The gag reflex

Say hello to Bongo

Bongo is a staffie/labrador crossbreed, and a rather handsome chap. One of many dogs at the Last Chance Animal Rescue centre, he is also a long-term resident (just as Roxy was). Indeed, every time that we visited the centre, we would make a point of dropping by Bongo's pen. A lively, happy chap, he always had two tennis balls in his mouth. If he happened to drop one, he would then chase after it, retrieve it, and get it back to its rightful place.

In fact, we would like to have taken Bongo on, but he's just too big and boisterous. I hope somebody does take pity on him.

I only mention Bongo because every time Roxy feels like playing with one of her tennis balls, both Julie and myself are immediately reminded of Bongo and the two-ball grin.

As my mother will know, normal tennis balls never last too long with a dog - they are chew toys when fetch time is over, after all. However, most pet shops stock a hardier breed of ball - just don't use them to play tennis, because they will hurt like hell if they hit you.

Mind you, even those balls will not last too long with a determined doggie. Roxy's current ball has developed a weakness, one which means that it sort of folds in on itself to a degree. Unfortunately, this means that a tennis ball which is only just on the right side of 'large enough' is now in danger of being a little too small for safety. Naturally, we are always aware of safety, and Julie happened to notice that Roxy was chomping on the ball a little too much.

That last bit was directed at a husband, whose mind was dallying in the gutter once more...

That said, I went looking for link or images of these tougher tennis balls. It looks like I'm not the only puerile person around...

Yawn porn

Roxy is a very affectionate dog, and misses us terribly if we aren't around. Dogs are very social animals in any case, and you aren't supposed to leave them alone or outside for too long a time. It must have been a lonely time at the rescue centre; three years on no family, just a rota of centre staff (who were wonderful) and an uncarpeted pen. This is why were indulge Roxy a little more than we perhaps should.

One of the ways we interact with Roxy is kissing - in the dog sense. If they lick your face, it is a sign of affection, and of admitting you are higher in the social standing than they are.

For the longest time, this was seen as being unhygienic and unhealthy. Now, while the first may be the case (until you have been woken up by dog breath in the morning, you may not agree), it seems that being licked by your dog is beneficial in many ways. It improves your mood - and the dog's; it helps with social bonding; it also can boost immune systems.

These days, kids are being wrapped in a sort of sterile bubble, not being allowed to play in in rough areas or rough ways. Lots of sterilised surfaces, sanitised this, anti-bacterial that. Unfortunately, this gives our immune systems nothing to do, and they dwindle through lack of use. This means that when something does come along which the system needs to face, it finds it is trying to fight a battle after the equivalent of military cutbacks has slashed its effectiveness drastically.

That said, Roxy can become a little too enthusiastic when she shows her affection - especially if you happen to mention the word W.A.L.K. On more than one occasion, I have been pinned to the armchair by 29 kilos of excited, slobbering dog.

Sunday mornings are a little different. We take a bit longer about getting going in the morning. A slow breakfast, followed by a cup of tea as we all sit on the sofa. Since it was morning, I was checking my phone for updates, fairly oblivious to the fact that there appeared to be a yawning contest taking place just to my left.

As everyone knows, it is almost impossible to keep from yawning once another member of your group has already done so. So it was that Julie and Roxy were taking turns in yawning, each apparently gaping wider each time - right up until I heard an exclamation from Julie.

Well, based on what I said about immune systems above, perhaps Roxy was just checking for cavities...

Sad song gone wrong

Roxy, bless her, is part staffie, part American bulldog. This means that she has a double dose of those genes that give a dog a mournful demeanour.

Not Roxy, still looking woebegone. But probably not at all sad.

This even happens when Roxy is happy, excited and various other emotional states that are not in fact 'sad'. Case in point: one day, not long after Julie had come home from work, Roxy was sat in her downstairs bed, recovering from her mad five minutes of greeting her 'mum'. We were sat in our own chairs, watching our dog, who was looking at us with pretty much the exact same expression as that above.

For some reason, Julie felt moved to sing a paraphrased version of a classic tune.

I didn't know if Julie meant the dog made the pies, or that the pies were made of dog. And you know what, I didn't really feel like finding out...

The inscrutable and the implausible.

Roxy is a cuddlesome doggie. After three years in a last chance rescue centre, I think anyone would feel a little insecure. One of the things that she enjoys most is having her belly rubbed. Of course, for a female dog, this means contact with the nipples (as has been previously documented). Normally, this is how Roxy shows she is after a belly rub...

In less energetic moments, Roxy likes to lean in for a cuddle while sat upright. Once you begin to stroke her, Roxy will then lean a little more, so you can then reach her belly. Cuddle AND a belly rub? That's a happy dog right there. This isn't a belly rub shot, but it shows the quietly happy pose Roxy can strike. The warm sun probably had something to do with it.

As Julie rightly pointed out, Roxy can look positively noble - even regal - when she is serenely happy. In fact, Roxy apparently looked so regal on one occasion she was receiving a cuddle/rub, that Julie was moved to draw a comparison to our own, dear monarch.

You'd think, after all this time, I would be more careful about having a mouthful of tea when Julie says things like this... Mind you, I don't imagine the Queen was too overjoyed either.

Not to be sniffed at.

One thing that all dog owners know is that unless their dog has been very highly trained, then a dog is a curious creature, and wants to investigate interesting smells.

'nuff said, right? Roxy is certainly no exception to the rule, and having almost total freedom after three years in a last chance rescue centre means that she will make the most of it. Especially since she is still settling in, and half-believes she might have to go back to the centre.

One of her regular - and favourite - strolls is along the promenade and past the pier. Just before the pier, the prom splits in two; one path leading up and past the pier's entrance, and the other continuing by the beach and going underneath the pier.

Taking the lower prom route, you start to get a long series of low walls, one of which surrounds a sort of picnic area. Obviously, many people sit on these walls, and on this particular day there was a family of parents and young children perched on the wall, munching on chips (British chips, made with thick cuts of potato and deep fried).

Roxy, ever interested in all the different smells, always makes a bee-line for the wall, and that it also bore people with food was simply a pleasant bonus. As she was sniffing at the wall, the family were making a fuss of Roxy, something that is usually welcome. However, with all the various odours, her canine attention was pretty much set to 'distraction mode'. So, while Roxy was amenable to being stroked, the most important thing was to check out all the interesting smells on the wall.

Moving along, Roxy started snuffling at a section of wall one of the women was sat on. I kept an eye out, because some people take exception to having a dog smelling their nether regions. It didn't help that the woman offered a dubious origin for a particularly interesting smell.

...sometimes, I need to engage my brain before sending messages down to the mouth...
Fortunately, the woman laughed it off.

I suppose it could have been worse...

A dad and a dog on the Downs

We have some lovely scenery near us. Of course, that could be said of almost anywhere, including the middle of cities (Hyde Park, London; Central Park, New York). For us, though, it's a little special, as we have Britain's very latest National Park on our doorstep; The South Downs National Park.

Last weekend, following a lazy start with Roxy on the bed (see Wednesday's Gem), we decided to go to one part of the South Downs, known as Butts Brow.

Butts Bow, a painting by Lis Lawrence.
NB - all rights to this piece belong to Lis Lawrence. www.lislawrence.com

It was a short, but steep drive up to the car park, where we found that a lot of other people had already had the same idea. There were even a number of cyclists making their way at varying speeds up the hill. Even the car park was not at the top. Once you had parked up, you had a choice of various routes to progress along, although all had the same basic theme of  'uphill'.

Let me tell you, though; It's bloody worth it. When you reach the summit, there is a 360-degree view for miles around. Off to one side, you can see Beachy Head and the sea beyond there. Turning clockwise, you can see the South Downs stretching off into the distance. Further around, there are some hills and valleys a lot closer, but you can still see patches of land between them. For my money, these gaps looked like doorways into different worlds. A final quarter-turn gets you a view of the town of Eastbourne.

Again, this image is not ours. All rights belong to Will Gudgeon.

It doesn't normally look like a view of Orthanc from the film version of Lord of the Rings, but it is an impressive photo, yes?

The three of us spent a good ten minutes admiring the scenery, until the mood was broken by Roxy, who was suddenly rolling around in the grass, in paroxysms of joy. Fortunately, there was nothing that warranted the dreaded B-word.*
Rolling over, Roxy stood and shook herself, grinning hugely. I smiled myself, and, referring to the view once more, remarked how wonderful it was.

Here's to my father, who introduced me to walking in the countryside, and to offbeat humour, and to Toby the Jack Russell terrier who often accompanied him on many a jaunt. Rest in peace.

Deviating doggies

Hmm... As titles go, that is possibly one of the dodgier ones I could have gone with. It doesn't help that, in setting the scene, I announce that  Roxy was in bed with me and Julie...

Does it help if I say that Roxy was on TOP of the duvet, while we were underneath? I hope so.

In any event, you all know by now that Roxy is a cuddlesome dog, mostly as a result of having spent the last three years of her life in a rescue centre pen.

D'awwww.

Yeah... As you can see, Roxy is not above sneakily cuddling up to you while you sleep. Impressive, considering that she is by no means a small dog.

Anyway, last Sunday, prior to a nice day out on the South Downs, we decided to have a lazy morning cuddle in bed. Of course, Roxy HAD to be involved.

Essentially, idle chit-chat and belly rubs were the order of the day (well, morning), and I'll leave it up to you to work out who took part in what.

After some time, Julie raised the idea of dressing up Roxy, something doesn't appeal to me at the best of times.

Obviously.

"Just for that, no pasta for you."
(and yes, I know that is Grumpy Cat, and not a Spaniel)

Surprise mutt-sex

Hmm. Out of all the trends we have seen on Julie's Gems, the one that appears to be forming at the moment is the most worrying. Not even the Platyposts concern me as much.

There is a meme going by the tagline of 'surprise buttsex'. It takes advantage (ahem) of previously innocuous photographs and then adds the caption of 'Surprise Buttsex'. Google it if you want, but be prepared for what you see. In the meantime, here's a prime example.

And now for the most awkward segue ever; let's talk about Roxy...

Being part Staffie, Roxy isn't the slightest of creatures, gorgeous as she is. She also fits in with the family very well, in that she has a stubborn streak wider than the mouth of the Amazon river. Combine that with your average doorway, and simple access to a room is suddenly a lot more difficult. Especially since neither me nor Julie are even remotely slim.

If I am cooking, Roxy likes to 'supervise' from the comfort of the kitchen doorway. Having spent so long in a rescue centre pen, she isn't too fond of uncarpeted surfaces. I can understand that. Unfortunately, she refuses to move from there until the last tiny chance of a dropped morsel has gone. Which tends to make it a problem for Julie when she decides to come and make herself a drink.

There are so many things wrong with that I have no idea where to begin... so I'll leave you with a final meme...

A damp doggy?

Many apologies for missing yesterday's post. It was a tad busy, and I hadn't prepared anything for automatic release.

----------------------------------------

This morning was a bit of a non-starter for me, thanks to a headache and a hay-fever-induced cold. Unfortunately, Roxy decided that she wasn't going to do anything either: Every time Julie tried to get Roxy to go for a walk, the dog refused to go any further than the front gate. She even refused to eat her breakfast.

It may have been that Roxy 'knows' that Saturdays are for us to go somewhere as a family, and wanted to wait until I was fine to walk with the ladies. Or it may be that Roxy was picking up on the fact I was a little under the weather and preferred to stay near me and keep an eye on me. Sweet, but annoying for Julie, who wanted to get on and do things and go places.

Eventually, I managed to break the cycle of doze-wake with a sore head-drop off again, and the three of us went for a walk. As soon as it was clear we were all going out, Roxy was as amenable as anything, and Julie had no trouble handling her.

Hmm. I may have phrased that poorly.

You see, when we got back home, I decided to chance some toast, and to have another go at having a cup of tea - I had made one at six in the morning, and then promptly dropped off back to sleep.

While I was in the kitchen, Julie sat on the sofa, gently stroking Roxy, who was sat on the floor. When they saw me come in the living room, Roxy moved to the sofa and looked at me, waiting. When I smiled, she took that as her cue to get up onto the sofa and sit, leaning against Julie,  but hoping that I would lean over the back of the sofa to give her a little fuss too.

Of course I did.

I didn't sit down right away - I had a cup of tea stewing in the kitchen. Since I like strong tea, I don't mind leaving it for a little while, but chewing it would be too much, so I went back to remove the tea bag and to add milk.

Back in the living room, Julie was making a fuss of Roxy and talking to her. Generally, I couldn't hear exactly what was being said. Mostly, all I could make out was, "mumblemumblemumbleRoxymumblemumblemumble." However, one phrase made its way through nice and clear.

As it turned out, Julie was rubbing Roxy's belly (something the dog absolutely adores), and confused 'damp' with 'slightly cooler than the rest of Roxy's body'. That said, I couldn't help but imagine Roxy's face when she heard that...

OK, not Roxy, but the expression
should say it all.

Dem bones

We have spoiled Roxy something rotten - but it's what you do, isn't it? Only this weekend, I suddenly found myself becoming a 'baby bore'; Julie had to nudge me sharply and tell me to stop showing this poor woman photographs of Roxy. I wouldn't have minded, but Julie had already shown people the pictures on her own phone...

Of all the toys that Roxy has available to play with, the one she is currently most enamoured with is a tatty orange football that somehow appeared in our back garden over the last winter. Nobody has laid claim to it, so I decided to let Roxy play with it. And play she does. Now partly deflated, it serves as a chew toy, a tugger and something to chase and fetch.

Apart from that, she has a tennis ball, a rope-pull, a long rubber tug-toy, and a vinyl bone shaped chew toy that is apparently bacon flavoured. I say apparently, as I have yet to have a nibble on it. Wait - that makes it sound like I want to... Nope. Nuh-uh. No way.

The bone looks a bit like this, and Roxy does like to have a chew on it now and then. The only problem is that her teeth appear to be a little delicate; We often see little specks of blood on it when the gums have had a little too much battering. Fortunately, Roxy does seem to know when to stop, so we are happy to let her keep it for the occasional chew.

The other day, we were all in the living room, and Roxy decided she wanted to chew on the bone for a bit. After a while, she stopped and began to smack her mouth and lick her lips. I knew what had happened, and a quick glance at the bone confirmed it.

I now have this image of a pig, snout down in its trough, oblivious to the fact Roxy is determinedly gnawing on its back leg...

Oooo - just there!

Roxy, our rescue dog, is a very friendly girl - if a little reserved. She does love to be close to the ones she loves, and it's a rare morning that I wake up without a dog on my bed that wasn't there when I fell asleep. And given that Roxy is a solid bit of doggie, that should tell you something about how deeply and soundly I sleep.

One of Roxy's favourite situations is for us to be both on the sofa, with her in between us and getting attention from us both. She especially likes belly rubs.

Belly rub, please!

One evening recently, the three of us were on the sofa, watching something on TV. Well, me and Julie were. Roxy was too busy drifting off to sleep in a state of attention-induced euphoria.
I had the task of giving Roxy a headrub, while Julie was in charge of the belly rubs. Every now and then, Roxy would shift position slightly, so as to provide us with access to a particular area that she felt was lacking attention. Unfortunately, in Julie's case, this meant that her hand strayed into what would be uncomfortable territory, if Roxy had been human...

I'd rather crawl inside a tauntaun.

In line with British law (as seen in this Gem), we are good dog owners and don't leave dog poo for people to step in etc.

However, with the weather of late, it's a tad difficult to pick up dog poo with a flimsy little bag when the wind is doing its level best to rip said bag out of your hands and send it to the next county. Or country. We are lucky in that Roxy doesn't generally pull and is happy to stay where she is while we deal with the nasty stuff.

Another thing is that it's a bit nippy when you have wind, rain, and low temperatures combined. Especially when you had been wearing gloves up to that particular moment and now have to remove at least one to get the finger mobility needed.

Julie has managed to find a bright side to this, though.

----------------------------------------------------------------

*Just in case you don't get the relevance of the title....  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXmp1hLK0tY

A right dog's dinner.

Out and about with Roxy, we have discovered that the most annoying thing for us is an excitable dog, one that is not on a lead ("Oh, he's ever so well behaved, and really friendly!").

Far too many people don't realise that while their dog may* well be a friendly dog, to have it dash up to you, a young child, or a nervous dog under your control can be a fraught situation.

Fortunately, while Roxy is a little naive about the outside world (after three years in a rescue centre, she's bound to be out of touch), she is also generally very friendly and very placid. However, since idiots abound, we are obliged to walk her in public with a muzzle.

Taking our new friend out for her evening walk one day, the three of us encountered wave after wave of hyperactive, noisy dogs, none of which could have been larger than a bowling ball. All of which apparently oscillated between 'happy-yappy' and 'Come on! I'll f***in' have ye!' with not a lot of changeover time.

Understandably, Roxy was more than a little unsettled by it all and tended to cling to us more than the most insecure of shower curtains. Most of the time. Finally driven to snapping point (literally), Roxy lunged for a very noisy toupee, only to be brought short by us; we'd been ready for this.

I was about to say something fairly regrettable, when Julie, having sensed my mood as well as Roxy's, beat me to it.

Win.

Half dog, half monotreme.

You may have noticed that Julie is somewhat of a whimsical frame of mind. You will be very pleased to know that this has not changed a jot since Roxy entered our lives.

A crossbreed of Staffie and bulldog makes for a very solid dog, and there is no denying that when Roxy opens a door, it tends to stay open. Similarly, when she decides to cuddle up to you, you will definitely know about it - and hopefully be very glad you were already sitting down.

However, Julie is one for pet names, and when combined with her leftfield sense of humour, it can prove to be a tad confusing. For me, if not the dog - especially when Julie appears to be rummaging around in the back pocket of Roxy's genes...

Three things: No, of course Roxy didn't answer to it. And you know what, the first thing that came to mind was a paraphrasing of Monty Python's classic 'Brian' scene, "She has a fwiend, you know... Incontintentia Buttox."*

The third thing was a corker. I always try and illustrate a Gem if I can, but when I typed in 'dog platypus hybrid', I have to admit I wasn't expecting anything.
Silly me.
First bloody result from Google image search was this beauty.

Image is the sole copyright of Evelar.

Evelar is a digital artist on deviantArt. If you click on THIS LINK, you can see the picture in all its glory. Please do visit the page, and browse the amazing art therein.

Of course, there was no way I was going to miss a chance to share a classic bit of comedy with you...

*In true Monty Python fashion, there were four things that occurred to me - the other one, of course, being that this was going to be yet another platypost...

Right to roam - doggie edition

Sorry about the absence, folks. What with the festive period and other things, I didn't prepare enough Gems to last for this long.

One of the things that has occupied us is a new member of our family. We have fostered, from a rescue centre, a Staffordshire bull terrier/bulldog (or boxer, it's not been too clear) by the name of Roxie.

"OMG! WANTS!"

She's seven, but has spent three years at the rescue centre. When I first saw her, my heart nearly broke, because she was so depressed and wary of forming attachments that would be broken. She would lean against the fence of her pen for the slightest bit of contact, but would refuse to react to it. She has been with us since last Friday, and as that picture shows, Roxy is settling in nicely.

In our company, in our home, at least.

When it comes to leaving the house, she is resigned about needing to wear a muzzle (legacy of a poor past), and wary of almost everything. That said, Roxy is incredibly well-behaved, and it's only with one or two dogs that she feels threatened enough to take action. Apart from that, she is very happy stay close to us.

Today, our early-morning walk took us along the seafront - there and back again. One of the things about Roxy is that she decides when she has had enough and stops. Literally. We will be walking along, happy as anything, and I will be chatting with Julie. The next thing we know, an arm will be nearly wrenched from its socket because Roxy has had enough and stopped dead without us realising in time.

This morning, we managed to get quite far along the promenade before we reached Point Nope. Probably, Roxy wanted to investigate all the new smells. Certainly, she was fascinated by the pebbled beach and the smell of the sea.

As we strolled back, Julie noticed something interesting. Something which elicited a silly remark from yours truly...

AN APPEAL

If you have a pet you no longer want or can no longer keep for whatever reason, don't dump it. Take it to a rescue centre.
If you would like to have a pet, don't get one from a shop or pet farm. Get one from a rescue centre.

Rescue centres are charitable organisations, are registered as such, and have to provide documentation of everything they do and must adhere to basic guidelines. This means that any animal given to them will be treated, and treated well. It also means that you are essentially guaranteed of a healthy animal should you come to adopt or foster one.
As you can see from the picture of Roxy, she is a happy doggie indeed, despite her demeanor in the rescue centre. Proof, surely?

However, rescue centres, as I said, are charities. This means they are reliant on donations and the occasional Lottery grant. Last Chance Animal Rescue is the place Roxy came from. It's a tiny place with minimal resources, and the abnormal weather we have had in the south of Britain recently has caused a lot of trouble. The high winds and torrential rain certainly did the centre no favours, as they went without power and a phone line (and therefore no internet connection) for a while.

Just think.
That means all the animals rescued had no heat. Apart from personal mobile phones, absolutely no contact could be made with the outside world, unless you braved the flooded roads - the entrance to the centre is slap-bang at the bottom point where the road cuts across a valley.

If you are local to the centre, please think about using them as a resource for a pet. And even if you are or are not, please think very hard about donating to them. People often drop by with food and/or toys and bedding, but money is the one thing they desperately need.
Drop by their donation page to find out more.

Thank you.

The Tea-Room Trilogy, part 3: Puppies!

There is a bit of a NSFW element to today's post, so be warned...


At the tea-rooms, we had both finished our drinks and cakes. And, as we saw last time, Julie had made use of the facilities. This time around, it was my turn to need the loo. Julie asked for the car keys and said she would wait in the car for me. Fair enough.

When I came out of the toilet, there were a couple of ladies at the table where we had been sat moments before. Each had a small, cute dog on a lead, both of which were very interested in everything going on around them - especially if there was food involved. In the absence of any food, though, I made a passable alternative. After a brief moment of mutual fussing, the ladies' food arrived, and the pups' attention span departed. I said my goodbyes, bid the staff a good break over the winter period, and went to the car.

I got in, and as I buckled myself in, Julie knew immediately why there had been a delay in me leaving the loo. She has said many times before,

"If I can't find my husband, all I have to do is look for the nearest dog, because he'll probably be making a fuss of it."

Guilty as charged, m'lud.
Still, the question needed to be asked, something that really should have been phrased better, knowing me as  well as she does.

As I post this, I'm really hoping that my international audience knows of the slang word 'puppies' meaning 'boobies'. And I'm not talking about the blue-footed avian...

The Tea Room Trilogy part 2: Dogged by innuendo.

So there we were in Duddleswell Tea Rooms, on their last day of opening for the year. Looking at the menu, I was reminded and again gratified to see a wide variety of teas - including my favourite, Lapsang Suchong. Unfortunately, they didn't have any soy milk, so I had to opt for either a green tea or a herbal infusion... Hm... gunpowder green tea, methinks...

Julie is a lot less fussy when it comes to tea; tea, milk & sugar, and that's it. Just tea. No fancy stuff. Especially no smelly ones.

Another thing the tea rooms are good for are their cakes. There was some massive meringue concoction in the chiller cabinet, which looked very inviting, but we decided to be sensible and go for a scone.
OK, Julie was sensible.
I had a slice of cherry, apricot & almond tart with a small jug of pouring cream. Very nice.

Unfortunately, tea has a side-effect; it's a diuretic - it makes you pee more. No sooner had the last sip been taken than Julie was off to the loo, leaving me to eye up the cakes - and the waitresses, of whom more on Friday.

When Julie returned, she sat down with a happy sigh and a little smile. I laughed, and asked her:

Yes, we were heading on to Last Chance Animal Rescue afterwards, but the schoolboy in me just went straight for the 'dogging' joke.

The Tea Room Trilogy, part 1: The short arm of the wotnot

I love it when a single day out results in a plethora of Gems. Even better - and rarer - is when I can cull a week's worth of Gems from about an hour's time in a tea room.

Visit http://www.duddleswelltearooms.co.uk/ for more information.

Duddleswell Tea Rooms are in Ashdown Forest, Kent (UK). You need to be concentrating on your surroundings though, as it is the epitome of 'blink and you'll miss it'. We were lucky; today was their last day of opening before closing for the winter period. It's a very friendly place, and the food is home cooked and locally sourced. They don't do soy milk, though, so you will need to take your own. The tea rooms are very pet-friendly, and will bring out a saucer with a couple of doggy treats should you decide to stop for a cuppa while out on 'walkies'.

We decided to stop for a drink on our way to Last Chance Animal Rescue to discuss fostering a dog. It was relatively quiet; the staff nearly outnumbered the customers. After sitting at a table by the window, we ordered our drinks - gunpowder green tea for me, as I forgot the 'no-soy' thing.

Chatting away, I became aware that Julie was having a problem with the table. She was trying to lean her elbows on the top so she could have her cup held by her mouth. Unfortunately, every time Julie moved slightly, one elbow or the other would slip off the edge of the circular table.

Uh. If you insist, love.

If you are in the area and fancy dropping in for a drink and a bit of cake (after they reopen), you can search for it on Google maps. Here's a little bit of map for you to get started...

Say you, say me, say what? [Part II]

Part II? Oh yes. The first time around was when I got a little lost in my own sentence. Those with memories as poor as mine can see it HERE. This time around, though, it's Julie who is doing the sentence-stumbling.

My wife often denies having said something - usually right after we've finished laughing about it, oddly enough. However, when she finally remembers it, Julie will try and hurry us on to the next subject, saying something like, "I can't be expected to remember everything I've said, can I?" It's something I can't normally argue with - unless, I have pointed out,the original conversation is not yet five minutes old...

Of course, when Julie tries to deny or correct something she has said, she'll find she hasn't yet left the Gemzone and falls right into another verbal trap...

My own personal trap is that I will all too often find myself trying to point out the lack of logic in something Julie has said. We then get into... not an argument, but a back-and-forth discussion about what was said, who said what, and how it was said.... and I get completely lost myself. These days, I know better. When we have a situation like this, I stay quiet, apply The Look, and remain quiet when Julie asks me, "...what? Wha'd I say?"

The Look. As supplied by Sceptical Dog.

Right is wrong, Left is right

On our recent visit to my mother, we found ourselves feeling a tad peckish between meals. Fortunately, Julie had planned for such an eventuality, and delved into a bagful of bits to snack on. Pulling out a pack of Smartie cake bars, she passed one over to me.

As I was unwrapping mine, however, I heard Julie make a small noise of annoyance. As I asked what was wrong, Julie stood and began to look around the floor. I realised immediately what had happened; one of the smarties (candy-coated bits of chocolate, similar to the plain m&m) had fallen off her cake and onto the floor.

IMPORTANT BIT - If you own a dog or like to feed dogs, please note that chocolate is highly poisonous for dogs.

With that in mind, we both started searching for the errant sweetie before Toby, my mum's Jack Russell terrier could beat us to it. Fortunately, it was bright yellow and I spotted it almost immediately. Since Julie was closer to it, though, it was easier for me to guide her to it than to get in her way.

Bearing in mind that we were both facing the same way, I had to think for a moment whether that did make any sense or not.