Jasmine (1999-2011)

Jasmine, the Warrior Princess, died last Monday. And there will be a worthy tribute piece at some point.

Being a total sentimental case, I asked the vet for the ashes, which were ready for collection today.

They were nowhere to be found when I arrived. Even in death, that cat could do a runner from the vet.

Well done that girl! They did turn up, btw.

How to stop your owner's heart...

I took Bailey to the local supermarket, we needed milk. Or rather, I need tea with milk to function, and he likes a walk. He chose to forget the mammoth fetch-ball session in the pouring rain, and pestered until I decided to take him along.

I tied his lead to a ring around a post outside the exit door. And in the space of five minutes he vanished.

He had started to wander round the post, found the gap in the ring that I had missed, and pulled his lead free. Then he went in through the out door, and looked round for me. In the meantime, I was outside, thinking horrible thoughts about dognapping and little hounds playing in traffic.

To his credit, he was sweet and charming to the staff who caught him, and didn't pee on anything or anybody. But he showed no sign of wanting to go back in with a list and a trolley to sort the weekly shop, either.

But then he is a little blokey dog. What did I expect?

Manchester - August 2011

The skanks of Manchester and Salford decided to copycat the riots in Tottenham.  They had no idea about the issue which started the original London troubles.  They did know they wanted to sack Manchester for trainers and tellys, booze and the craic.

But Manchester bounced back. On Wednesday the Real Mancunians turned out to clear up.  By real manc, I mean someone who loves Manchester, not necessarily a Manc born.

Ashamed to say I didn't go down, so I feel I've surrendered my Manc birthright.  I had spent so long watching the news coverage on Tuesday that I went to bed around 4am on Wednesday, I slept in until noon. And I didn't go out in town last week, as I was being a folky hippy at Cropredy.

But Manchester town centre will be just fine.  It has survived world wars, fierce protest marches, IRA bombs, some really nasty 'redevelopment', vicious derby matches and an invasion of Scottish and Russian football fans on the lash.  It will take more than some pathetic gobshites to bring it down.

Whaaat?

The last post was 9 April?  Blimey.

As you'd expect, things have moved on a bit. I accepted the redundancy offer, and finished on 30 June.  The day before was my birthday (it's a prime number) so we had a lot of cake, hugs, tearful promises to keep in touch and all the rest.

Then I buggered off and had a month without much contact at all.

So now, what?  I have the time and money to get myself sorted out.  So I'd better get on with it.

Well...

I have had the verbal offer of voluntary severance.

Wednesday.

The letter is on the way, but I work in HR and we are the last to know or get anything, when it concerns us.  Manage to interfere very effectively in anyone else's affairs though.

I have 5 days or something equally daft, to decide from the date of the letter.

And if the figures add up, I'm off.

Seeing as I first started working there in October 1990 (!) it is a big deal.  I wondered if I'd made a mistake in applying, but there's been a few developments recently.

Changing place, changing thoughts, changing time, changing future.

Cats in cahoots

Oh, I give up.

Once again my attempts to thwart the inner domestic goddess have been foiled.

It is Spring, and the cats always celebrate this by bringing fieldmice in the house. I found the one they kindly left next to my favourite boots, but Bailey was sniffing around very enthusiastically and I suspect they have another one lurking about somewhere.

Cue full furniture moving session tomorrow, with a weekend of spring cleaning as today's exploration of the further edges of the living room revealed

an old copy of Private Eye behind the sofa

some earrings that had fallen off the bookcase

rather too much wallpaper clawed from the wall by Tig/Jasmine

and sod-all else.  I could take it at face value, no mice, but Bailey never gets that animated without good reason.

I have pointed out that dead mice are not really a present I appreciate, but the suffer from Feline Selective Deafness. I suspect that this was a ploy to take my mind off work. I would have preferred booze and chocolate.

Changing

I love this photo.

It's in the garden at the Guggenheim in Venice. I can't remember the name of the artist, but the little girl in the photo had stood chattering at it (in English and German) for a good five minutes before her mother scooped her up. In this photo, she had just made a spirited grab for the letters on the last line. I would love to know what she made of it all.

I use a cropped version on my Facebook now and then. And right now, it feels very appropriate.

My art gallery will be opening soon-ish

I've got bored with falling over all the framed artwork in my boxroom.

It was all taken down for various reasons, and stored safely enough.

My sister thought it would be better to have a more minimalist style, and a curator's approach to my favourite works. I thought I might have the walls replastered, and painted before putting it all back. Sensible me. All very well, fine and dandy.

But that isn't going to happen, and I have the lovely special gift poster from 'The Price' just crying out for a frame and a bit of appreciation.

So, Plan B - bugger the badly painted walls, and the dodgy plaster. Just hang everything in a fantastic patchwork effect, this weekend. Why am I denying myself the pleasure of nice things, or the pain of accidentally-hammered fingers?

Oh yes, now I remember... pain and a bit of an aversion to stepladders...

The chances of opening an associated cafe and gift shop are slim, unless the pets fancy running it while I'm at work.