More thoughtlets

Lack of commitment stifles creativity; no blog since May is a fine example of this. Recently I have discovered something else which inhibits the creative flow fundamental to life and that is freedom. Or in this case the lack thereof.

A monumental error has been made by me. This for someone who always strives to be right is an extremely difficult admission. I will explain.

Nearly a year ago The Doctor semi retired. So now he is only a semi doctor and does not need his car much anymore. He put it out casually that perhaps we only needed one car.

Many were horrified at this suggestion, as I was to begin with, having been a car owner and driver since the age of 21. He then suggested that maybe we should buy one new car and sell the current two. To cut a long story short I eventually agreed. Obviously I didn’t see the widered implications. To be fair he did say that I was to treat the single car as mine and he would fill in and take taxis as and when.

One car has now been sold. What I did not envisage was having to map my week out in advance, based around my car needs.

During the summer I was quite happy to take the bus on occasion. After all it is free for the gently aging. The difference is it was a choice and not a necessity.

The nearest shop is three miles away IMG_0393down a busy road or a muddy track. This is only a small grocery store which smells of tired decaying vegetables and dead wasps.

I want to return to the heady days of freedom to indulge my whims and fancies. Deciding in the moment to jump in the car and go, even if it is within the narrow confines of a small island 33 miles x 11 miles.

Since I am a self help junkie of many years standing I realise that to ameliorate feelings of lack I must think feelings of abundance (can one think feelings?). Attempting this makes me  wonder if it is time I left the self help movement, as it is a nigh on impossible task.

In the meantime I will await the delivery of the new car and from there decide my next move.

Check your inbox next week in case I have decided to express my freedom options further.

The Aged Chronicler



Rain, rain go away. The weather seems to be the main topic of conversation on The Rock. Will the sun shine or not. It certainly is prominent in my orbit. Most of my activities are based outside.

Walking The Poodle gods, getting fit, gardening. All outside. Only yoga and writing are conducted inside. I would even do both of these outside if that were an option.

The weeds slyly continue their offensive for garden domination. I watch through rain streaked windows as they grow before my eyes.

Rain soaked view

Rain soaked view

The Poodle gods are restless and pace up and down waiting for the walk.  Even the sheep, temporarily safe from canines cavorting in their field, look morose in the downpour. The lambs keep close for shelter.

Waiting for the rain to stop

Waiting for the rain to stop

beds vacated in readiness for walk

beds vacated in readiness for walk

Age has brought unwelcome frizz to my hair when exposed to moisture. The Edna the Inebriate Woman look does not suit me. I hate the gimpy unkempt style.

An idea would be to employ someone to walk alongside holding an umbrella. This would enable the continuance of my well groomed coiffure.

A fantasy of course, especially as the holder would in all probability want to chat. Possibly to distract from an  aching arm and shoulder.

Walks are a time for enhancing creativity, a time to be humanly alone. On these walks I am able to really conceptualise the notion of being present. There are only wildflowers (weeds on the other side of the great divide), the birds singing, the coconut aroma of the gorse.  I feel totally at one with the universe.

This is only when the sun is shining, the wind has gone off to worry another island leaving the air on The Rock still and the butterflies are fluttering unimpeded in the sunshine. Oh and The Poodle gods are not racing through fields scattering sheep. Perfect.

Next week I will be in Tuscany at the Fonteverde health spa. Rolfing, shiatsu and a mani and pedi being on the menu. Wine and as much food as you can eat another option.  Personally I will be sticking to my fitness regime.

On Friday I will be walking The Heritage Trail. Ten miles of an old railway track. The Paramedic and The Architect (retired), will be my companions.

Commiserations to The Ballerina, who only came third along with the rest of her school group in the action song, at the Manx Music Festival. In the same section, the school choir coached by The Cakebaking Multitasker,  was the winner. A cause for celebration. Either way I was on to a winner.

Hermione has a rodent problem to sort out this week.

Pleese help. mummys cat keeps triing to eat Roger. he trys to get in his cage and pushs his paw to eat him. Can you get me some cat killer as my rat hayts him.

Hermione replies

Who gave you my address? You should not be reading or writing to adult publications until

  1. You can write and spell
  2. You old enough to understand that Mothers are always right.
  3. You realise that rats are a world problem and the race is on to exterminate as many as possible.

Does this answer your plea?

Until after The Great Walk

The Aged Chronicler



An Add On

worth being home for

worth being home for

this too

this too

and this

and this

It would seem that in my eagerness to get the post out that I omitted to say that our hedonistic delights in  Claridges were delayed by sea mist. The plane couldn’t see so we had to wait. We went home and waited. It wasn’t a bad thing as  The Doctor had forgotten to turn off the central heating (anything that has negative connotations is rarely my fault).

Now we are back home after a tense drive to the airport yesterday. Due to traffic and the late arrival of the car taking us to to the airport we almost missed the plane.  There are times when public transport may be quicker.  Also I didn’t like the driver. His driving was OK but he acted as though I was invisible; very rude I thought. It’s his loss because we won’t use him and his S class Mercedes again.

The real world returned when I collected The Poodle dogs from Colditz. The greeted me with such enthusiasm I promised never to leave them again.  The Blind Beggar trotted all the way home like a show pony, tail and head held high.

It would also seem that I am becoming more like my Mother. She always expected me to intuit what she was thinking. For example if she wanted me to help in the garden she would automatically assume I would know this and rush to help. Needless to say that even had I known my child self would have pretended not to.

The Dog Groomer sent me a couple of dates and I replied thanks.

She replied is that a yes?

I just expected her to know.

After my rely in the affirmative she said call yourself a writer.

Seems I need more practice.

Similarly, while in Claridges I had my eyebrows dyed. Age has bleached their colour. I told the young beautician that I wanted them quite dark. The result? I look as if a couple of slugs are creeping over my brow.  From now on I will endeavour to be clearer in my requirements.

Until next time

The Aged Chronicler




Visiblise 3

image imageThis post comes to you from a Mayfair suite in Claridges Hotel. Having spent most of our wedding anniversary sitting in the airport yesterday I now fully intend to make the best of the time we have left here in this monument to excess.

We missed the ballet and afternoon tea but not wanting to dwell on what might have been I have booked a facial and an eyebrow tint for today and will intersperse it with other hedonistic delights such as shopping and lunching in Selfridges.

Not that I am forgetting my fitness training regime, for I am not. I shall walk briskly between venues and limit lunch to a light salad. That said breakfast is included with the room rate so I may not be able to resist one of the divine pastries on offer. Was it not Oscar Wilde who said the only way to deal with temptation was yeild to it?

All this of course is part of the Visiblisation Strategy and along with the fitness and eating less strategy things seem to be going well. It would seem that there are many aspects to this process and can be different for everyone. The key feature is to know and therefore be able to recognise the self.

This, I feel, will be a lifelong process for me. I used to envy people who were comfortable with their lot. Living and working in the same place all their lives. Or people who had found their place in the world where they felt grounded and a part of the landscape. Instead of treading lightly and never leaving footprints.

Since the transformation breathwork I have awoken to the fact that my footprints are everywhere. My daughter, whose birthday it was yesterday, grandchildren, these are some of the more obvious footprints. There are those left in places where I took a wrong turn, or thought it was a wrong turn, when in reality it was only another experiment that didn’t work out. My roots are more firmly grounded than I thought.

Yes, there is still room to dream, that cottage with the perfect weed free garden. A holiday home with a private plane to fly The Doctor, myself and The Poodle gods there for the winter. Where would we be without dreams, invisible?

This week Hermione is in The Lake District researching health spas for a book she intends to write about the best facial money can buy.

For some strange reason people feel drawn to confide their innermost secrets to my friend. To what end I am never quite sure.

A lady shared the following and asked for help with her lower chakra issues.

I have come here to have my chakras unblocked. I am having twice daily coffee enemas and am on a special high fibre diet. Also every morning I have a special massage from Dipu the eastern practices expert. I am not sure the exact eastern location he hails from but he has a distinctly Geordie accent. This special massage entails me removing all my clothes while he massages me all over and I mean all over. My body is stiff and sore from all the pressure but I think I am falling in love with Dipu and now feel unable to live without these sessions. I have been here for three months and my husband is asking to visit to see how I am getting along. I don’t want him to how can I stop him when he is paying?

Hermione replies, Your husband has more money than sense. Your chakras are so open they are spinning out of control. There is obviously something extra that Dipu is providing for you and God knows who else.  Go home, get a job or a hobby and rekindle your relationship with your husband. Not to mention rekindling the one with your own toilet seat. I hope this helps.

Until next Week

The Aged Chronicler

Visiblise 2

The absence of last week’s blog was due to my being on a transformational breathing retreat ( The results are phenomenal. I now feel a greater sense of wellbeing and more positive than I have felt in a long time.

The location wasn’t bad either, Lanzarote amid the volcanoes with eye-popping views. Also a god to stroke, The Breath god, see picture below.


This is him pre hair cut.

As a result of this retreat I can now see the way forward in the visiblisation process.

Maintaining focus is going to be the hardest part for me and to assist me in my endeavours I am doing 10 minutes of transformational breathing and 10 minutes of yoga in the morning immediately after rising. This is before The Poodle gods race up the stairs and jump all over me.

In September I shall begin my training to be a yoga teacher but in the meantime it is my intention to walk several of the long distance walks on The Rock. To this end I am in training. Up to now daily walks with The Poodle gods are about the sum of it but these are getting longer.

The date is set for two weeks hence to complete the first walk which is a 10 mile stretch down an old railway track, which passes our back garden. This is the shortest so a good place to start. That and the fact that when I reach our house, which is roughly half way, The Doctor will be on hand to provide sustenance. I will be accompanied by The Poodle gods for at least some of the way and will be chronicling my efforts on these pages.

Whilst I am well aware that my body is a Divine creation and is therefore perfect, a thought did cross my mind as I lifted out some  meat from the boot of the car. The bag was really heavy as the meat weighed about 131/2lbs.  It then occurred to me that this was about the same weight as the excess I’m carrying around every day. So that has to go. I will keep you posted. I am revising my diet as I type. Perhaps that is the answer a typing diet.

Any helpful tips will be much appreciated.

Before I hand you over to Hermione here is one more god picture. This is The Cake Baking Multitasker’s.

The Muffin god

The following are included mainly because I discovered a great new plug-in. One is a volcano in Lanzarote and the other three are the fruits of my labour. the last one got in by mistake and I don’t yet know how to delete it.

Hermione has a sad tale of woe from a widow on a mission. Please help me I am writing this to you with my flash light tied to my forehead with my Hermes scarf. So I hope you will forgive the shaky writing. The reason for this method of communication is that they switched the lights off at 9pm. They say that the generator only runs for so many hours a day before it  automatically switches off. I know this to be a lie as this place is connected to the mains. Let me explain further.

My current predicament is the result of my efforts to block the erection of a wind farm on land that has been seized from me by the local government. I have been protesting in the nude outside our local church, with good results, since it bought the TV cameras. One supported even commented favourably on my tattoo. Social Services have said that I am mentally frail and therefore unable to live alone so have forcibly  removed me to the Cherry Blossom Mission for the hopelessly vague. They keep me locked in this room for most of the day and only allow my daughter to visit. She is a poor unfortunate creature with the mental age of an under ripe banana. Time is running out for me and for my land. I am 93 please help.

Hermione replies. You really must keep your clothes on. At your age you may die of exposure not to mention frighten the wild life. Apart from that I have to admit I hate wind farms and consider them a sign of urban decay. I am on my way to get you out. Let me know the time when they allow you into the exercise yard. We will winch you up using a helicopter. I hope you don’t mind heights.

Until next week

The Aged Chronicler


Visiblise the Invisible

Back Lane copyGood BreadOne thing I have always hated is feeling invisible. Some would call me attention seeking or narcissistic, but I think they are rude; in denial about how they feel themselves.

Several things have entered my orbit this week to cause an invisibility revival. First was an article in the Mail on Sunday. I now dislike the paper but like road kill I am compelled to look at it. This article was about the health blog power players. The oldest of these four women was 32! How can the health of women my age be defined by women 30 years younger? So I decided to trawl the internet to find out what people my age are doing. I couldn’t find anything like the blog sites of these women.  It is possible that I was looking in the wrong place but if they exist they are hard to find. So my mission is to make the invisible visible, in a word visiblise. I have been called to action. So the following will form part of my manifesto.

I don’t want to

  1. Live past my sell by date
  2. Eat a plant based diet (primroses and daffodils don’t do it for me)
  3. Wear crop tops
  4. Be photographed doing a head stand (Unless I have a full Spanx body suit on)
  5. Drink almond milk
  6. Take up running
  7. Sit in a semi circle in an old peoples facility doing armchair Pilates
  8. Let my hair go grey

I do want to

  1. Live well however long or short that may be.
  2. Eat good food including meat and fish that has also lived long and well (OK I know I live in a fantasy world at times)
  3. Look at myself in the wall to wall mirror at the yoga studio and like what I see
  4. Drink good champagne and put it on my cornflakes without fear of the diet police (I don’t eat cornflakes but you get my drift)
  5. Walk the Millennium Way and The Road of the Herring Gull on The Rock.
  6. Sit in a semi circle chanting without feeling a right prat.
  7. Feel slim, elegant and beautiful.
  8. Have a blog site visited by a thousand people a day.
  9. Make people laugh without being offensive to anyone (a tall order when you are as forthright as I am)
  10. Notice the bits in between the wrinkles

In short live life on my own terms. I truly believe that if you can say you are doing so, then you are visible to yourself. It’s the best place to start.

So while I am working out what to do next I will hand you over to Hermione.

All helpful suggestions will be carefully scrutinised.

Good Luck to The Academic who is having her eyes lasered as I type this. End of an era of wearing glasses.

A ten year old reader writes Please can you write to my grannie. She won’t take me on shopping trips with her and granddad. She refuses to let me sleep over, saying that it will mess the bed up and she will have to wash the sheets. I am really clean and have a shower every week. I went out to the movies last week with my best friend’s grannie and she bought us sweets and cokes. Afterwards she took us to Maccy D’s. We had a super time. My grannie is a vegetarian and read me extracts of a book called Fastfood Nation and said I was rotting my insides eating such vile food. I have to eat carrot and quinoa salad when I go there for tea with the rest of my family. Mum says it is good for me but I want a grannie who lets me do what I like. After all isn’t that what they are for? Will you please help.

Hermione replies Your Mother and Grandmother are entirely correct. Ditch your friend because eating that kind of a diet she is not going to live long enough to see adulthood or if she does she will not be well. As for letting you stay over I entirely understand. Washing only once a week is not enough what is your Mother thinking? Grandmothers are long suffering individuals who didn’t understand when they gave birth to their own children that they would be burdened with surrogate offspring. Whoever gave you your inflated sense of entitlement needs a good smack. I hope that puts you in your place.

Until Next Week

The Aged Chronicler




This and That


This week I was feeling whimsical so created these. Either I am mellowing with age or need to stop reading so many self help books. Or it could be a reaction to several visits from the double glazing salesman. If I had known that to purchase double glazing, one had to first be bored to the point of inertia I would have put up with the draughts.

Hermione sorts out a medical problem this week.

Please help, I have fallen in love with my family doctor. I know he is interested in me as he often gives me free samples of antiseptic throat lozenges. I have asked several acquaintances and they have not received any such gift. Although one was offered a plaster when she cut her thumb on the surgery lavatory seat, which was cracked. I visit as often as I can and often make up symptoms garnered online. Last week it was leptospirosis and this week I am planning pancreatitis. He never seems to mind my visits and gives me the full five minutes. I met his wife in the car park and I think the marriage is in difficulties as I overheard her telling the woman she was talking to that there had been no free throat lozenges recently. Do you think I should reveal my feelings to him?

Hermione replies Under no circumstances should you reveal your feelings to this man. His marriage may well be in difficulty especially if all his wife has to look forward to is a few free throat lozenges. Are you hoping that you will be the one to change him and get him to upgrade to say, free pens or hand cream? Have you ever been married? If you have, you will be aware that real men often actually hand over money for gifts for their partners. Change doctors and get out more. Take long walks, much better than mooning after some unattainable medic.

Until next week

The Aged Chronicler

Little chickPicMonkey Collage

Moving On

Resting on three legs

Resting on three legs

There is an eyesore in the upper part of Liverpool city centre. The fact that it is known as the bombed out church gives you an idea why I consider this roofless home to peripatetic pigeons, a blot on the landscape.

St Lukes Church, built in the mid 1800’s on land donated by the then Lord Derby, who stated that it must never be used for anything other than a church (because he didn’t live in a slum, without running water, side by side with people riddled with TB, he thought that everyone would be quite pleased with his philanthropic idealism). It was also known as the doctors’ church due to its location to Rodney Street, the home of many members of the medical profession at the time. They probably sought solace on Sundays after a hard week performing cashectomies on the wealthy ship owners.

Concerts were performed there until The Philharmonic Hall opened. Anyway on May 6th 1941 an incendiary device hit it and most of it went up in smoke. Since then it has been maintained in its cabriolet state as a memorial to those who died in the war.

Currently it is used by poets and other such creatives, along with the above mentioned wildlife. I am thankful for the war effort, if only for the fact that I did not have to spend my early years in lederhosen living on sausages, but surely cenotaphs make good enough memorials.

The latest proposal is to sell the remains for £1, to save the council from having to maintain it. The mayor of Liverpool says it is important for cultural reasons. There is even a picture, in the Liverpool Echo, of Yoko Ono standing in the grassed over centre of the church. I note that to date she has not offered to take it on.

Liverpool is sinking under a deluge of useless stuff waiting in line for attention. Pull this eyesore down I say and plant trees.



This week I am exhausted as I have been carrying out my Segway tour operating duties and walking Oleg and Atma who are still in Colditz. The Doctor is in charge of Poodle god walking. We have both been to yoga as well. This is probably why I have had to eat extra scones for energy and why my theory that extra exercise aids weight loss is absolute rubbish.

Oleg and Atma wondering what to do next

Now for Hermione Helps, a parting from her usual readers’ entreaty.

A spritely nonagenarian writes, Every morning come rain, hail, snow or wind I ride my bicycle to the local shop for the daily paper. I read The Times now, as The Daily Mail is full of lies. This keeps me fit and I enjoy chatting to the shopkeeper, Mr Singh and his wife who I think is called Mrs Singh. I don’t think they have Christian names because they are Sikhs. This makes a change from just talking to the butler, Travers and the daily help. The problem is my son wants me to have an IPad and to read my newspaper on that. He says I am too old to ride a bicycle and that I may cause another accident. He is referring to my rendering a cat unconscious when it hit my front wheel. I landed in a yew that a neighbour had clipped into a hedgehog shape; he had planned to enter it for a national competition. That was hardly my fault since the cat ran in front of me pursued by a dog. I am not sure what an Ipad is. Travers volunteered to go for the paper but he is almost blind and I worry when he takes the Bentley out. The daily help can’t go, as her wheelchair does not fit through the narrow door of the newsagents. Mr Singh has offered to deliver when he closes for lunch but I like to read the news while it is fresh. Can you persuade my son to leave well alone?

You do not say how old your son is but I am guessing he is probably what our American cousins call a senior. He obviously has not learned as much about life as his mother. Have you got one of those wonderful Pashley bicycles with a basket on the front? If so, I suggest you replace the said basket with a lightweight but sturdy moose bumper. If it repels a moose think what it will do to a hapless feline. On the subject of animals, while you have got all your horses in your top paddock why not appoint Mr Singh power of attorney. He seems like a reasonable sort of man. I hope this helps.

Until next week

The Aged Chronicler



Fitness for All

Vile garment

I spotted this garment in a shop recently and have decided that I am going to see how long it takes for it to sell. If it ever does. Maybe I am out of touch and it is totally on trend. Although The Academic, who accompanied me, didn’t seem to think so.

Later that night in bed  the following headline attracted me on the Ask the doctor page of the Daily Mail Is being so slim putting my health at risk? 

My first thought was that this was a youngish woman who wanted to show off by pretending that she was concerned about being slim. The writer went on to elucidate by saying that his BMI was 17.7 compared to a healthy minimum of 18.5 and that he was 6ft 4in tall and weighed 10st 11lb. Also in spite of taking medication for rheumatoid arthritis he walked 2-3 miles daily and did exercises to maintain or increase muscle volume. He ended by saying he was 79!

On reading this several thoughts flitted through my idle mind (one has to be in idling mode with suspended belief to be able to read the DM).

  1. I wished I was 10st 11
  2. Is this letter a joke?
  3. If he were looking for a sensible answer Hermione would have been a better bet
  4. When did he find the time to pen his letter to the DM?
  5. Was he originally 7ft tall and has simply worn away with all the exercise
  6. How long does he really expect to extend his life by doing all this?
  7. Is he tired all the time? (TAT is a very common complaint according to The doctor)

I advocate exercise in moderation and I am currently suffering from TAT due to a surfeit of exercise. Take today for instance.

  1. Straight out of bed after morning orange juice, cup of tea and a piece of toast; this was kindly brought to me by The Doctor.
  2. Threw The Biker Babe’s ball down the stairs three or four times then hid it in the drawer when she got on my nerves yelping and barking over it.
  3. Showered and dressed
  4. Went to meet The Paramedic to walk a friend’s 2 gods who are in Colditz (Kennels) for three weeks. I used to own Oleg so feel it a moral duty.
  5. Came home, changed, said hello to person who cleans my house, went for yoga lesson.
  6. Met The Doctor for coffee
  7. Wrote this blog
  8. Went to buy compost for garden and humped sacks into car

After all that I am too exhausted too exhausted to put compost on garden. Anyway it is too late and the weather has changed so I will have to leave it until another day.

On top of all that I have decided to train as a yoga teacher. I have never seen a fat yoga teacher and this could be because,

  1. Fat people would not dream of becoming yoga teachers
  2. Teaching yoga means you cannot sit round all day eating chocolate raisins
  3. Embarrassment at being at the front of the class in down dog with all one’s loose bits hanging down like a dog whose feeding a dozen puppies, drives a teacher to diet and have corrective surgery.
  4. All yoga teachers come from the beautiful body gene pool

Which ever it is I am going to have to make one or two adjustments to my life style. I let you know what they are as the course progresses.

Hermione Helps this week is coincidentally related to yoga. A yogi writes, I have recently started to attend Doga classes with my five year old weimaraner. These are yoga classes for dogs. They are held in our local church hall by an enthusiastic and very gifted teacher. My dog, Trevor, has benefited immensely from these sessions. He is much more laid back and seems calmer around other dogs. Even the vicar, who previously refused to deliver the parish newsletter because Trevor would take him by surprise and mount him as he bent down to open the letter box, has commented on his improvement.

The problem is the teacher’s bulldog, Brenda. Every time she does puppy dog pose she farts and since our venerable teacher feeds her on an organic vegetarian diet the smell is beyond vile. The church hall is only small and some of the class participants have felt quite faint. How can we tell her?

Hermione replies, Has this woman no sense of smell or has she become inured to this noxious aroma? Either way action must be taken. The side effects of inhaling methane are well documented. Fortunately the animal is small so fire is not a huge risk but I would countenance against lighting up after class just in case.

For the next class take with you a small cork (available from most homemade wine making stores) and position yourself right in Brenda’s firing line and at an opportune moment stick the cork up her exposed anus horriblis. If this doesn’t work invite your teacher round when you are giving your dog a bone to see what real dogs do when they are not trying to start a family with the vicar.

Finally suggest she changes to Honey’s Real Dog food ( she will be able to see the carrots go in with proper meat and come out odour free  the other end. I hope this helps. Pixie typing her blog

Biker Babe finishing her blog




Urban Decay

This week I am starting with a list.

Signs of urban decay

  1. Wind farms — Triumph of hope over reason
  2. Obesity         — Triumph of insanity over self–discipline
  3. Graffiti          — I blame the comprehensive education system
  4. Facebook     — As addictive as sugar to some

I have no control over 1 and 3 and very limited control over 2. Yes I could eat less but like I just said, very limited control.

Multiple studies have shown that spending too much time online leads to depression and suppression of creativity. Not to mention stiff neck and shoulders. Overall it is mind and body numbing. The electronic experience is taking over real life, fresh air and good sense.

So what is the point of it? That’s the thing; there isn’t one, except to let everyone know a couple little known facts about yourself. So next time you think about getting on Facebook, first ask yourself what you are going to do… Are you getting on to network with friends, which is what it was designed for? Or are you just going to waste your average 19 minutes on some stupid application that requires no skill and has no redeeming quality?

A few weeks ago, a study conducted at the University of Kansas suggested that people from all walks of life show startling cognitive improvement — for instance, a 50% boost in creativity — after living for a few days steeped in nature.

Need I say more? Well there is one more thing on this subject in the interests of disclosure, I am looking to expand my readership using Facebook and so I am going on a half day course in a few weeks.

Barbi ready

Barbi ready


Gardening has begun

Spring is finally here and after a session of yoga with The Urban Yogi and little garden tidying I am feeling generally on top of things. The Poodle gods are also more relaxed as, due to the sunny mornings, we are enjoying extended walks. I can now be seen at around 7am, striding out along the old railway line at the back of our house, dog leads in one hand and poo sacks in the other. Happy days!

Now Hermione, whose issue this week is close to my heart.

A devoted dog owner writes: My teacup rottweiler has bitten my neighbour’s cat. The horrendous ginger beast was doing it’s business in my daffodils when Earl Grey crept up behind it and removed a chunk of orange fur from the rear of the foul feline. This is a Manx cat so has no tail, making the bald patch more obvious. The owner has threatened to tread on Earl Grey and squash her next time he sees her by the gate. He is a bully and I am becoming extremely stressed trying to keep my dog from going near the front gate. It is such a shame as she loves to hide behind the privet by the gate and bark at unsuspecting passers by. Please help I am at my wits end. Earl Grey looks so sad.

Hermione replies When dealing with bullies you first have to woman up. It’s a bit like manning up but only more sneaky and devious. Collect the cat poo and put it in a box and send it by post to your neighbour. You may have to drive a fair distance to another post office. Don’t forget to handle the parcel with gloves on as you don’t want to leave any evidence. Finally hold a party in the garden every night for a week. Make sure all your friends (I am presuming you have some) make a loud noise. This will ensure that he knows you mean business! If this fails steal the cat and sell it to a good home. Manx cats are worth a bit. I hope that helps.

Until next week

The Aged Chronicler

In a mist

In a mist

home grown

home grown