? Well, I'm assuming that chapters were released weekly, which seems sensible. The 'Superman' serial is brilliant, and so much fun that I'm regretting not having played the DVDs before. With 'Atom Man vs Superman' still to come, and the two Batman serials, a whole new world of fun adventure could blossom before my eyes. The titles of these golden age serials are so tantalising! Oh, how could anyone resist 'King of the Mounties', 'Zorro's Flying Legion', 'The Drums of Fu Manchu', 'Perils of Nyoka', 'Jungle Girl' and all the other serials that flashed before the eyes of all those people? Politically correct? Probably not. Fun? Certainly! Fun fun fun!
Fortunately the serials aren't gone completely; The most popular and iconic ones are out there on DVD, as are the serials that have fallen into public domain. There's even fan work in restoring some notable examples of the form and redistributing them. Oh, some day, some day, we'll all be able to dig into some of the long neglected serials that thrilled people with excitement and peril. Roll on the next job, so some money can be diverted to sampling these pulpy sequences of cliffhangers and resolutions.
Pulp, now that's a theme that's popped up a lot recently...
O.
Sunday, 7 December 2014
Curiouser and curiouser
Before beginning in earnest, lets take a moment to think about cheese, and not having read 'Alice In Wonderland' in ages. That really has to pop up onto my 'to do' list. One simply can not keep making these Lewis Carroll quotes without having read the source texts. It's one of the modern day crimes of this Information Age. Oh, the blasted Information Age! I'm fighting another of those crimes right now by reading 'The Tempest' in anticipation of the fan commentary we are going to record for 'Forbidden Planet', so take that, tertiary source biased Information Age. Ha!
Actually, 'The Tempest' is turning out to be quite good. I was expecting the usual Shakespeare awfulness experienced elsewhere; they really choose the dreariest ones to give you at school. Ah, school. It was a good week at school, a thoroughly enjoyable experience. It's true that as an observer you only get the best of things, and that the week was dominated by Christmas rehearsals, but there was still enough to get an assessment of how things work at an effective primary school. Aww, it's so much nicer at primary schools than secondaries. I'm almost smitten by the whole thing, but now remember that this is probably a bit dull for the hypothetical reader. Mutter mutter.
The 'Superman' serial from 1948 is playing as this post gets closer and close to completion. It too is actually very entertaining, although I am wondering how many more times Clark Kent can hide behind a similar rock to change into his Superman costume before the whole thing falls apart completely. However, cynicism has no place here in the context of adventure serials, or anywhere else really. The concept of cynicism is the enemy of practically every entertainment enterprise. Get away, cynics, and learn the joy of wonder once again. Yes, wonder, the antidote to all ills.
A sense of wonder, after some long and repeated thoughts on the subject, dominates a lot of what I seem to enjoy. There seems little point in watching kitchen sink dramas, reading pretentious literary tragedies, or violence fuelled action movies when in other places you can find wonder in its purest forms. That's really what I would hope the power of the movie was back in its heyday: A distilled sense of aspiration and wonder that could then inspire people to be happier in their own lives. Does that still happen? It sounds very much like a topic for another day, in any case, and one that needs time to form so that it doesn't turn into yet another example of old-headed railing about how things aren't what they used to be.
Ah, a week ahead of no scheduled activities. It's going to get curiouser and curiouser, whether our fates are influenced by auspicious stars or not. This Shakespeare guy could write when he was on form, so Project Gutenberg's going to provide a few more of his plays for consideration; anything but 'Macbeth' or 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. Yeesh.
O.
Actually, 'The Tempest' is turning out to be quite good. I was expecting the usual Shakespeare awfulness experienced elsewhere; they really choose the dreariest ones to give you at school. Ah, school. It was a good week at school, a thoroughly enjoyable experience. It's true that as an observer you only get the best of things, and that the week was dominated by Christmas rehearsals, but there was still enough to get an assessment of how things work at an effective primary school. Aww, it's so much nicer at primary schools than secondaries. I'm almost smitten by the whole thing, but now remember that this is probably a bit dull for the hypothetical reader. Mutter mutter.
The 'Superman' serial from 1948 is playing as this post gets closer and close to completion. It too is actually very entertaining, although I am wondering how many more times Clark Kent can hide behind a similar rock to change into his Superman costume before the whole thing falls apart completely. However, cynicism has no place here in the context of adventure serials, or anywhere else really. The concept of cynicism is the enemy of practically every entertainment enterprise. Get away, cynics, and learn the joy of wonder once again. Yes, wonder, the antidote to all ills.
A sense of wonder, after some long and repeated thoughts on the subject, dominates a lot of what I seem to enjoy. There seems little point in watching kitchen sink dramas, reading pretentious literary tragedies, or violence fuelled action movies when in other places you can find wonder in its purest forms. That's really what I would hope the power of the movie was back in its heyday: A distilled sense of aspiration and wonder that could then inspire people to be happier in their own lives. Does that still happen? It sounds very much like a topic for another day, in any case, and one that needs time to form so that it doesn't turn into yet another example of old-headed railing about how things aren't what they used to be.
Ah, a week ahead of no scheduled activities. It's going to get curiouser and curiouser, whether our fates are influenced by auspicious stars or not. This Shakespeare guy could write when he was on form, so Project Gutenberg's going to provide a few more of his plays for consideration; anything but 'Macbeth' or 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. Yeesh.
O.
Friday, 5 December 2014
Television: 'The Adventures of Superman' (1952-1954)
That's not a typo in the title; I know 'The Adventures of Superman' ran from 1952 through to 1958, with an interruption as they switched from black and white to monochrome. This post is going to be about the first two seasons, the ones in black and white, the pulpy ones.
Superman and Batman were created in the late 1930s and both prospered in that pulpy atmosphere of noir, press hounds, and detective stories. Super villains, extensive uses of science fiction, and the trappings of superheroes came later. First and foremost they and other comic book heroes were detectives and/or adventurers, and an investigative reporter was just as much of a detective as a darkly costumed vigilante.
The first two years of 'The Adventures of Superman' and the first year of 'Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman' really tapped heavily into that pulpiness of the character's origins and then lost steam as they lost that thread, the former as they became distracted by colour and the science fiction craze of the time and the latter by a radical change in writing teams and network meddling.
'The Adventures Of Superman' was a show I barely saw as I was growing up. It probably popped up on Channel 4 during it's classic reruns era, before it flipped to only showing sitcoms and then apparently only 'Friends' for a long long time. This was a series that ultimately defined all the superhero shows and movies that would follow for decades, and one that was born out of its radio show predecessor which famously inspired a lot of the earlier stories. This Superman was the first man to fly on screen in live action, as far as I know, as the flying was animated in his earlier movie serials. This Superman was the first screen version to have Clark Kent as the primary character instead of his costumed persona (reversed largely for the colour seasons), and most importantly he had a Lois Lane to really battle for control of the story in Phyllis Coates. Coates played Lois for the first season and was one of the toughest beautiful versions of the character to appear. The criminals sometimes took quite the battering before Superman even appeared!
Lest we forget the immaturity of television at the time, and the immaturity of myself, 'The Adventures of Superman' was mostly seen as a children's show but it was one which had a lot of implied maturity. There was death, there was creepy insanity, and some real peril for the leads. The realness of the actors really lends itself to some real peril, even the sometimes ludicrous Jimmy Olsen does, and it plays with the black and white on many levels. Just like many of the best television series, they ended up making a miniature movie every week, and doing it well.
All these words, and none of them about George Reeves yet, the titular lead. He's probably the best Clark Kent to have ever been cast, and his Superman is no minor achievement either. Watching it in context, which is an essential part of watching most archive television, his confidence is amazing. From the first episode on, he knows exactly how to play the smart and streetwise performer with a glint of fun, and how to wear the sometimes silly muscle suit of Superman without ruining the whole effect. Reeves was the definitive Superman for decades for a reason, and this was the definitive superhero show for that same reason: The whole show committed to internal consistency.
It was a great show, and it still is if you can get into that 1950s mindset, because when Reeves winks at the end you know you're watching something special.
O.
Superman and Batman were created in the late 1930s and both prospered in that pulpy atmosphere of noir, press hounds, and detective stories. Super villains, extensive uses of science fiction, and the trappings of superheroes came later. First and foremost they and other comic book heroes were detectives and/or adventurers, and an investigative reporter was just as much of a detective as a darkly costumed vigilante.
The first two years of 'The Adventures of Superman' and the first year of 'Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman' really tapped heavily into that pulpiness of the character's origins and then lost steam as they lost that thread, the former as they became distracted by colour and the science fiction craze of the time and the latter by a radical change in writing teams and network meddling.
'The Adventures Of Superman' was a show I barely saw as I was growing up. It probably popped up on Channel 4 during it's classic reruns era, before it flipped to only showing sitcoms and then apparently only 'Friends' for a long long time. This was a series that ultimately defined all the superhero shows and movies that would follow for decades, and one that was born out of its radio show predecessor which famously inspired a lot of the earlier stories. This Superman was the first man to fly on screen in live action, as far as I know, as the flying was animated in his earlier movie serials. This Superman was the first screen version to have Clark Kent as the primary character instead of his costumed persona (reversed largely for the colour seasons), and most importantly he had a Lois Lane to really battle for control of the story in Phyllis Coates. Coates played Lois for the first season and was one of the toughest beautiful versions of the character to appear. The criminals sometimes took quite the battering before Superman even appeared!
Lest we forget the immaturity of television at the time, and the immaturity of myself, 'The Adventures of Superman' was mostly seen as a children's show but it was one which had a lot of implied maturity. There was death, there was creepy insanity, and some real peril for the leads. The realness of the actors really lends itself to some real peril, even the sometimes ludicrous Jimmy Olsen does, and it plays with the black and white on many levels. Just like many of the best television series, they ended up making a miniature movie every week, and doing it well.
All these words, and none of them about George Reeves yet, the titular lead. He's probably the best Clark Kent to have ever been cast, and his Superman is no minor achievement either. Watching it in context, which is an essential part of watching most archive television, his confidence is amazing. From the first episode on, he knows exactly how to play the smart and streetwise performer with a glint of fun, and how to wear the sometimes silly muscle suit of Superman without ruining the whole effect. Reeves was the definitive Superman for decades for a reason, and this was the definitive superhero show for that same reason: The whole show committed to internal consistency.
It was a great show, and it still is if you can get into that 1950s mindset, because when Reeves winks at the end you know you're watching something special.
O.
Wednesday, 3 December 2014
Earth Hour
Okay, one more unstructured post before we return to the regular format, mainly due to the dog surviving to bark another day and be generally insane. This is good news. Definitely good news. That and the few days I've spent in a primary school have left me feeling rather creative and positive, and remembering some of the more unusual activities from the past.
In our student house in Nottingham, the housemates and myself established a short-lived tradition of short story reading events on erratically scheduled Sunday evenings, as well as the one-off legendary Earth Hour candlelit dinner. Earth Hour is an annual event where people, buildings and businesses are encouraged to switch off unnecessary lights and electrical items for an hour in the night (8:30 PM to 9:30 PM in UK), all in the spirit of promoting preserving the planet. I really adored Earth Hour, it was great, and right now I'm planning another Earth Hour dinner for 2015.
The environmental message of Earth Hour is an important one, but the event itself is fun without the (potent) ideological backdrop. No money changes hand, even though the event is organised by the World Wildlife Fund, and its influence is purely a symbolic and fun one. Breaking out the candles and unplugging the computers, televisions and radios is always fun! Candlelight isn't just for romantic dinners, but can be used for everything.
Go, Earth Hour!
It is such a relief to be able to relax about things now. Originally the title for this blog was going to 'Reprieves, Greek dance and endless rehearsals' but then the long neglected post on Earth Hour popped out of the list, and refused to go away. All the Greek dance sequences in the Christmas concert rehearsals have softened me to the point that an easy post is the best of all possibilities, as have the budgetary dents of the accumulated Christmas shopping bouts. Earth Hour will cancel out the madness of Christmas shopping. Everyone, we need to turn off from time to time.
O.
In our student house in Nottingham, the housemates and myself established a short-lived tradition of short story reading events on erratically scheduled Sunday evenings, as well as the one-off legendary Earth Hour candlelit dinner. Earth Hour is an annual event where people, buildings and businesses are encouraged to switch off unnecessary lights and electrical items for an hour in the night (8:30 PM to 9:30 PM in UK), all in the spirit of promoting preserving the planet. I really adored Earth Hour, it was great, and right now I'm planning another Earth Hour dinner for 2015.
The environmental message of Earth Hour is an important one, but the event itself is fun without the (potent) ideological backdrop. No money changes hand, even though the event is organised by the World Wildlife Fund, and its influence is purely a symbolic and fun one. Breaking out the candles and unplugging the computers, televisions and radios is always fun! Candlelight isn't just for romantic dinners, but can be used for everything.
Go, Earth Hour!
It is such a relief to be able to relax about things now. Originally the title for this blog was going to 'Reprieves, Greek dance and endless rehearsals' but then the long neglected post on Earth Hour popped out of the list, and refused to go away. All the Greek dance sequences in the Christmas concert rehearsals have softened me to the point that an easy post is the best of all possibilities, as have the budgetary dents of the accumulated Christmas shopping bouts. Earth Hour will cancel out the madness of Christmas shopping. Everyone, we need to turn off from time to time.
O.
Monday, 1 December 2014
A shaky few days
You don't get pets for life, only for the durations of their lives. You love them with the full knowledge that you will almost certainly outlast them, and keep on doing it anyway. It's one of the big things that makes us humans: We do things despite a conscious knowledge of death, while no other Earth species knows what's coming, and sometimes we crack under that knowledge. As you might have gathered, clouds are gathering in the gloom, and the gloom is getting darker.
Our pet is a particularly dopey old English sheepdog who's been barking at me suspiciously for what seems like since time immemorial. One day, an appropriate time after the passing away of the previous pet, I planted the idea of an Old English sheepdog in my parents head, so that they would have something to take care of and take care of them. Little did I know that that the loon they brought back from the pet shelter would be quite so... manic.
(This quarter of the year is demanding so much courage that I might have to send out for some more. The problem with making progress is that you have to manoeuvre around some particularly evil abysses in the process, and those abysses look into you as the sayings do promise.)
So, the first thing to note about Old English sheepdogs is that they love to play tug of war. Also, they herd all the people in the house into one location, lie on their backs and paddle their legs for attention, bark incessantly and guard their food, and in the case of our Crazy Tess adore car journeys to anywhere. She certainly has been an insane dog to have around, breathing life into a stuffy country bungalow in the middle of nowhere. Despite her indifference toward me, which is shared by practically all animals it seems, it's going to be a wrench when she vanishes. I love the crazy hound.
Normally the Quirky Muffin is written in a vaguely non-personal mode, as more of a challenge to the writer, but the secondary and mostly forgotten minor point is to act as something therapeutic. Here, in the shade of a rather wonderful first day of primary school experience - not sold on it yet, but it is far more interesting than secondary teaching - it's nice to talk a little and ponder the meanings of it all as ominous ideas crowd in. Or, perhaps there has been enough of the ponderings already. Even if we are rendered very shortly to be former dog owners, one of the great things about rescued pets is that whatever life you have given them is better than they might have had before or could have had elsewhere. Accentuate the positives, grasp tightly on to every cliché you can find, and never forget. Then, get another pet, something small and docile this time.
The veterinary surgeon summons once again tomorrow, and blood tests will decide all. If only severe stress were compatible with sleep in some way. A third night without the slumber might be pushing it just a little, but what will be will be...
O.
Our pet is a particularly dopey old English sheepdog who's been barking at me suspiciously for what seems like since time immemorial. One day, an appropriate time after the passing away of the previous pet, I planted the idea of an Old English sheepdog in my parents head, so that they would have something to take care of and take care of them. Little did I know that that the loon they brought back from the pet shelter would be quite so... manic.
(This quarter of the year is demanding so much courage that I might have to send out for some more. The problem with making progress is that you have to manoeuvre around some particularly evil abysses in the process, and those abysses look into you as the sayings do promise.)
So, the first thing to note about Old English sheepdogs is that they love to play tug of war. Also, they herd all the people in the house into one location, lie on their backs and paddle their legs for attention, bark incessantly and guard their food, and in the case of our Crazy Tess adore car journeys to anywhere. She certainly has been an insane dog to have around, breathing life into a stuffy country bungalow in the middle of nowhere. Despite her indifference toward me, which is shared by practically all animals it seems, it's going to be a wrench when she vanishes. I love the crazy hound.
Normally the Quirky Muffin is written in a vaguely non-personal mode, as more of a challenge to the writer, but the secondary and mostly forgotten minor point is to act as something therapeutic. Here, in the shade of a rather wonderful first day of primary school experience - not sold on it yet, but it is far more interesting than secondary teaching - it's nice to talk a little and ponder the meanings of it all as ominous ideas crowd in. Or, perhaps there has been enough of the ponderings already. Even if we are rendered very shortly to be former dog owners, one of the great things about rescued pets is that whatever life you have given them is better than they might have had before or could have had elsewhere. Accentuate the positives, grasp tightly on to every cliché you can find, and never forget. Then, get another pet, something small and docile this time.
The veterinary surgeon summons once again tomorrow, and blood tests will decide all. If only severe stress were compatible with sleep in some way. A third night without the slumber might be pushing it just a little, but what will be will be...
O.
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