Just Saying

This past couple of days I have been working, doing some decorating. The house I'm working in is centrally heated, and I am not used to that.

Last night I had difficulty sleeping because I couldn't stop coughing. Probably, I suspect, caused by a combination of the dust I caused by sandpapering, the smell of paint, and the heat.

This morning the cough had gone, but it has come back tonight along with a sore throat to keep it company. This has made me feel very grumpy and miserable.

It is nice to be working in the warm but surely it can't be healthy to live in such a constant warm temperature?  I think my body is used to the cold and maybe is objecting to working in the heat?

Why am I telling you this? Well there is no one here to tell, and I need a bit of sympathy that's all.

Tomorrow is Thursday. Sam and I are going to walk the dogs together. I shall wait to see if this sore throat is a transient thing caused by the heat, paint and dust. Hopefully like this morning it will have gone. If not I may have to cancel our walk, wouldn't want to pass it to Sam. If I do have to cancel I shall feel even more grumpy than I do now. That is for certain.

I am going to get some sleep now. Hopefully I will wake up happy.

High Visibility.

There are so many people wearing Hi Vis (High Visibility) clothing these days that instead of being protective they are in real danger of distracting us all from a safe life. Not only that but for some reason they are starting to effect my stomach. They are so garishly bright I feel sick every time I see one. Actually that is the problem, you never see one in isolation. On the way home tonight it looked like every other person was wearing one. It was still daylight, and they were on the footpath! Perhaps they think that I might feel like driving home on the footpath, and will run over anyone in normal clothing? The world has gone mad!

A Hi Vis jacket with added reflective strips. Why?

Look for crying out loud you blokes, what is going on? If you can't go out without a dayglo bleedin' jacket maybe you should stay indoors. At least you would be safe there.

Some of these Hi Vis jackets even have reflective strips on them too, just to really annoy me.. It's a Hi Vis jacket for God's sake! How noticeable do you need to be? Reflective bleedin' strips on a Hi Vis jacket! Can't you see that is utter madness?

I live near the open prison, and it looks like all the prisoners have been issued with them too. If there was ever a mass breakout all the prisoners would have to do is mingle with the local Hi Vis community and they would never be found. That's what I mean you see about them losing their effectiveness. Everyone is wearing one.

There is something else I really dislike about Hi Vis jackets. Officials wear them. You give a lowly worker a Hi Vis jacket and he suddenly thinks he is important. I don't like officials. My pet hate among officials is the car park attendant. They were bad enough before the Hi Vis jacket was invented, but now they are a bleedin' nightmare. When I see a parking warden with a Hi Vis I'm afraid all I have in mind is what a good target they make.

I will concede that they might have been helpful when only the police, or paramedics wore them, but now everyone looks like a policeman. It is bloody annoying having to slam on my brakes every time I see one. That is it again you see. They are no longer effective because everyone is wearing them.

Here is a Hi Vis, but it is only half a Hi Vis! What is the point? Maybe it is designed for someone who spends his life sticking his upper body out of manholes in the road?

Please stop wearing them you blokes, it is getting out of hand and you look stupid. Oh and by the way I have noticed that more women are wearing them now. Big mistake ladies. I promise you, yes, your arse does look big in it. Enormous in fact, and extremely bleedin' visible!

Citronella Oil

You won't believe this, but Sam wanted to make me look trendy. Yeah I know! Me! As if I wasn't already trendy enough. Anyway what she did was, she bought me a really nice jumper as a Valentines gift. Well you know by now how much I like her, so of course I went along with her plan.

We were going out that evening so I wore my new trendy jumper, and I have to say it did look good on me. Or maybe it was that my slim perfectly honed torso was particularly well suited to the modern style. Yes that's probably it.

Fashion icon that I undoubtedly am I teamed my new jumper with a pair of designer jeans, and my goodness I did look the business. There was a slight problem though regarding footwear, nothing I had was casual enough. But then, just as I was about to enter the pit of despair, I remembered a pair of shoes that my daughter Jodie had given me a long time ago. I had put them away in the cupboard after only wearing them a couple of times because they were too tight. This was at a time when I was going through a fat foot stage of my life!

Anyway I found them at the back of the cupboard and despite the passage of time they still looked trendy enough to go with my new jumper. Unfortunately they didn't smell too good. I have no idea why. All I can think is that some smelly footed unknown person had borrowed them at some time without my knowledge. Really some people!

Luckily I am an extremely resourceful man and it wasn't long before I hit on the answer to this malodorous problem. Did you notice that word? Malodorous. I don't know where I get this phenomenal grasp of the English language. Phenomenal, that's another one. Where was I? Oh yes of course my resourcefulness. That's another long word.

Concentrated citronella oil. I had some in a small bottle. I used it last summer to keep insects away. It works too. It is very powerful stuff. What happens is that you put a couple of drops in an oil burner thing and the resulting vapour keeps the mosquito's away.

So what I did was, I put a drop of this oil in each shoe. Then I put a couple more drops in just to make sure the bad smell had gone. Then I decided it wouldn't hurt to put a few more drops in, you know just to be absolutely certain that the shoe smell was properly masked. In the end I think I put about a dozen drops of this concentrated citronella oil in each shoe!

When I arrived at Sam's my trendy, and to me sweetly scented shoes, were immediately banished from the house. Thrown outside actually. Down the garden path. Away from the front door. Without ceremony. How hurtful.

She has a very good sense of smell you see, and I have to admit the scent of lemons was overpowering. A person with no nose could have smelled those shoes. A person with no head even!

This was a bit embarrassing for me, but what happened next was even worse. I had to sit on the couch with both feet in the air while she sprayed my citronella permeated socks with a can of air freshener! Not only that but her Mother was sitting on the couch beside me while she did it! Oh how we all did laugh.

This was the first time I have had my feet sprayed with air freshener, a novel experience. I didn't mind though. The way I looked at it was that it showed she cared. However, thinking about it later, maybe what it really shows is that she doesn't like the scent of citronella oil!

I hung the offending footwear on the washing line when I got home. They are still hanging there eight days later and still stink of lemons. The good thing is though, there are no insects to be seen around here. Which means that no clothes moths are likely to eat my trendy new jumper!

What's Going On?

There is a reason for my absence this last week, but I'm blowed if I can pin it down. Suffice to say for the moment that life has suddenly become busier on a personal and work level, and my head just would not let me sit down and write.

Samantha and I have been out together a few times lately and also my darling daughter Jodie and granddaughter Maisie are back in my life. These facts have made me very happy, but have tended to occupy my mind to the exclusion of most other things. Of course this is a good thing, happiness is a blessing. I wish everyone could have more of it in their lives. Naturally, being so wise and ancient, I am aware that it can be a transient emotion so I intend to enjoy every moment, and try to make sure it stays.

The presence of all these lovely females in my life has made me aware that the facilities around this old homestead are not what they should be, so at last I am getting the bathroom finished to a proper standard, and am keeping the place in a reasonably tidy condition. This will also be good for me, as I am enjoying the tidiness and having space to move without tripping over things all the time.

Also I have been working. I mean proper work. So I can clear this overdraft, that though quite small, still hangs like a millstone around my neck. I do not like owing money, even to the bank. Usually I tend to dismiss money worries, as it seems pointless to worry about something I haven't got, but for some reason this small sum is getting to me. Next week should pay it off.

My extremely handsome son George.

Coppicing Hazel.

You may be wondering how Sam and I got on with the song we were rehearsing for The Open Mic night on Valentines day? Well I am pleased to say that it went very well. I did actually get someone to record it for me on the night, but sadly I have not been able to get her permission to show it just yet. I think she wants to get it as near perfect as we can before that happens. To be honest we probably sing it better when we don't have an audience, so I shall try to get a recording the next time we rehearse it. By the way the song is called Something Stupid. Nancy Sinatra had a hit with it, singing with her dad, oh what was his name? Our version sounds much better, mainly because I have been blessed with such a melodious singing voice, so much more pleasant to listen to than Nancy's dad, ol' what's his name? Sam sounds a lot better than Nancy too. And looks better.

A well shaped ear. And look there is Sam on stage at Open Mic.

I am sorry for my absence, and will try to keep up from now on, even if it is just a short post to let you know what is happening. There is plenty going on. I just need to readjust my life a bit.

See you soon.

Love Is In The Ch.....Air.

Valentines day dawned bright. The sky was high and clear, and Springtime blue. I wasn't surprised by this, because it was a Thursday, and strange as it seems when you consider the amount of rain we have endured for months now, it has never rained on a Thursday - not during our walks at least - since Samantha and I began our regular outings with the dogs, Sadie the German Shepherd and young Ned the Border Collie, which we started last October.

No I am sorry, I tell a lie. It did rain one Thursday, but remarkably it was the one week when we, for some reason I can't recall, went walking on a Wednesday instead. That Wednesday was a fine day too.

Sam arrived at my place with Ned this fine morning. I tried my best to look as though I hadn't been up all night getting the place tidy. She thinks it is always this tidy, and that I always regularly do the washing up. Mind you it is nice tidy, I might try to keep it like this. She and I were rehearsing a song to sing together at that nights open mic event.

After we had exchanged Valentine cards and gifts (that's all you need to know at the moment) we were going to have a quick run through of the song, before setting off on our walk. We were going to walk from my place across the back fields. That was our intention anyway, but the dogs, especially Ned had other ideas. Love was definitely in the air.

Sadie had come into season and young Ned, emboldened by the recent rapid descent of his new testicles, decided, quite naturally I feel, that this Springlike Saint Valentines day, was the perfect opportunity to test their efficiency, and in the process, pop his cherry lose his virginity to a mature and beautiful female of his species. However Ned made the mistake of neglecting any foreplay, a forgivable failing considering the unexpected turn of events. Sadie likes to be woo'ed first, like most females. We men don't understand that, but eventually we realise the necessity of it if we want to get anywhere with them. Anyway she made her feelings known, and sadly young Ned had missed his chance. A scenario not too uncommon among the young males of the human species either. We live and learn, and so did Ned, but not before he had tried several other uncouth attempts to mount her. Ah yes, I remember it well. However when I later noticed that Sadie seemed to have warmed to his ardent though clumsy attentions, I am afraid I had to intervene and sadly Sadie had to be shut away in the van.

Sam and a muddy Ned on a previous walk.

Finding the object of his attentions spirited away, poor Ned then proceeded to mount and hump anything that Sadie had come into contact with, including the armchair in my workshop, where Sadie likes to sit, my leg, Sam's leg, Sams guitar case, At one time I noticed Ned eyeing the cockerel a bit intently but luckily for him he decided against that course of action and began to hump the ground Sadie had walked on instead. Now that is what I call true devotion!

Whenever Ned disappeared from our sight, we didn't panic because we knew he would be found in the workshop having vigorously enthusiastic humping sex, albeit amateurishly, with the armchair!

We had to give up on our walk, but at least we got to practice our song, between prising Ned off the armchair, that is.

Hours later when I picked Sam up to go to Open Mic, I noticed that Ned was still aroused and walking funny, (oh the memories of my youth this is bringing back to me) and had once again turned his attentions to the guitar case. I can understand his confusion, because in the right lighting conditions, and viewed from certain angles, that guitar case could easily be mistaken for an attractive Border Collie bitch! It's an easy mistake to make. Why I remember one time when I was a mere youth myself I once mistakenly....  Oh dear, perhaps some things are best forgotten about?

Ned is going to have his vibrant new testicles removed soon poor lad. I wonder what they do with them. Seems such a waste just to throw them away. I wonder if they could be transplanted.....? NO! That is so wrong!

I Am Such A Cow.

John knows how annoyed I am about the horse meat so called scandal that is happening in Britain right now. He knows and that's why he has let me take over his blog to give my perspective on the matter. I should explain who I am I suppose.

In the old days I would have had a proper name like Matilda, or Gertrude, or Emily, but today I am known only by a number. When I say I'm known by a number, well that's not strictly true. No one actually knows me personally. The only reason anyone even knows I exist is because I have a tag, a bright yellow tag with numbers printed on it, stapled to my left ear.

You can call me a cow if you like, because that is what I am. I am the farm animal who supplies you with your daily milk. The milk that makes your butter. The milk that makes your cheese. The milk that nourishes your children and you.

Look up the word cow in the dictionary and you will see me described thus: A mature female animal of a domesticated breed of ox. That's all it says. Actually though, people who don't know any better, describe even the male of my species as cows. It's because they don't look. But the male is known as a bull. At least those who are allowed to live are, but even then they are not bulls for very long, because as soon as the young bulls testicles drop, they are, in most cases chopped off. The young bull then is known as a bullock.

Too many bulls are born. So what happens is that they are slaughtered soon after birth. Their only reason for being born in the first place is because, the young cow then becomes a milk producer, and can begin to earn her keep. She is the lucky one, if it can be described as luck, because she will live on until she gets too old to give milk. Those females not chosen to give milk are known as heifers. They must be slaughtered before they reach two years old. The same thing happens to the bullocks. This is where your meat known as beef comes from.

Why am I telling you this? Well I shall tell you. I am telling you this because I want you to know that we cows are just as important in the scheme of things, as horses are. Indeed probably more so. We give you milk and butter and cheese and yoghourt and cream and meat, and suet and leather.

I suppose what I'm saying is this: If you went into a shop and bought a horsemeat pie, only to discover later that it actually contained beef, I bet you wouldn't be concerned in the slightest. I suppose what I'm further saying is: Why is it all right to slaughter my kind in their millions, yet to slaughter a horse is so frowned upon? Is it to do with nobility? Is it to do with the magnificent role the horse has played in life?

If that is the case, then think how well mankind has done due to the sacrifices made by me and my kind, the humble cow.

Yes  I do realise I haven't touched on the ethics of selling one thing and describing it as another. That is not my problem. After all I am only a cow. You can call me Matilda. I would like that.

Thank you John for giving me a voice. I could have said much more, but eloquence is a human thing I do not possess. All I know is this, horses or cows we are all worthy.

Respectfully yours

Matilda.

                                                                                                                                  

Uninspired.

It's one of those 'can't think what to write about' nights, but as they say, 'just keep going and something will turn up' I shall do just that. Who 'they' are that say it I don't know, but there are a lot of them, so there must be something in it.

I'm in bed right now so this is being done on the laptop, or thinkpad to give it it's right name. There is a problem with this machine occasionally. What happens is that the cursor jumps about when I'm not looking and the script turns up in all sorts of wrong places on the page. This happens because I can only type when looking at the keyboard, so I tend to only look up at the screen when I remember to. It can be really annoying. Why I am telling you this, I don't know, and I bet you don't care either. I mean, why should you care? It's my problem if I neglected to learn touch typing at secretarial college.

Actually I wasn't at secretarial college. Good job too. I mean me, with my looks, let loose among all those aspiring secretaries? Blimey O'Riley!

There was a time I seem to recall, when all girls wanted to be either a nurse or a secretary, both careers which seemed to carry a certain cachet attached to them. Oh and I just thought of another job that girls aspired too; window dressers. It's all coming back to me now. Ambitious shop assistants always dreamed of eventually becoming a window dresser. I almost forgot to mention hairdressers. I went out with a couple of hairdressers. Not at the same time. Though if memory serves me right there was time when two young ladies and I.....

For young men it was a wonderful thing to be able to say you were going out with a secretary, or a nurse, or a window dresser. Had a much nicer ring to it than saying you were going out with the girl who worked in Woolworths - although I did go out with a couple of the girls who worked there - or the local fishmongers shop - I dallied a little there too. Come too think of it, I do believe they had aspirations to become window dressers. Apart from the fishmongers assistant, who wanted to be a nun. That's the impression she gave me on our dates anyway. Not that I personally was snobbish about who I went out with you understand. Let's be honest here, after three months at sea it is a very saintly young man who is able to refuse a date with any young woman, even if she does look like the back end of a bus! Those are not my words by the way. I could never be so disparaging about the fairer sex. Besides, some of the buses in those days had lovely bodywork, whether you looked at them from the front or the back!

If a bloke was going out with a nurse, he earned massive respect from his mates. Because we all knew that nurses knew all about sex. In fact it was said that nurses saw so many naked men in the course of their working day, that by the time they went off duty they were absolutely gagging for it. This may well just have been an old wives tale. Unfortunately I never went out with any nurses, so was unable to test the theory out for myself. When I say I never went out with a nurse, that is not strictly true, because I did date a psychiatric nurse once. She didn't count though because she didn't get to deal with naked men all day, so obviously never got aroused in the same way an ordinary nurse did. When I say she never got aroused I mean when she was at work. Naturally when she was with me, well of course...........

Well it is getting late and I still can't think of a thing to write about. Maybe I will be more inspired tomorrow?

Good night. God bless.

Bag For Life?

This afternoon at the supermarket I finally took courage and bought what is described as a bag for life. This was a momentous thing for me to do because apart from the horrendous and terrifying expense - it cost ten pence - I have deep concerns about what a bag for life actually means. Does it mean the bags life? Or is it my life it refers too?

If it's a bag for my life, then I think I should be a bit worried, because having examined my bag for life, I have to say I am not impressed with it's potential for longevity. Some of the stitching looks very suspect and one of the handles looks about ready to take its leave. So if this is a bag for my life, then I suppose I ought to be getting my affairs in order, because I could be gone at any moment.

Why did I allow myself to be browbeaten into buying this bag? I suppose it was because the free plastic carrier bags I usually make do with are just not fit for purpose. Maybe not, but at least they didn't come with the potential to take my life whenever the handles broke off.

Maybe I should get a needle and thread and strengthen the stitching? That way, I can extend the bags life, and in so doing, extend my own. If you think about it, it would be like having an operation to keep me alive.

Well I think that's what I shall do to put my mind at rest. Also just to be doubly safe I shall put the bag away in a drawer. I shall lock the drawer and throw the key into the river. That way my bag for life will last forever. And so will I!

Oh hang on! How long before the fabric of my bag degrades? Now I have to put my mind to preventing that happening. I could seal the bag in an airtight bag before putting it in the drawer I suppose? I wonder how long the airtight bag will last?

I tell you something. It's a good job I'm not one for worrying about things unnecessarily!

I Am Tired But The Spot Is No More.

I am tired. It is late. Almost midnight. It is a good tiredness I am feeling. I have been outside most of the day. It was quite a bright sunny day, but there was a biting North wind with it, and it stole what warmth the Sun offered.

Fairly early on Sadie the German Shepherd and I went for a long walk. It was to check out in advance where I hoped we would be walking tomorrow on our regular walk with Sam, and her dog Ned, the Border Collie. Well I am sure the dogs would have loved it, but it was too treacherously flooded and muddy I felt to bring any pleasure to us humans, so we have decided to leave that walk for another time. We might walk on the beach tomorrow instead.

This is the first time ever that I have known anywhere in this local area to be so consistently, and persistently bogged down and muddy, with vast areas of grassland turned to swamp. Something is going on with the weather in this country. I blame all the immigrants the government keeps allowing in. Or at least I would blame them if it wasn't considered to be politically incorrect! Well someone has to take the blame! Ha ha I do hope you realise I am joking?

By the way, in case any of you were concerned that I might still be disfigured by it, I ought to let you know that the spot on my nose has gone. I followed Emma Springfields advice and rubbed toothpaste on it, and sure enough it worked. Thanks Emma. No more spots have appeared anywhere else I am pleased to say. Of course I will let you know if any do. Except if they appear somewhere private. In which case they shall remain a secret between me and my tube of toothpaste.

Also, just in case you thought my post about the spot on my nose, was a bit naughty. I would like to point out that I did make sure that Sam was OK with me writing it, and I did read some of it to her before I published. She does read this blog and even though she knows my sense of humour I wouldn't write about her without her approval. As you know I am always the perfect gentleman. Actually I don't think she even noticed the spot. Probably because she was just so excited about being out with me. Oh blimey, here I go again. I had better shut up I think. Don't want to push my luck.

Tomorrow is supposed to start off fine and dry, but there will be more heavy rain later in the day. I hope the forecast is wrong about the rain. We haven't had a  prolonged dry spell for months. Roll on Spring, and please be a warm dry one. Please!

This has been a strange post. Sorry about that. It is because I am tired. I blame the government. Is government spelled with a capital G? I'm not sure. They don't deserve one if you ask me.

Good night. God bless.

Well Spotted.

Yesterday when I woke up early I had a real spring in my step. Oh hang on that's just stupid. You can't possibly have a spring in your step when you're still lying in bed. Maybe I ought to have said: I had joy in my heart. Although come to think of it there was definitely a real spring somewhere. Just not in my step!

However when I did finally jump out of bed, well then I was stepping springfully. I had remembered you see -not that I was likely to forget- that I was going out on a date that night, with the lovely Samantha. So naturally I was full of excited anticipation, about which expensive restaurant she would be taking me to and how much she would spend on me. Amongst other things of course.

The reason I had got up so early was to prepare myself for the night ahead. I had an appointment at the local beauty salon, where I was booked in to have a total body wax exfoliation, hair extensions, bleached highlights, and all over spray tan. I wanted to look my absolute best for her you see. I felt it was the least I could do, and would perhaps make up, at least in part, for dragging her through the mud and sludge last week on our regular walk.

So as I say, the day started well, and then, Oh my God! Horror of horrors! My whole world suddenly collapsed. What happened was, I was admiring myself in the mirror, something I never do, well hardly ever, well all right sometimes I do. Mostly by accident though, when I can't avoid it. Like when I'm plucking my eyebrows for example (which incidentally is not something I have to do often, as I am happily blessed with perfectly formed eyebrows) or applying my eyeliner - just a touch of it - I have naturally beautiful eyes.

Where was I? Oh yes that's right my world had just collapsed and I shall tell you why. You won't believe this, but it was something that last happened when I was fourteen. No! Not that! Really your mind! Outrageous!

What happened was, I discovered a spot! On my nose! It wasn't one of those spots with a yellow head. But it was a spot, and it looked like it was going to get bigger too! I was bereft. How could I get rid of it? I could not possibly go on a date with Sam. Not with a gigantic red spot on my nose!

I fell to my knees and prayed to the Almighty to make it disappear, but he must have been having a day off, because nothing happened. I phoned the Samaritans and although the lady was very sympathetic, she said she couldn't help unless I was suicidal. Can you believe it? Me suicidal? As if! There is no way I would deliberately deprive the world of my presence. I almost phoned Samantha and cancelled our date, but the thought of the agony that would cause her, and visualising the unhappiness on her face stopped me from doing that.

The enormous spot was on the right side of my nose, and so I decided to make sure Sam was always on my left side during our date. That way I thought there was a good chance she would not notice it. This plan seemed to work well and I thought I had got away with it, until the moment she leaned in for a goodnight kiss and we embraced. "My goodness John!" she exclaimed, "That is enormous!"

"Yes," I said, "but at least it has stopped you noticing I have a spot on my nose."

Sadie The German Shepherd Has Something To Say.

The sun was out today, and there was warmth in it. Sadie the German Shepherd and I were pleased about that.

This is Sadie's reaction to the prospect of a walk. Mind you she acts like this whatever the weather.

Vegetable Rights.

After yesterdays post I have come to a decision about becoming a vegetarian. It seems to me that we do not know enough about how vegetables feel when their short lives are rendered even shorter by our seemingly insatiable appetite for them. Don't tell me vegetables have no feelings. How do you know?

Take the humble cabbage for instance. There it sits in the garden or allotment, growing happily away developing a beautiful firm heart, and looking forward to bursting forth it's flowerheads. All it wants, is to do what we all strive to do, perpetuate it's species, well OK I will admit I do this purely for pleasure these days. If the opportunity should present itself that is, and what do we do, us humans? We watch and admire it's beauty, and then with never a moments regret, we sever it from its life source, and callously plunge it into boiling water.

Something has to be done about this, and not just for cabbages. Carrots too have suffered for years. What about Brussel sprouts? Not only do we kill and eat Brussel sprouts, but we do it even more at Christmas! Surely Christmas ought to be a time of peace and goodwill to all vegetables? And oh how the poor pumpkin must dread the approach of Halloween?

There are some vegetables that I dislike, but I believe that even they do not deserve to be killed indiscriminately. Even turnips, which have to be boiled for a fortnight before they become edible, deserve some respect.

So there you are then. You may by now have realised that I have decided against becoming a vegetarian. I just can't do it. I have far too caring a nature.

So sadly, I must inform you that I will continue to eat meat. It would be so wrong for animals to die needlessly. Naturally if I am to eat steak I shall need a few chips with it, or french fries as they call them in restaurants, and America. But potatoes are quite antisocial, the way they grow underground an all, so they don't count.

All right I admit it,I shall keep eating vegetables too. Perhaps I will compromise by eating tinned or frozen vegetables only. After all they are already dead, and there are an awful lot of them to get through.

If We Are Not Meant To Eat Animals Why Are They Made Of Meat?

During my first few years of this life supermarkets didn't exist. The first one I ever saw was a store called Lipton's in Brixton South London. I was with my foster mum at the time, a mean scrawny old hag by the name of Aggie Davis. You might think I'm being rude describing her thus, but in fact if you had ever had the bad luck to meet her, you might then consider this a mild description indeed.

Being an inveterate thief, Aggie saw the introduction of supermarkets as an absolute godsend. In those days  the term shoplifter didn't exist, anyone who stole from shops was described as, and treated as, what they were, common thieves. Aggie was a kind of Fagin like character, and she would take me and David the other foster boy into shops to see what we could pinch. Having been brought up as institutionalised God fearing kids neither David or me enjoyed doing this, but if we didn't obey her rules, she would make our miserable lives even worse. Beatings and starvation were her main punishments. She had one hell of a temper.

Oops! Here I go again, getting sidetracked by memories. This article is supposed to be about supermarkets adding horse meat to beefburgers. It has caused outrage here in England. Putting aside the fact that people are paying for beef but are being sold horse, the main crux of the matter seems to be that we love horses and therefore should not eat them. I suppose it is this love we have for animals that also makes it abhorrent for us to eat dogs or cats. Yet all these creatures are readily slaughtered and consumed in other countries.

Personally I would not knowingly eat horse or dog or cat. I am not a vegetarian, but these are all animals I have kept as pets. The thought of eating them makes me feel physically sick.

And yet the carnivorous among us positively salivate when we think about eating roast lamb or piglet. Both of which animals we can also ooh and aah about when we see them in their live state. It just doesn't make sense if you really give it some thought. Why is it all right to slaughter for food cows and calves in their millions, yet to do the same thing with horses is unacceptable? If we are to take this argument to it's logical conclusion, it must surely be that it is wrong to eat any animal? Should we all be vegetarian?

I don't wish to be vegetarian. I like eating meat. Whilst accepting that it is perfectly possible to be healthy eating a completely meat free diet I believe we humans are designed to be carnivorous. Having just said that, I am now thinking of the effect eating meat has on our bodies. The damage that animal fat can do to our arteries is now well researched and proven, and the rising numbers of bowel cancers are thought to be because of our increased consumption of red meat in these times, of relative prosperity.

Aggie would take us to Brick Lane market in East London. There would be great piles of meat on the butcher's stalls, and it would be sold simply as meat. You paid your money and you got your meat. What meat it was didn't seem to concern anyone, and I know for certain that there was horse meat among it. What did it matter? It was only going into a stew or a meat pie?

Eating horse meat won't do you any more harm than eating cow meat. Strange though don't you think that we call cow meat beef, and yet we still call horse meat exactly what it is?

So here I am at the end of this article. I was going to say still sitting on the fence regarding the subject, but that wouldn't be strictly true. I try to make a difference by making sure that any meat I eat comes from sources where the animals welfare is taken seriously. Where the animal is allowed to live as naturally a life as it can right up until the moment it meets it's end. Isn't that noble of me? Compassioninworldfarming.com

Could I do it? Could I become a vegetarian? I'm considering it now, having given the subject all this thought. I will get back to you on that.

Of course we can never be certain if the meat we are eating is what the supplier says it is. Recent events have brought that home to us. So there is horse meat in the beefburger. That should be the least of your worries. It is what else is in it, what other unknowns. That is what you ought to be really concerned about. That and the power of the supermarket chains.

Happy Again.

What an emotional roller coaster of a week this has been. It turns out I am not quite as emotionally strong as I thought I was. Oh well I have got through it and am happy to report that life is back to normal. No hold on more than normal. Better than normal. Much better.

The long painful estrangement from my darling daughter, came to a sudden happy end this past week, and I have been reunited with my sweet granddaughter. I don't know what to say about it. My joy has left me lost for words. Suffice for the moment to say I feel a happy, inner peace that we are a family again.

Jodie and Maisie in The Ramshackle Art Gallery. They look as though they are feeling the cold. I forget how cold it is, I suppose I am used to it.

Do you think I look happy?

I am so pleased that walking the dogs has resumed again also. We went walking yesterday Sam and I. The sun was shining on a lovely day. The foresters have been churning things up with their giant tractors, making things treacherous underfoot in places, but it didn't spoil our day, probably made it even more exciting than usual. Afterwards Sam made bacon rolls and tea and we ate them in her campervan. Sadie the German Shepherd and Ned the Border Collie had some bacon too. We really enjoy these walks. I am impressed how Sam always manages to look so well dressed for a walk, whereas I always manage to look like a tramp. Here are some pics of her in the mud. I shouldn't laugh really. Good job I made her that hikers thumbstick.

Blogger is playing up today, and being very slow. I shall say goodbye for now, and wish you a very happy weekend.