Sophie's Blog

We have had downtime for a few days, I am afraid the internet had deserted us. Thanks to a very helpful lovely person at Sky in Belfast, we are now back on line. What has been happening to me you will ask, well it has been raining and, as yesterday, 15 th of July, was St. Swithin’s Day, we are, if folklore is to be believed, likely to get 40 days and nights of the same sort of weather. Saint Swithun or Swithin died c. 862 records say, he was the Anglo-Saxon bishop of Winchester; he is also the patron saint of Winchester Cathedral. Like much of this old folklore (no matter what the met office say and anyway how often are they right,) it is based in fact, the weather in the UK invariably by about July is often set in a pattern which continues for the rest of the summer. Here we go then, wind, rain and thunderstorms, lovely.

I am in the proverbial again. Tuesday she was informed that I am not allowed in Lloyds TSB anymore ‘health and safety rules.’ The kind customer service person told her three times while we were waiting in the queue and again when we got to the cashier and was even thoughtful enough to inform him too. Was this not a bit over the top? What was she to do, take me home then come back, it’s a good way and the petrol involved. Was she to chain up this very expensive pedigree to the railings outside the bank and hope for me to be (gone?) still be there when she got back, or stand her ground? She stood her ground; she was seething but stood her ground. Then yesterday I went to the beauty parlour (I told you I was expensive). She was told in no uncertain terms that the level of my personal hygiene was not up to standard. There was matting close to the skin on my feathering. She was told, my feathering must be brushed daily and well, she must be firm with me…! She was charged £4 extra for my being ‘knotty’ This morning we met Juicy Lucy coming up the road, (she is a Westie very chatty) I did not want her to have my ball so moved sideways into the road. Apparently if a car had been coming I would have been a goner. She says she is entirely fed up to the back teeth with me, my antics and associates. I am nothing but a pain in the neck. He says she needs a holiday. She says she does – from me…!

We are in fact off on holiday tomorrow, (Saturday) for two weeks. I have been promised the beach and golden sands. The Grockle has arrived and I am looking forward to a lovely time, but I wish she was not coming. If I could figure out a way of ‘making this so’ believe me I would. We would have a far better time without her. By the way we still have a coalition government, and Robbie Williams is returning to Take That, and Madrid Zoo have reputedly made an unlimited offer for Psychic Paul.

Have a lovely weekend we will regroup in two weeks.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie.

What shall we talk of this morning, the rain? Be very careful what you wish for folks. We had buckets of the stuff yesterday. The plastic bowl also reappeared. We were on a wet weather walk twice yesterday and I had forgotten the boredom that accompanies these actually clandestine trips down the farmer’s private road across a broken wall through the corner of his field (which has no crops so she does not feel guilty) and out on to the road; all done at breakneck speed for obvious reasons.

That flaming octopus is still making the headlines, I really cannot abide show offs. It really is so vulgar to make a display of oneself in this way, much undignified. What was also undignified was the trip I made to the vets. As you know a trip in the kennel on wheels is my favourite occupation, however, there are certain rhythms and bumps in the road that correspond with a trip down Bourne way to the vets. Nothing ever good happens on these trips, it usual ends up like this one. Why do I need worming, it is not as if I dine at restaurants with worms on the menu, and why do they make said wormers so large? The nurse was rather condescending when asked if she would give me the tablet as it was very difficult, ‘you just drop it down the back of the throat’ she said. I managed, creditably, to defy all attempts to get these wormers down my throat. She even tried with my favourite rice dish. I licked it off and spat it out. The rice dish was excellent. By the fourth attempt I was getting bored with the whole performance (it was of the Oscar variety) and no more titbits were on offer so I decided the better part of valour was to swallow the …..thing. My scribe, to her credit, did not utter the over used phrase ‘I told you so’.

One should always know when to give in gracefully. Note to Psychic Paul give in gracefully and slope off back to your pond. I am bored with you and according to my scribe’s friend Wiki Octopi only live from three to five years. So take it easy mate and go back to your pond life. It is very stressful in the spot light, and only true stars survive…! We have heard from Cheapseats at last; he is on his way home tonight, from what has been an extremely arduous tour of duty at the World Cup, he says. We hope to see him soon with many lovely stories to tell, I am sure.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

It’s raining, just small tentative drops, nevertheless it is raining. It is so very welcome, I may be very sorry I have made this statement at a later date, when we are up to our necks in mud again, but I am so glad the heat has gone. Parched does not describe adequately what the countryside looks like, even beautiful Rutland struggles in her skirts of burnt sandy brown.

Well that flamingly octopus managed to correctly predict the outcome of the World cup and Spain eventually won the final. It was too hot for popcorn they agreed, (I was not asked, it is never to hot for popcorn). I, however, decided it was too hot to sit on the sofa, so I watched from my vantage point by the bookcase in the cool. She tries to stop me watching the oblong box she says it gives my nightmares. It does not! I believe this argument has been logically concluded on a number of occasions, but doubtless my necessary interloper will disagree anyway out of her compulsive desire to have the last word. So, contrary to her expectations; I slept well last night, even with that fan blowing at me. I really do not like the fan but it is necessary irritation in this hot weather. Where was I? Ah! Yes, Psycho Paul (or was it Psychic Paul I cannot remember?) who, I suppose deserves a mention for correctly predicting that Spain would win. My prediction of Holland winning was totally adrift. My only excuse can be is that Psychic Paul has eight legs and I have just four, and it was insufferably hot.

He, along with most of the media pundits, was disappointed with the Dutch resorting to some unfairly brutal tactics; it was surprising they were not reduced to 10 men (or less) in regular time. It was perhaps even more surprising that the Spanish were not reduced to only 7 or 8 player due to injury. Not since Karate Kid 1 has he seen such an impressive flying kick to the chest, perhaps De Jong should consider karate at the 2012 Olympics as an alternative option for a winners medal. Fortunately, the Spanish who continued to impress with their patient, skilful passing used to develop some excellent chances that the Dutch defence did well to last until extra time before conceding the winning goal. The Referee did his utmost not to send players off and relegate the final to a one sided walk over.

The oblong box says a BBC children’s puppet called Andy Pandy, who appeared on the Watch with Mother series is sixty today, apparently he sings ‘Andy Pandy’s coming to play tra la lah la la lah’ Not to my house he will not;I have had more than enough of a singing anything. He can go Looby Loo.

I am off to fetch my lead for a walk in the rain.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

Still no rain here; we are now obsessed with the prospect of dying plants, grass, shrubs and my ever shrinking watering/swimming holes, even the pool by the old ash tree is depleted and filled with reeds. When will we get some measurable rain? Even my forecasting skills see no end to this heat wave.

We are all awaiting the predictions for the world cup final between Holland and Spain. There is a very cocky octopus (Psychic Paul) that is now bidding for world fame that thinks he can predict which team can win. Apparently this resident of Germany has been right so far and even predicted the fall of its home country. He is brave I will say that for him. Threats have been made against this specimen’s life, dark threats of butter and a frying pan; hmm Calamari I love it. Will he survive to make the next prediction let alone be right?

Enjoy the footy and have a lovely weekend. By the way, we still have a coalition government, they are in trouble but they are still there. Education Secretary Michael Gove has not followed the example set by Gordon Brown et al in the last Government, he has used the sorry word repeatedly, admitted it was his fault and responsibility, and what did he do wrong; his department in an attempt to inform schools that Labour had promised large amounts of money they did not have to allow them to build and refurbish their schools and as a consequence almost all proposal would need to be reassessed to ensure what money is available is used properly. So there were a few errors in the facts, would they have rather waited another month while everything was checked, sent to a quango and rechecked, before they were advised?

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

It is rather cloudy this morning; the low clouds seem to have trapped the hot muggy air between us, and the clear blue sky above it. There appears really to be no relief from the hot weather. Heat without sunshine is so depressive, don’t you find?

My scribe says that she will return to not being interested in football after today. For this grain of sanity we must be grateful, as every time she decides to support a team, and actually watch with us on the sofa, they lose. So you can see by last night results, which team carried the dubious honour of carrying her favours in to battle. It is said that Spain had magnets on their boots and that the ball designed in Loughborough GB was an ingenious and deliberate attempt to subvert Germanys 4-2-3-1 system when used correctly. (Couldn’t someone have informed the England Team?)

We investigated the saga of the England team’s under 19s debacle mentioned in yesterday’s blog, and it appears, according to the Telegraph’s Henry Winter (who is still, we take it, Cape Town’s correspondent, though they don’t say so in print today), that Harry Redknapp does have the say as to whether the four youngsters could join the England Under-19 squad in France, mentioned yesterday. Redknapp is reported to have said ‘If they need the kids, we will get it sorted out.’ Is this the words of a man flexing his power muscles, or a man with an eye to his future, when the fabulous Capello makes the top job vacant? This is absolutely my last word on football, my scribe says.

My friends in the Lake District are very short on water, the news reports tell us. This is hard to believe having trawled through rain belts, carrying heavy downpours this time last year. I would not have believed the state of reservoirs if I had not seen them for myself two weeks ago. I hope both Rutland and the Lakes get some rain soon. As you know I don’t do the heat, and my river is turning into a stream very quickly.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie.

The sun still shines over beautiful Rutland; the time when we were almost drowning in mud is a long and distant memory. I would almost enjoy the spectacle of the plastic bowl coming towards me. Well perhaps that is going slightly too far. Seriously we badly need rain. Large cracks are forming like giant wrinkles on a once lovely face all along my footpath.

We very much enjoyed the weekend sport, however. Her favourite Spaniard, Rafael Nadal, won easily, it says in the press; but he did so with irresistible style, (according to her anyway). Also Serena Williams, critics like to mock her but she has now passed Billy Jean King and is catching Martina Navratilova and Chris Evert on the Grand slam all time lists, they tell me. It is interesting that both the players mentioned above who won the mens and womens final this weekend have strong family teams involved in their playing camps; as does Andy Murray who I mentioned on Friday, our big hope for the Championship. The Telegraph implies that all things are not well in that camp, but the rumour of sacking his coach is however pure speculation, it is said. His Mum really has to stop all this gyrating when she is viewing a match, from one pushy mother to another, this is not a good look, my scribe says. It is not all gloom and doom for team GB. We had successes and some hope for the future, Farquharson and Broady won the Boys Doubles. It was an all GB game so we had it in the bag from the start, this wonderful situation only happens once in a blue moon I am told. I do wish though that it could all be conducted in the evening, my tennis fanatics don’t tend to eat popcorn in the afternoon.

One last word on the England football camp, (or maybe not if we can find something of interest) players are now saying that it was not the coach’s fault (funny old thing that) as they wing their way off on their hols. Germany’s captain Philipp Lahn was asked if England could now say they were better than Argentina because they had managed to score a goal against England. ‘England was a good team with big players. In both games we were ready and you saw again here that the better team wins against the better players.’ There is that word again, Team. Also according to Henry Winter the Telegraph’s correspondent in Cape Town in the same piece says that England’s problems are rooted in the club versus country tension, and are highlighted by Tottenham Hotspur’s refusal to allow four of their prospects to join England’s Under-19’s at an important tournament in France next week. It is hard to believe this when Harry Rednapp’s tearful face comes to mind being interviewed when England were knocked out of the world cup, but perhaps he has no influence with whoever deals with his developing players. I will send my scribe to investigate. Also worth considering is that one of England’s problems is too many players who are right footed, especially on the left side of the field. Now, I (a talented footballer myself) am four footed how useful could I be, and very proud to boot.

John McEnroe talking to John Lloyd on a Wimbledon commentary this week said, ‘there is nothing more honourable than to play for your country. You should do it every time you are able. It is an honour to be asked.’

I am of course

La Grande Sophie.

It is the end of yet another week in beautiful Rutland. We have had a few meagre spots of rain along the footpath; everything looks badly in need of a good drink. The oil seed rape, two fields away is smellier than usual, but seems to be the only field that has enjoyed the weather; it is well over her head now when we walk through. The walk by the river is worrying for her, I know, as she is frightened of snakes. I can’t say I am that keen either. However, we have not seen or met any adders this year, but they are there I know it, so she is wise to be worried by them. Last year’s lot frightened him as well as her and I when we met one sunning itself on the path. However, I do wish she would not sing at the top of her voice, it may well encourage hissing Syd and friends to vacate the vicinity in quick time, but please, I have super efficient hearing. Also some of the songs she sings are on the naughty side, and extremely common. I think she spent to much time around Rugby players earlier in her career.

Have a lovely weekend.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

It is a very hot day here again in beautiful Rutland. The 1st of July, how time flies. This time last month we had rain and hopes of popcorn on the sofa watching the England Team at least attempt to make a stab at winning the world cup. With tales in the Sun this morning of poor old Becks having to be a peacemaker between the Captain and ex Captain, and Harry Rednapp saying that the England future looks scary, one wonders if I will ever have popcorn on the sofa ever again watching an England game… and we trust that it will rain soon, the garden needs it.

Team is a fantastic word, with many connotations it basically means, (note to scribe basically is an overused word); a group of people organized to function cooperatively, who combine and match. Bearing in mind the press reports of the last year, (and there have been many) about the play on and off field; it could be said that what the FA sent to South Africa was not a team, or persons who reasonably could achieve this status, she says they neither, complemented, matched or combined with one another. There was arguably too much dirty laundry and Football League rivalry involved for this lot to have ever gelled if reports are to be believed. It is a great shame, especially for all the troops in hot sandy places that would have taken a great delight in watching if an England team of true professionals without emotional baggage and inflated egos had turned up to play in the tournament in South Africa. That would have been a tournament she would love to have seen, my closet Sun reader says, and she is a cricket supporter.

We live in hopes for Andy Murry in the tennis at Wimbledon now and hope he does not have a penchant for a cigar on the side, Havana or otherwise, it’s very bad for the lungs don’t you know. His team seems to be working hard and functioning at the moment.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

We do not take the Sun newspaper; we are Telegraph readers and, as you will know as a regular reader of this blog, we often feature bits and pieces that we find of interest. I have been told however, that today we are featuring a banner headline from the Sun. This feature will tell you many things I know about the composition of my household from a psychological point of view, but mostly it will tell you that we have a closet Sun admirer and reader in our ranks. It could only be one person couldn’t it? Yes of course my scribe.

Yesterday’s banner headline, for those of you who were not fortunate enough to read it on the news stand at Morrison’s, stated; ‘Sunny outlook in many areas but depression over Heathrow as shower drifts in from South Africa.’ Today we notice, (they have her interest for sure, because she is Googling them now and has added them to her favourites bar), the Sun is aiming their penalty kicks in much the same area; today’s headline states ‘Are you Havana Laugh,’ and shows interesting pictures of the England team enjoying a post drubbing, ‘boozy party’ (the Sun’s words of course, not mine) they all look to be having a very good time, a cigar is featured. We are not sure how it can be ascertained from the photo if this is infact a world famous Havana. We must however bow to superior knowledge. Check it out don’t take my word for it, it looked to be some party from the empty glasses on the table.

All this is very interesting, it masks the fact that life is slipping back to normal after our journeys, in the ‘Grock,’ (the new caravan) which I have to say is a vast improvement on the nylon house, I loved it. For once it did not ‘rain on our Parade’ and we all enjoyed the Lake District in back to back sunshine. This has to be a first. Has anyone else ever been to the Lakes when it has not rained? The sun shines on the righteous it is said, they must be good persons this year.

We await with interest the Sun newspaper headlines tomorrow, I know you will think this is treachery from our point of view, but for now we are content in admitting that we are, newspaper wise, ‘running with the fox and hunting with the hounds,’ for the persons at the Sun truly make us laugh and laughter is the best remedy for just about everything and everybody; even disappointed footy fans.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie.

Well I am returned to Tumbledown; the weather is extremely hot and as you know I don’t do heat. What has been happening while I have been away walking in the Lake District? Well, beautiful Rutland has had no appreciable rain for a start and my garden looks very brown, the water butts are empty, my scribe tells me. For sure we are desperate for some rain. There appears to be none on the horizon according to Accuweather, however as you will know weather forecasting for a group of islands like ours is an almost impossible science.

What else is perhaps an impossible science are the assortments of players that can arguably score goals, defend and generally play football she says, for our country. The latest excuse for the pathetic performance on Sunday from the England camp is apparently they are all tired, from a long hard season in the football league. Let me tell you a story, you want to hear, you know you do! She tells this story often, it is a favourite and I know it off by heart.

‘On the morning of April 19th 1949, H.M.S. Amethyst a small Royal Naval frigate left Shanghai to go up the Yangtze River to Nanking, the then capital of China. She was replacing H.M.S Consort a destroyer who was on station, as naval protection for the Embassy and British residents in the capital. It was the time of the Chinese civil war. Although she was draped in the Union Jack the communists fired on Amethyst from the banks of the Yangtze. She was lucky to start with; she was well out of range of the communists shells. Then, passing Rose Island, the ship was hit many times. Twenty two members of her crew died as a result of this attack: twenty eight others were seriously wounded. Amethyst had also lost her Captain and her doctor, ran aground in the mud with no wireless or any other viable instruments intact, except her echo-sounder. At 2.30 Consort arrived, guns blazing, and twice tried to tow Amethyst off the mud bank, but she was too badly aground. Consort went on alone to Shanghai. Lt G L Weston took command, they mended the radio and refloated; he took her a little up river to a slightly safer area. An R.A.F flying boat brought a doctor the next day. Weston moved Amethyst again; watched from the shore by Commander John Kerans, assistant naval attaché at Nanking; his orders where to take command, which he did the next day. It would be a hundred and one days before Amethyst would leave this spot. Food ran short, fuel was rationed. Talks with the Communists for a safe conduct for the ship went on week after week. Kearns kept returning ashore to argue with them. It was decided there was nothing for it they would have to make a run for it.’

It is a wonderful story of courage and well worth a read she says, they patched, pasted and connived their way back to sea. Every day brought renewed worries of internment and death from shelling. On the 30th of July Kerans took his chance, under cover of darkness using a merchant ship as a guide the ship’s crew made their bid for escape; blacking the white paint work and brass with grease, and using sacking and canvass to change their outline to look more like a Chinese frigate. Against the odds, despite being holed on the waterline, the damaged frigate was able to send Kerans last signal “Have rejoined the Fleet south of Woo Sung. No damage or casualties. God save the King.” Now I reckon that lot could carry the label of being tired deservedly. It is obvious that being tired is a state of mind and entirely relative for persons. I am sure the crew of H.M.S Amethyst would have enjoyed the opportunity to tire themselves in a plush hotel in Austria for a couple of weeks and then another all expenses paid (plus enormous wages) opportunity to tire themselves on safari and playing golf before a relatively few minutes of competitive football over four weeks in South Africa. They would of course been far too tired to escape after all that effort, and would of followed the English Football Team’s example and just given in.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

Oh Dear, another dank morning, not as cold perhaps as yesterday, but the sky is full of rain. There seems little movement in the way of wind, so the rain clouds look low and statutory. As promised yesterday, my scribe and I went to look at the fallen tree by the river. Due to one thing and another, which is far to complicated to go into, we had not ventured this way for over a week. The reports were true, unfortunately. We found that one of the old ash trees had in fact come down. It was not, however, my favourite tree that has hit the deck, but the one next to it.
My favourite tree pictured, plays an important part in my life. My scribe says it looks like an Ent, the legendary tree shepherds, featured in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. I expect you will think this is fanciful, but for sure, this tree is a great favourite for both of us. You never know it may be one of the missing Entwives. The loss of its next door neighbour is a nuisance as it blocks the path, however, to have lost our tree would have been a tragedy. Our tree holds a secret. It marks an important spot, for this is where I enter the river. Here is where it is deep enough, in all seasons, for me to swim. We were actually in the river last weekend by the now fallen tree. He thought there was something wrong, the old tree was creaking; we had to move as a branch came down. The winds of that evening obviously finished the job.

It was also the first time we had truly been across the fields on our own since the Little Accomplice and her Maman were with us, how I missed them. Come back soon Little Accomplice I am getting the full and undivided attention once again and had not realised how wonderful it was to not be the focus of what I can only describe as nagging.

I am off on holiday for two weeks in something called a Grockle. I await with interest; have no fear I will return with tales of my exploits.

I am as always

La Grande Sophie.

It is raining today, at least in my part of beautiful Rutland. The weather looks cold, damp and just like November I must report from my usual vantage point on the window ledge. Reports have come to my scribe’s notice that a tree has come down on the footpath by the river. I have a vested interest in a certain tree in the vicinity of the report. I will investigate, weather allowing, this afternoon and give a full account of the incident tomorrow.

I am conscious of the fact that I may be harping on about my very traumatic week, but I feel that I must fully put you in the picture. The Little Accomplice is a wonderful phenomenon who is likely to feature at regular intervals in the blog; so you my reader should be fully aware of what I am dealing with. Every move was watched and assessed, every waking moment analysed by the persons in her life. There is time, I found, and then there is baby time. Conversely, time does not exist, I found halfway through the week, if it was not counted baby time. I was not allowed on my window ledge and then I had my kennel of wheels commandeered; I was everyday left behind while they went out gallivanting. They said it was too hot for me in the car, what rubbish. What could be worse than all this? I think it was maybe the caterwauling that upset me most and perhaps, that fairness and justice seemed to disappear from my life. Desertion by the persons you most love is a bitter pill to swallow. The Aylesbury Two, the love of my life him; and it goes without saying her. However, with her it is par for the course. Although I was taken on a long walk most afternoons; I feel this was more luck than good judgement. One day The Little Accomplice kicked off her slipper and lost it; consequently much back tracking had to be patiently carried out searching for this missing article, which was found in the middle of the rape field miles back. On another day out with the Aylesbury Two our route out of the fields was cut off by an advancing tractor, spraying what smelt like maybe liquid manure. It is quite a long way back through the next village and along the road, when you get cut off. Mercifully, the Little Accomplice did not commence her caterwauling in public for which I am grateful; one cannot stand being shown up in this way. In fact she seemed to enjoy the joke and smile benignly on the assembled grumbling entourage, from the comfort of her chariot.

We no sooner waved goodbye to the Aylesbury Two when low and behold Cheapseats arrived in the middle of the night. He had come to see, guess who. Has my whole world gone mad? He was repaid for his curiosity by a night on the airbed on the lounge floor. If you are ever offered the air bed on the lounge floor in Tumbledown please take note; this situation is not for the faint hearted. You are likely to find people coming down from the upper regions forgetting you are there and putting the lights on. Also, those of us that are now reluctant experts on the baby situation will know that they wake us for more filling and emptying at indescribable unconventional times. Well Cheapseats came to see the Little Accomplice, what better time of day to be introduced then first feed of the day. This of course has to be administered without delay or our ears get a bashing at an eye watering 6 am. Be careful for what you wish for, is a good motto Cheapseats.

An interesting change to my surrounding took place in preparation to the aforementioned series of events, he started constructing barricades in the garden and when people arrived they were given rules about throwing balls for Moi; RULES in my garden. This engendered a fascinating game of wits between all the visitors and Moi against her; our rules were simple to find ways to breach the barricades ‘accidently’. This involved 3 dimensional snooker/billiards where the ball needed to take ‘unexpected’ bounces or rebounds with cries of horror and apologies after I had managed to bypass the defences and smell the flowers without (I hasten to point out) damaging too many plants, honestly would I tell a lie?

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

It is a grey dank morning, we have fog, the sort we usually experience in autumn, I can hardly see the trees on the green from my window ledge. My scribe moans about the fact that it is cooler. My senses say the fog blanket is for heat and it well maybe too hot for me later. I suffer with the heat; it is the fault of my wonderful coat you know.

Apparently it is good to talk of your problems. It is wonderful to have an understanding audience, with whom I can share the small troublesome clouds on my horizon, when they waft into my life. My most pressing problem is the fact that the Little Accomplice may return at any moment. She squawked horrendously at intervals, my nerves are quite shot, you will understand. I tried joining in once but was told to stop that noise. It was not me, who started the noise; a never ending rotation of what I can only describe as filling and emptying actions accompanied these sessions. Sometimes the smells were frankly disgusting; I removed myself, my balls, toys etc from its vicinity for fear of contamination. The Little Accomplice found me, of course, fascinating, and would grab at me if I came within striking distance. I stayed well out of her reach; of course, one does not wish to be roughed up.

My trusty scribe says we didn’t have enough room in Tumbledown House to ‘swing a cat’ while everyone was here. I have told her before about swinging cats, it is not on; chasing them however, is fair game. I have to agree that we are short on space and if we are to be invaded by The Little Accomplice on a regular basis, as would seem the case, we need a bigger house to accommodate her adoring tribe of visitors.

One piece of International News has been floating across the Atlantic. Apparently over the weekend there were problems at Las Vegas airport. Rumour has it that a plane load of passengers had accumulated in the custom hall, this is usual I understand; however what was strange was that they were accumulating in small groups and trying to harmonise, in Barber shop quartet fashion. They were all singing the same song about a light-up bear, and hugging. The latest information would suggest that several customs officials have not made it into work this week due to stress.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

It is raining heavily here in beautiful Rutland. It has done since last night. I have been to town in the kennel on wheels this morning after being persuaded on a small walk. I am now trying to persuade the powers that be (my faithful scribe) that I do not need anymore exercise of any kind until the very threatening thunder clouds desist. For the first time in an age we have an empty bird table; no sane being wants to be out in this weather.

I love to receive gifts: don’t you? The more the better. Two people who often buy me extra special gifts are the Aylesbury Two. All sorts of favourite items have been provided by two of my favouritest of persons. I wonder though, how two such estimable persons, with such immaculate taste, could buy a Teddy Bear with dubious traits, for guess who, when they came to visit. Still a gift, is a gift, meant to be appreciated I suppose, but I was not impressed at first, mainly because I am the one that usually receives gifts of soft toys.

The Little Accomplice loved this bear; I tried to steal it, but was speedily shown the error of my ways by the Little Accomplice’s Maman. She in fact rescued me. Do you know what; the bear actually talked like a person talked? It said rhymes constantly. The Little Accomplice, or her constant stream of admirers, would press light up number buttons to hear these emotive phrases. Still other buttons would jam into a tune and lights would flash with the sounds, an on/off Heart Button would elicit a kissing sound effect, followed by bye- bye. If I had inadvertently put half of this startling equipment into action I would have perhaps had a heart attack. The best bit is yet to come, yes there is more from this amazing bear; the little Blue Bear sang, often, at a flick of the Little Accomplices magic fingers the following song:

I’m a friendly light up bear
I’ll teach you 123
A sleepy, hungry, happy bear
Hey, come and hug me!
(To the tune of Here we go round the Mulberry Bush I am reliably informed)

This little ditty had the habit of sitting on any person’s nuisance level, (fortunately, it had no affect on me whatsoever). It in fact brain washed all and sundry; they were all singing it. It was extremely funny. I wonder if the passengers on the Virgin Atlantic Flight back to Las Vegas last Saturday found it amusing after ten hours. If there were any spare seats in 1st class the flight crew could have made a killing raffling them off at £500 a ticket, I am sure.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

The spell of good weather ended with a thunderstorm last night and we look well washed and refreshed here in beautiful Rutland, we had desperately needed the rain. Looking back exactly seventy years ago, when between May 28th and June 4th an event Codenamed Operation Dynamo was taking place, the weather patterns were much the same as we have experienced lately. During this period approximately 340,000 allied service men were evacuated off the beaches of Dunkirk. An armada of vessels; large and small; civilian and military; from steamers and fishing boats to Thames river cruisers crossed the English Channel and saved the assorted forces from the advancing Nazi Army. Persons say it was a miracle and if it was, it was an Island race of people who had guts and knew how to handle a boat, type miracle, she says. Civilians and military alike dealt with the expected and the unexpected with flourish and endeavour. Mother Nature was kind and the weather was set fair, ‘a sluggish southerly airflow covered the British Isles and France and at times the sea was like a mirror, according to The Daily Telegraph article dated May 22, 2010. My scribe has no way of knowing if this is an official weather report from 1940. The article by Philip Eden also states if ‘Conditions had been as bad as they were in 1944 (D.Day) the repercussions’ scarcely bear contemplating; June of 1944 was the wettest and windiest of the century.’ Military Campaigns and Operations need good planning and a fair amount of luck it would seem.

After this topical walk into history you will want to know why I have been away from my blog for so long, you may well ask? The last time I was in print, two weeks ago, I was expecting what turned out to be the unexpected. I was looking forward to some fun; the Dear Ones were coming for an extended stay. The Little Accomplice came as a surprise; she was not what I had expected. There had of course been rumblings of the invasion force which was about to arrive, in earlier comments on the blog by the Aylesbury Two; but, I like that silly bird the Ostrich decided to stick my head in the sand. What I had expected, I think, was a smaller version of myself. However, what I got was a smaller version of the Dear Ones.

Living with the Little Accomplice and her strict regime creates wear and tear on the nerves I found. From 6.00 in the morning until 6.30 at night she has the persons in her life at full tilt. Even I can not keep up this pace. I am good at the high maintenance game, she is better. It was most impressive, and I watched with amazement and awe, she plots her day like a military campaign, she plans well and uses her luck with flourish and endeavour. My Persons took me to Llandudno to convalesce after her visit, after only a week we all needed Rest and Recuperation. It was an interesting and enlightening time. It would appear we have the analytical mind of a Field Marshall at work amongst us. Not bad going for seven nearly eight months. Wordly wise as I am, I now know I still have much to learn.

Also I must note that it was half term for our village children; this always shocks our pedestrian internet connection into Slow-Mo, which seriously frustrates my scribe, so there was no point in blogging anyway. Internet connections allowing we will regroup tomorrow.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie.

It is Friday again, the best day of the week. The sun is shining and it looks like it could be a warm, sunny weekend. We also have visitors coming, I know the signs. However, I have now been told that it is my Dear Ones coming; so all is very good in my world or almost. Just a couple of small clouds permeate my horizon. I have been banned from the window ledge. Apparently my nose is at fault, it makes marks on the windows. In keeping with the theme this week, which appears to be astrology; I will tell you that my scribe and housekeeper has ‘Saturn, 25 degrees in Virgo’ which makes her a bit pernickety in the housekeeping stakes, when visitors are on the way, apparently. My toys have been tidied away, but this is a situation that will be remedied while she is sorting my blog, dealing with spam and comments. I refuse to be manipulated by Virgo in Saturn; the window ledge is out of my control I have to have help to get there, but really enough is enough from my usually Lazy Libra. As you know he and I are Virgos and our life is as shipshape and Bristol fashion as our very; meticulous, reliable, diligent, intelligent, analytical, critical and perfectionist aesthetic senses require. Astrologically or any other way, we would not have it otherwise, we both like things just so, and we do not need any more tidying. Enough is enough; we do not believe in psycho babble of any sort either, astrological or otherwise…!

I will let you know about our visitors. I have been told in a comment form the Aylesbury Two that the baby problem is in fact the Little Accomplice. My only dealings with a baby, that I can remember (this is my second cloud), is when the baby came to visit from next door. She was making a huge amount of fuss and I flew up the stairs out of the way, and stayed there the whole of their visit which seemed like hours. I am now slightly worried, thanks to the Aylesbury Two and their timely information that, I am going to have to spend the next week in a form of voluntary house arrest in the upstairs regions. However, He doesn’t seem to be concerned, and is even happy about the whole visit, so I will have to trust him, I suppose, until events prove one or the other of us right, in true analytical Virgoan fashion.

Just as a footnote to posterity as you will know, I am very bored with the subject of politics, but a diary is a diary after all and events must be noted for a diary to be authentic. Against the odds we still have a Coalition Government. Nobody appears very happy about the status quo, but there you go. This is what those that could vote have voted for, so they say. So any problems persons have with said status quo can be blamed on those that voted, my scribe says. Have a lovely weekend.

I am as always

La Grande Sophie

A large box arrived yesterday, while she was out gallivanting; I must report that she was absent for most of the morning and part of the afternoon. The said box had to reside next-door with our neighbours, until her eventual return. Our neighbour often takes in our mail and consequently saves her the trouble of hunting down estranged goods and chattels from far flung depots, she is always very grateful. She said thank you for the large box and said something about it being for the baby. What is a baby? She did not open the box or seem curious to see what it was inside. Just left it abandoned on the hall floor. She is rather odd, it is a fact that she is never curious about other people’s mail or parcels etc. She is the sort that would not bother reading someone else’s diary, she says she has enough going on in her own life, to be bothered about what goes on in someone else’s. This Libra subject is only interested in her own little world, such a narrow introverted view on life, I feel. She will ask, does this affect my pay, does this affect my standard of living, and consequently, does this affect me? If the answers to these questions is no, then she decides to leave well alone. The road to hell is paved with good intentions she says, and, life is far safer since she has stopped interfering in what she calls other’s business. What was in the box was not her business.

Now he and I are Virgos, and although we try very hard to hide the fact, we are nosey, we are in fact the nosiest sign in the Zodiac, bar one and that is Scorpio. He, on spying the box, promptly opened it. He took out some brown packing, surveyed the contents. I went immediately to investigate too. I was told, ‘No Sophie it is not for you, it is all baby stuff, get your nose out.’ This was most disconcerting; I am starting to be slightly concerned that I don’t know what a baby is? I have a strong feeling that something is coming into my life that I need to know more about rather quickly.

However, it is a lovely day again here; a lovely blue sky and warm, a day for sitting in the garden swimming in the river and maybe not pondering about the baby problem.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

It is a spectacular day, here in beautiful Rutland. The sun is shining, there is no hint of a cloud, as I dictate. From my window ledge, it would appear that we are about to enjoy a very fine day, it is warm already and the river will invite me this afternoon, no doubt. The oblong box tells us, this morning, that the ash plume is moving elsewhere, so we are less anxious about our visitors travel arrangements. Much depends on the wind direction we understand, at the moment a benevolent wind is blowing the ash cloud away from our air space.

I hope the Dear Ones understand that travelling with a Libra can be complicated. I do not wish to preach to the Little Accomplice’s Maman and Papa, but there are certain words of wisdom I feel I need to impart; being as I have a wealth of experience, you understand, having travelled many miles with my own Libra. Firstly Libras are all smiles and charity, patient and benign usually, but can be difficult if bored, so it is a good idea to travel in twos, it halves the workload. They like to travel in comfort, so would book the best form of travel that one can afford, it is well worth the expense and far less earache. Libras like to relax in beautiful, comfortable surroundings; they do not like vulgarity or dirt or having to wait. Travelling companions should see that Libra’s chocolate etc arrives at the precise time, (they love their food), and be ready and willing to discuss literature, politics or the Arts at frequent intervals. In fact a willing slave is required, who does not complain, no matter what hardship is heaped upon their plate. Librans are sharp, and know straight away if a companion is bored, upset or angry and will act accordingly. They are however, willing to be entertaining, if indulged. Destinations must be beautiful, so we will fit the bill as you will know it is beautiful here. Add to this list a few killer outfits in the luggage and you will travel with a happy Libra, unless of course her luggage goes missing; then you will have large problems as he, and the Aylesbury Two, know from past experience.

It is said that, you can always tell a lot about a person from how they deal with the fact that they have lost their luggage. We know this to be a fact, benevolent Libra turns into Attila the Hun, when separated from her killer outfits, as one well known travel firm found out to its cost. Be warned and spread Libra’s killer outfits and necessities amongst your luggage just in case and trust no one.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

We have had a disturbed night. Much as I love him, I really object to being kept awake all night by him sneezing. Now, she has started sneezing. This is not a good scenario, she ‘is the weakest link.’ A cold usually turns into a cough and therefore bronchitis or pneumonia in her mind. Then as surely as night follows day, we have to put up with histrionics, amateur dramatics and all sorts of affected hypo-chondriatical behaviour. I would prefer that he kept germs at his work place, bringing said germs home is not a viable option, as we are likely to have her being neurotic and delicate for weeks. I am not amused.

The sun is shining here and I can report from my window ledge that it is much warmer. My friends at Accuweather tell us that Saturday will be warmer and dry with the possibility of rain on Sunday; perhaps, perhaps not, is all I would definitely predict, but I do concur that, without doubt, it is warmer. Think of me dear readers, stuck in the house with Mr and Mrs Cough and Cold. My weekend landscape looks bleak, whatever the weather. Unusually, he is not in my good books.

Have a lovely sneeze free weekend.

I am as always

La Grade Sophie.

The sun is shining yet again on beautiful Rutland this morning. We are much blessed, the colours along the footpath are wonderful. I will instruct my scribe to make some pictures for you, before the rain comes this afternoon. The cold snappy wind has dropped, but I must report that one of the tomato plants looks like it needs life support this morning; also the young Wisteria on the back fence, as we were troubled by Jack Frost again last night.

I am pleased to report futhermore, a lightening of spirits in our household last night; when he came home she said he must watch the news ‘it was very funny.’ I had heard her chortling earlier. The reporters were asking David Cameron if he was sorry that he had once said Nick Clegg was his favourite joke. It was truly amazing to see the reaction from these two men, she told him. David Cameron started to dig himself out of the hole and Nick Clegg helped him ‘Did you really say that about me.’ he asked interrupting the new PM in mid flow. ‘Yes,’ came the brutally, truthful, answer. ‘I’m off,’ said Cleggy. ‘Come back,’ squeaks our new PM in a troubled falsetto. The whole press pack fell about laughing, it was good to see. For a short time we had laughter, sunshine and a ray of happiness, on the news, a crumb of comfort in these troubled times she says. The news was not all good; but the press pack, and so the world, were treated to a seat in the beautiful garden of No 10, a snapshot in time. I approved very much of the garden, very pretty. However, it is not perfect, the Amish Quilters, it is said, deliberately make a mistake in their quilts, ‘because nothing in this world should be perfect’; and so it is with No 10’s garden, it requires a Cocker Spaniel, with a ball; then all would be perfect.

That is not all that has changed since Gordon Brown made his speech to the waiting press and the nation on Tuesday night. He said, ‘It is my intention to tender my resignation to the Queen.’ On his arrival at No 10 from the palace the new PM said ‘Her Majesty the Queen, has invited me to form a Government.’ What a difference not even a day makes, just a small change in wording. Words are important, once blown to the wind they can’t be taken back. The pen which copies the word is even more distructive, more powerful even than the sword, it is said. Respect and good manners cost nothing, but go a long way to calm troubled waters, perhaps we as voters will be respected too now, she says. Persons are odd creatures, they like this word respect, it means to show deference and esteem and to pay due attention, to be mindful of a person’s position, and to be thoughtful about a person’s feelings, an interesting word for sure. The waters will be very choppy for this Liberal Conservative government, she says but if they can make the cynical hacks of the massed media laugh like that, then they have made a very good start; for happiness and its cohort laughter is a very good medicine for many ills.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

I am late. I know, but today I have been to town. It is a beautiful morning, a sunshine and showers sort of a day. Large black clouds intermingle with blue sky and sunshine. The morning did not start in a satisfactory manner: she forgot to bring a ball along for my morning exercise. I was not amused this is part of my morning fitness routine, she usually manages a couple of throws and for this I have to be grateful. However, it is, as I say, a small, but necessary, part of my regime, I expect it. She was visibly hurrying me; which usually makes me slower as I tend to sniff every available blade of grass if I think I am being left at home. Imagine my surprise and delight when I found out I was wrong and I was invited to take my seat in the kennel on wheels and go to town.

Perhaps all the doomsters on the oblong box will be confounded also. Many say the coalition government worked out yesterday will not last six months. I hope that it does, my beautiful ears could not stand any more politics. It is not even worth the Popcorn nights, I would just love some peace. Peace is perhaps what we are going to get for at least a while. The Labour party will go away and create a new leader and this coalition will be that busy playing with their new train set, this lot might even stop short of asking us silly questions and telling us what to do, if we are lucky, she says. This coalition, will be fine, she also says, a bit like a young Luke Skywalker holding on very hard to Darth Vader’s leash. It is time for my rest. I have an extremely social morning, which is very tiring. I hope Davick Cameregg is not too tired to sort out the country’s finances!!

I am as always

La Grande Sophie.

Our home is run on very democratic lines. He is the chairman of the board, she is the managing director, I am; they think a very junior partner. Decisions usually revolve around what is best for me I am afraid; this in a sense inflates my status I know. The end results of most decisions are usually for the best, for all. They discus the issues and a compromise is reached. I am, sometimes, not happy with the compromise, but you see I am the junior partner, such is life.

Compromise is an interesting word, it means to agree and accept something which is maybe not what you want, but in your interests because it is for the greater good. So we compromise in life. But to compromise means that you must have a bottom line, one that you will not surrender. The more complicated the negotiations, the more important it is to have a bottom line. Our managing director makes compromises often, but, she knows full well what her bottom line is, she knows that she has to live with herself after the deal is struck. That is the trouble with compromise for persons that make them and cross their bottom line; they tend to hate, not only the people they have been forced to strike a deal with, but also, themselves, not a situation that we contemplate in our house. We all know our bottom line.

Why are you being inflicted with the governance of Tumbledown House, somewhere in Rutland you will ask? I am afraid it is politics again. (I can hear Dexter’s person moan from here). There was not much talk during breakfast this morning. She was silent and he was cross, it would seem our politicians are squabbling about power, while they should be sorting out what they can do for us, the people, and the debt bubble that will effect our Children’s, Children’s, Children, is all she says. They are both, I think, fed up and disgusted at how the political elite are able to turn statements and events to their own advantage, even now, when we are flat broke and have spoken in an election. My advice to David Cameron would be to remember your bottom line and don’t surrender any values you hold dear; political compromise through history leads to exposure and disgrace. How will Nick Clegg feel when Ed Balls is PM. It will certainly cause ructions in our democratic household. (She can’t stand Ed Balls as you know). Persons are funny things, she says, you think you know where they are coming from and like what they say, and then they throw you a curve ball, as the Lib Dems have done. They are as bad as the rest, if not worse she says, all they are interested in is changing the voting system, so it will be easier for them to become more powerful. You hardly hear anything about the economy now, only about changing voting systems. If the £ tumbles today it will be their fault, she says.

And as for Labour, again Gordon Brown proposes to force a change in the voting system through before he asks the electorate. The people did not vote on the basis of electoral reform , they voted on the state of the economy. They are understandably worried about the National Debt, he says.

It is a lovely morning on the footpath, I hope it stays that way. The clouds are being blown by a cold North Easterly wind, but the sun shining takes the sting from it. Perhaps by tomorrow we will have a government of some sort and there will be no indigestion at breakfast. I think I would prefer her chatter, to her silence it is slightly unnerving.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

What has caused gloom and doom at the breakfast table this morning? Is it the fact that Alistair Darling has apparently promised more money (putting us into more debt) last night, to the political black hole that is Brussels. (We are now to prop up something called the Euro) Or is it the fact that we have no semblance of government yet? A government of substance, the BBC commentator said. They find these words and keep using them; ‘substance’ is a Gordon Brownism, used to its ‘enth’ and is now so unoriginal. Like the phrase ‘did not fix the roof while the sun was shining’ how many times did we hear that on the oblong box? Well the roof is well and truly leaking now. It is to be hoped that the saying ‘Cometh the hour cometh the man,’ is right. Someone, preferably an elected someone, she says, needs to take control quickly. What could be the reason for this malaise? The pound on a knife edge? Shares falling? Future pensions and financial investments and most importantly holiday money or lack of it on everyone’s mind (we are off to the lakes soon, I have been promised)? No it is far, far simpler than that. Let me elucidate! This morning we awoke to a heavy frost. This will be the second or possibly third set of tomato plants that have been nurtured in the greenhouse and then cast out to grow strong and fruit that have been murdered by a late frost. One does not expect to be coddling tomatoes plants from frost this time of year he says. It should be warmer. As always I will agree with him. While the wind is in the North, North East it will be cold. We need it to back up south westerly, ‘it is warm wind, the west wind.’ She seems to think the lack of control in Downing Street is causing this chill, or was it just the fact that Gordon Brown is showing as much warmth as an ice lolly.

This is all my scribe can manage today, the broadband is slower than usual, so she is having real problems accessing the sites that she uses regularly. She tells me that we may not be able to manage to post for too much longer. Apparently my literary voice is to be extinguished, because her patience’s is running out with the broadband. I am of course very sad about this, as I feel, like ex Lib Dem MP Lembit Opik, that I have more to offer. It seems I am in dire need of a hero to rescue my literary genius; someone who has patience and can manage my scribe’s dodgy temperament, he will be home tonight to retrieve this situation never fear.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

Happy Birthday my favourite photographer; from your most photogenic subject. May all your themes and topics be as beautiful as me. It has to be about time you came home to see (and photograph) me surely. I have heard a whisper on the breeze that you will be coming soon, I hope this is so!
Message to the Little Accomplice, make sure Maman brings her picture taker.

Sophie xxx

It is a grey old day yet again, the wind is cold and the sun cannot make up its mind if it will shine or not. I was to have Dexter for company on my walk this afternoon but he has thankfully pulled out of the engagement, his person has to be elsewhere. So I can be assured of not having another attempt being made on my life.

There was no Popcorn last night; I had hoped there might have been; but no Popcorn and no bottle of Red. In fact it was early to bed, no sitting up watching election results for them. I was most surprised. My persons are solid however this morning in their disapproval on finding out from the oblong box that some of the electorate have been unable to vote, due to no fault of their own. Persons were locked out when the polling stations closed at 10pm even though they had stood in line for hours. After all political parties exhorting the electorate to vote, vote, vote, it is a criminal injustice that the right sort of arrangements were not made to accommodate this action she says. While it is fantastic to see on the oblong box, in places like Afghanistan, people standing in line ‘in very dangerous circumstances’ to vote, and using their democratics rights, you don’t expect to see queues and lock outs in the ‘Mother of Democracies.’ it is thought. Were the town councils etc trying to save money, she asked him at breakfast? As you will know from previous posts, breakfast is not a good time to ask him political or really any sort of question that requires an answer… Anyway the end result of all these weeks of angst seems to be a League of the Lost; with a Lib Lab pact. This is perhaps poetic justice; I heard the oblong box say, ‘let them that made the mess get us out of it.’ ‘Oh dear’ this sort of rhetoric will cause her to go off on one of her political benders. Breakfast will be disturbed for the foreseeable I can see.

I know you will be desperate to know if she voted. Well yes she did, he frogmarched (yes surprisingly this is a word, it means to forcibly walk) her over to our tiny village hall, and, sent her in first. It was her duty to vote, no matter that her vote counted for nothing in our Ultra Conservative safe seat, he said. Do I know what they voted you will ask? Of course I was part of the frogmarching detail, and know exactly how they voted. They both voted for…..

Have a lovely weekend it will not be politics free of course, as I am sure the whole country of persons would like. It would seem anyone who can escape the nonsense that will ensue from this highly expensive dip into the democratic system will be extremely lucky. Someone said on the oblong box that you ‘can’t do Pork Barrel politics if you a have no Pork,’ so negotiations will be long and painful, on the ears I am sure.

A final anomaly for someone to explain for me – If the parliament is to be hung, why are more conservatives being lined up on the gallows than Labour, who have been responsible for everything over the last 13 years?

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

Yesterday’s beautiful day has been followed by a dull, nondescript morning. I have come down from the window ledge as the scene outside is as boring as the weather, although I can hear Jack complaining about something nextdoor. The polling stations are open and the channels on the oblong box are united in shunning all possibilities of a political story. This is probably the calm before the storm, as we will no doubt be inundated if there is a hung Parliament she says. He is still hoping they are going to hang the lot of them, that way we can be sure of a change.

Having seen the up roar in Greece following the declaration of how they must tackle their deficit, I imagine Nick Clegg and David Cameron are voting Labour and Gordon Brown has probably voted BNP.

My scribe has found a small piece on the Telegraph web site which will be of news to the Dear Ones in the US of A. General Election Live says that ’07:51 A fracas at David Cameron’s polling station. Two men, one dressed in a blazer and boater, have unfurled a large banner at Spelsbury Memorial Hall in Witney, Oxfordshire, featuring a picture of the Tory leader with the slogan “Britons know your place. Vote Eton – vote Tory.” The police are on their way…’. We will, I am told, vote this evening, at least one of us will. My floating voter still seems to believe that her vote has no value, in this ultra safe Conservatory seat. According to the same source, polling is brisk even now at this relatively early hour of the morning, in some places in the big smoke.

Apparently John Prescott has posted a last-minute rallying call to Labour activists on YouTube. My scribe says for once being unable to acquire a large enough download speed to accommodate You Tube is a definite asset. Happy voting.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

The oblong box appears to be telling us this morning, wedged in amongst the politics, that Iceland’s Eyjafjallajökull volcano is misbehaving again and is puffing its ash clouds on to the North Westerly winds and hence towards our air space. We would not care two hoots really, now everyone we know is home safely, but we are expecting visitors I understand from far away. It is to be hoped the Wind Gods will direct the ash somewhere else when the time comes for my Dear Ones to come from the US of A. Other than that, which is currently a small worry, on the fringes of my mind, because we have a couple of weeks to wait yet, it would seem that when the Volcano misbehaves we seem to acquire a beautiful day; and so it is along the footpath this morning. To quote Sting ‘You can tell the sun in its jealous sky; we have walked in fields of gold,’ ( smelly oil seed rape, not barley, unfortunately.)

The political hacks are still debating about a hung parliament, I understand, (there is one in my household that thinks the lot should be hung after the way they have treated the public purse, whatever that is). Apparently every vote will count. We shall see she says. Even she, my floating voter and undercover political activist, who is complicatedly (is that a word) left of Mao Tse Tung and right of Attila the Hun, is sick of the political debates and general foolish predictions. All she really says on the situation is that she cannot stand any more Ed Balls, Yvette Cooper and Harriet Harman, that is for sure as I have mentioned before… However, while she was out this morning, the voice on the radio said, (she leaves the radio on so I won’t know she is missing), that, in the event of a hung Parliament, if Clegg won’t work with Brown and he stands down, then Harriet Harman the now deputy Prime minister will be Prime minister, assuming Labour can form a parliament without spending any more money. My scribe could wake up on a morning not too far away, with Harriet Harman in charge of the country. I won’t of course be letting this drop of knowledge access to her ear anytime soon, the dramatics would be quite beyond bearing, we will face the HH problem when or if it happens.

Google asks this morning on its site ‘Are more people searching Google for Brown, Cameron or Clegg? Find out more’. The answer is… You will have to search it yourself. I am extremely bored with the whole debate.

Happy Birthday Mrs Fairy Fingers, have a Beautiful day.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie.

I have had a mixed weekend; it started positively, with a trip to the river with Dexter to take photos for the blog. This quickly deteriorated when I was the victim of assault and attempted murder when he tried to drown me!! I was enjoying an extended paddle in the deep part of the river below the bridge when his person, usually a great supporter of mine, chucked his float on top of me. Before I could work out what was happening he landed on top of me also. Even the great Ian Thorpe would have struggled to survive this onslaught, I understandably sank. I have fortunately experienced total submersion in the past and managed to disentangle myself and successfully, if rather waterlogged, reached the safety of the bank. The assembled personage thought my difficulties highly diverting. Were they quite mad?

It has been a strange bank holiday; really he has spent most of his time working; I have of course been willing to sit on my window sill supervising. We ventured out to Springfield’s (we have discussed before that this is a shopping mall that has been built on the spring fields.) She shopped while we walked along the river, this was fabulous, just me and Him and a selection from my new tennis ball collection; for him to throw and me to chase and no moaning person with us; absolute bliss. What could possibly go wrong? Well the weather threw a wobbly. The sharp wind rustled up rain clouds from nowhere, they pelted us with hail; his much loved golf umbrella, a constant companion in adverse weather, folded inside out and died. However, he did not let this deter us from completing our walk (after all if he went back early he would have to join in the shopping!). so after a very enjoyable and entertaining walk he kindly placed me back in the car with water and a nice piece of Tripe to sustain me and then he went in search of the missing her; who was not answering the mobile as usual. She was eventually rounded up; I spied them coming across the car park he was, as expected, loaded up with her shopping. So, the May bank holiday passed as if it was an ordinary weekend, with none of the usual trips to my favourite of places Holkham, which is the norm on a long weekend. I can only dream of the miles and miles of golden sands.

A small snippet of newsy gossip; apparently she has heard it on the grapevine that Alan Duncan, our Conservative candidate in our ultra safe Conservative seat, was in the village last week canvassing. He was perhaps fortunate that he did not get to speak with my scribe, there might have been what we will call a ‘Mrs Duffy moment!’ (Mrs Duffy is the lady that so famously had a very pleasant discussion with Gordon Brown who then introduced us to the world of the gaff). With only two days now before, what she calls, Election Day, no one seems terribly excited. Perhaps because nothing is really going to change, whoever arrives in number ten; we will still be a village, with no school, no pub, an unenforceable speed limit, no designated dog bin and the highest council tax in the country, plus a remarkably slow broadband connection (our download speed managed a snail busting 15K over the weekend (interestingly he had to explain the kilo byte designation to a BT canvasser last week as she only worked in Mega bytes, needless to say they did not gain a returning customer on this occasion).

I am of course

La Grande Sophie

Sophie’s Blog started life as e-mails written to my daughter-in-law to make her laugh while my son was away. Both are serving officers in the RAF, and initially married life for them was spent based at different stations (or sometimes different countries) and involved a considerable amount of mileage meeting at weekends and holidays. Sophie was a vehicle to keep us all close and in touch as a family. Our newest member, my daughter-in-law, was an inspiration and kept the momentum going throughout. Sophie we found had a voice, which was unique, she actually had a well honed sense of humour, which suited her personality and her ongoing battle with the necessary interloper ‘her’ and the love of her life ‘him.’ I was encouraged latterly by my Tutor Group on the first run out of the Open Universites creative writing course A363. This course was the icing that topped my Humanities degree. My tutor group and study buddies encouraged me; Sophie’s voice they laughingly said was very funny and her stories, they thought, had legs! Others said that both voice and stories were unsustainable over a period of time. These comments caught my imagination so as my son and daughter-in-law were now based together in the USA and were a willing audience I decided I would find out, firstly, if I would run out of ideas, secondly if I could sustain the voice; could I write as Sophie’s scribe for a year? We shall of course see. Now I will hand you over to the inimitable, the indomitable, La Grande Sophie.

Birthdays have a grounding effect on one, don’t you think? I sit on the windowsill and watch my world go by. What has happened in my world this year you ask? Well I carry on being the most beautiful that I can be. This is not difficult. I have a fabulous coat. I am well exercised and loved what more could I ask. I will tell you the secret of my fabulous life style. Conflict. Not too much. Not too little Just enough to keep me on my toes, and everyone else on theirs.

For instance there is a cat that crosses my garden. I do not like this; it shows disrespect. Considering he never goes next door where Murphy the terrible lives; shows you the magnitude of my problem. Jack the Collie who lives the other side does not have the c problem either. So why do you think Dear Puss uses my domain as a corridor. Jack says it is because I am a girl! Well one has to suffer these stupid remarks as he is rather handsome. However, I caught Puss waiting for the goldfinches yesterday, underneath the hydrangea, very crafty, this will not be tolerated. I will sleep on this problem and invent a remedy. Trust me.

I am of course
La Grande Sophie

Today is the last day of April. It has been a funny month. My persons have been missing for a good part of it, visiting the little Accomplice in The US of A. I have been incarcerated on my ‘holidays,’ My proof-reader was stranded, also in the USA of A, by a rogue Volcano and its ash plume;(we are happy to report she is now home safe and sound) my communication and transactions with my blog have been severely tested and subsequently curtailed, due to the village children’s Easter Holidays from school and consequent lack of broadband etc.

April has also been a strange month weather wise. Usually, our prevailing South Westerly winds bring the April showers, that, as the old song says, ‘brings the flowers, that bloom in May’. This April however, has been a very dry month, (we have had less than 50% of our usual rainfall; it has been a wonderful plastic bowl less month). According to old fashioned weather law this mostly forecasts a wet summer. Research by my scribe tells us, that in the last 100 years, 9 dry Aprils were followed by wet summers. The April of 2007, which was warm and balmy, was followed by floods. Only one year bucked the trend, 1984, when remarkably heavy rain in May-June gave way to a dry summer. All I can tell you however, and who am I to go against what she calls the Stats, is that the weather and Mother Nature are as old as time; to forecast even with the benefit of hindsight is still a risky business. All I know for sure is we have another magnificent day along my footpath and the blossoms of the hawthorn promise a bumper harvest of sloes; for them to combine with something called gin in the Autumn. I have tried to sample this gin stuff when she is not looking, but quite honestly the smell!!!).

Last night we had Popcorn, the last mid week party to be held in honour of the Leaders, I have been told. I only went along for the Popcorn. Am I a party pooper? Perhaps, but the repeated exclamations of ‘Oh please,’ from her, and ‘answer the question’ from him,’ directed loudly at the oblong box, all became far too much for my beautiful ears; I went to bed. I understand from the conversation or perhaps lack of it this beautiful morning, that the bottle of red was the most memorable event last night. My scribe says, in the words of Bob Dylan, (looks like we are having a Dylan revival) ‘The times they are a changing.’ They say they are both certain, from what was not said by the Leaders, that hard times are coming financially. As previously noted in this eminent chronicle of a year in my life, if there is any belt tightening that needs to be done financial, it should start with haircuts; hers and mine, visits to the vets and holidays at Stalag Rutland Water. It will be May when I return. Have a lovely weekend.

I am of course

La Grande Sophie