Back To Me

I’ve been so busy boasting about my handy Hub that I haven’t told you what I’ve been doing lately.  Not much, as it happens.  Guess this is going to be a short post. 

I have been enjoying my walks with the dogs more than usual, as the weather is so nice (one day last week I didn’t have to put the heat on even once).  I tried a new route: down the main road; turn left and left again at the pyramid; up the Pennine Trail that runs along the Mersey River; over the footbridge; past the abandoned tyres; up the hill; over the pedestrian crossing, at which a car on one side will stop for me but not on the other, so it’s a choice of sprint with the dogs flying behind me on the lead or irritate the kind driver.  I have excellent manners so it tends to be sprint and dodge.  That brings me full circle home in just under an hour.

The walk along the river is lovely.  However, the route is not accessible to traffic so there are no dog poo bins because they can’t be emptied.  I had to carry three bags with me: for little dogs they sure do poop a lot.  And Toby’s is just weird – I counted five colours in one plop.

Still, a gentle stroll with the sun on my face and only three layers of clothing, watching the shopping carts float downstream and the plastic bags, trapped in the trees and flapping in the breeze, is a pleasant way to while away the day.  I never felt more like swinging the poos.

What’s In A Name?

Image via Wikipedia

To celebrate the 1st of December, I watched It’s A Wonderful Life again last night.  It’s a wonderful film and the ending still chokes me up; I love it. 

For the first time, I noticed something about the names in the film, one of those tricks of the brain.  There’s nothing scientific about this; it’s just a bit of fun.

• The cop is called Bert and the cab driver is Ernie.  Bert & Ernie are Muppets who live on Sesame Street.
• Ernie’s full name is Ernie Bishop.  Ernie Bishop was a character on Coronation Street.  He was gunned down.  It’s the first television murder I remember seeing (they say you never forget your first) (actually, they don’t say that; I just put it in to be funny) (did it work?).
• There is a bar called Martini’s.  Martini is a drink served in a bar.
• The young brothers are called George and Harry Bailey.  My Dad’s name was George Harry.  Sadly, his surname wasn’t Bailey.  I did know a Julie Bailey once, if that helps; and there’s a Doctor Bailey on Grey’s Anatomy.  I feel like I know her*.
• The uncle is William Bailey, or Uncle Billy.  Bill Bailey.  I feel a song coming on.  Sung by a long-haired British comedian, a trilogy by Catherine Cookson, and a scene from The West Wing when the character Will Bailey is hazed by the staff.
• The villian, Potter, is told he will have a Potter’s field someday.  Potter’s Field is associated with the death of Judas Iscariot.
• Potter’s full name is Henry F. Potter.  ‘Harry’ is a nickname for ‘Henry’ so he is the first fictional Harry Potter.  The latest Harry Potter film is out and I haven’t seen it yet and that puts me in a very bad mood so the first Harry Potter and I have something in common.

*

This was taken last year; it was thicker than that last night

Last night we finally had a taste of what the country’s been moaning about.  After the film I looked out of the window and the snow was falling thick and fast, like the million clichés in this blog.  It lay untouched on the ground, so I grabbed the Hub and the dogs – having first thrown my long winter coat over my long winter dressing gown, my long winter pyjamas, my long winter socks and my long winter long johns – and we went for an almost-midnight walk.  I adore walking in night snow; it’s magical and muffled and a delicate orange**.

*

I had been stumped for my final poem for the Poetic Asides Poem A Day Challenge until then: write a lessons learned poem.  I’ll leave you to decide if this is based on bitter experience or imagination.

*

A Hard-Earned Lesson

Eat yellow
snow at
your peril

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*

 

 

*Sad, isn’t it?

**Sad, aren’t I?

*

There is a new poem on my South Africa blog.

The Odd Couple

We have had almost non-stop rain for three days now, and for three days it has been difficult to walk the dogs.  My dogs love walks but hate rain.  They ran to greet the Hub at the front door the other day.  When I opened it, they hurtled out, then hurtled right back in again, like a cartoon character running off a cliff.

It rained and rained and rained and rained and rained yesterday, and was as tedious as this sentence.  By nine o’clock I was in my pyjamas because I knew there was no hope of a walk for them.  At ten, Molly, who doesn’t even like to go in the garden to do her business on dry days, was crossing her legs and hopping on the spot. 

I opened the back door to force her out and noticed it had stopped raining.  Such joy!  It was like the moment in Abergele the Hub told us we could give up camping. 

The Hub’s CFS/ME gives him temperature issues.  That’s how we found ourselves in the middle of the night in a November Stockport street: him in summer shorts and loose sweater; me in trainers and an ankle-length winter coat over my pyjamas, walking two frisky dogs.

The Hub shushed me as I said, ‘I’ve never been out at night in my pyjamas.’  ‘Shush!  Everyone will know you’re a Scouser.’  ‘I hope no-one sees us,’ I said, just as the packed 309 bus passed us, with every passenger on our side of the street doing a double-take.

Of course, the real issue is: how do you see a dog poo in the dark?