Monday, September 29, 2008

Moderation's the key.

Yesterday I went with Uncle Hugh to his friend’s house where they have lots of bushes growing grapes. There were lots and lots of people there and I got loads of attention. They all talked gobbledygook but I didn’t mind. I like French people. They’re simple folk who can’t speak properly but they’re really nice. They give me food and pet me a lot.

It was really really early when we got there - before my breakfast - and they were already drinking wine and eating. The French like eating and drinking, but there aren’t any of those binge drinkers over here – they all live in the UK.

Anyway, after breakfast they all went to the bushes that were growing the grapes and they started picking the grapes, and guess what? They didn’t eat them! They put them in baskets and then the baskets got carried away. Why bother picking them if you don’t eat them? I picked them too but I ate mine and Uncle Hugh was a bit worried, he said “your mum says that you shouldn’t eat grapes – last month she read an article that said they’re bad for dogs”.

It’s a bummer being a dog because I can’t talk back but I would have reminded him that I’ve been eating grapes since I was a small puppy and they haven’t done me any harm and that mum and he should stop taking notice of all the stuff that they put in the newspapers. I wanted to tell him that the grapes aren't anywhere near as bad for me as the Haribo Jellies that he feeds me when mum's away. I know that grapes can have a bad effect on some dogs, but not me. Just like chocolate - some dogs can eat it and some dogs can't because it would kill them. I wouldn't touch chocolate 'cause I know my body wouldn't tolerate it. Us dogs aren't stupid. Some of us know what's bad for us just by smelling it. Some don't - but then some dogs are really, REALLY thick. Like Labradors.

If you acted on everything that they put in the newspapers these days you wouldn’t eat or drink anything would you? It seems that everything can kill you these days – even tomatoes. Moderation’s the key, but a lot of humans don’t seem to realise that.

Friday, September 26, 2008

The boys are still playing!

Me and Uncle Hugh went out for lunch today. It was great. Us dogs can go in the restaurants in France. I sat under the table and got my own bowl of water, lots of bread, a bit of cheese tart, some baby cow, a piece of pastry and a big hunk of cheese. Uncle Hugh drank lots of wine and spoke lots of gobbledygook with the nice man who was bringing the food. Then Uncle Hugh walked me home, but it took a long time because Uncle Hugh wasn’t walking straight, and he got a bit lost. Then when we finally got home Uncle Hugh fell asleep on the sofa. Uncle Hugh’s still asleep on the sofa and it’s dark, and I need a pee, and the ‘phone’s ringing and I bet it’s mum and she’ll not be happy because Uncle Hugh’s supposed to be looking after me. But I don’t mind. I’m a big boy. I can look after myself. Anyway, I fancied a night surfing the net.

It’s now 11.30 pm and Uncle Hugh is still asleep and snoring very loudly and I REALLY need a pee and mum’s finally left a message on the answer machine.

You’re asleep aren’t you? Hugh Bastard. I bet you’ve been out drinking and eating all fooking day. If that little lad is crossing his legs ‘cause he’s dying for a pee there’ll be hell to pay. AND I MEAN HELL. Honestly, all I ask is that you act like a responsible adult from time to time…..”

I don’t mind really. It’s not that uncomfortable when I need a pee, us dogs are different from you humans. Once I held it for 36 hours because it was raining all the time. I don’t like rain - you get wet when it rains. I don't like wet. Mum tries to make me go out when it's raining, but I hide under the table and pretend that I'm scared and mum says "ah bless! He's frightened. Don't worry little lamb, I won't make you go out there if you don't want to". Mum's so gullible sometimes.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Mum's away so the boys will play!!

It’s GREAT when mum goes back to the UK and it’s just me and Uncle Hugh. We hang out on the sofas watching daytime TV, which mum calls ‘garbage’ and Uncle Hugh gives me some of his beer and his Haribo Jellies, which are sometimes a bit sour and make my mouth water and my nose wrinkle – but I like them because I’m not supposed to have them. Uncle Hugh also eats his food in front of the TV when mum isn’t here and he throws food to me and lets me lick his plate. It’s brilliant. He’ll probably take me up in his flying car too. We do lots of things we’re not supposed to when mum’s away.

On UK TV in the daytime, there’s sometimes a man who I think is called Kylie and he talks to other men and women who usually have marks on their bodies and metal bits sticking out of parts of their faces. The other men and women sometimes shout and scream at each other – lots. Uncle Hugh calls them 'lowlife' – perhaps they live in tunnels. Sometimes these lowlife people fight. And some women cry when Kylie talks to them and sometimes Kylie gets mad. I think Kylie is a nasty man.

Also on UK TV in the daytime, there is another programme where people look for really old stuff in their cellars and their attics and sometimes the really old stuff is a bit broken but STILL they try to sell it, and do you know what? Sometimes people buy the stuff that is really old and they pay lots of plastic for it even though you can get the same things brand new in the shops. I mean, why pay heaps of plastic for an old cup and saucer, or an old plate, or an old table, when you can buy a brand new one for less? Humans intrigue me, they’re weird.

Before mum left in her flying bus she was in a tizzy again because the markets are 'fooked' (her words) again, apparently. The problems weren’t all to do with the very short people who were selling things after all. Mum’s back on Sunday and I hope she’s in a better mood than she was when she left. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mum. But sometimes it’s good fun to chill out with Uncle Hugh.

Uncle Hugh has a strange ritual - about two hours before mum gets back his alarm goes on his mobile and he gets all frantic and starts clearing the surfaces in the kitchen and putting things back in cupboards. He puts all the dirty plates and stuff in the dishwasher - the ones that he's been growing mould on. Then he moves all the tissues that I've ripped up and left in my basket, then he goes round the house with a bag into which he throws all the empty beer cans, wine bottles and empty Haribo packets. Then he takes that bag, along with all the black bags that have been piling up outside the kitchen door - the ones he's placed there for the mice and the ants to play with - and he takes them to the communal bins (where me and mum normally go each day). Then he sucks the floor with the Dyson thingy. He ends up looking all flustered and red faced. Then mum gets back and touches his cheek with her lips and says "you've kept it nice".

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

I think the UK police have got it wrong

Mum normally reads the UK newspapers on the Internet because over here in France the UK newspapers cost a lot of plastic. I don’t know why she reads them, because she always ends up in a bad mood. Today she was in a very bad mood.

Let me explain something about mum – she doesn’t like the police in the UK. She calls them ‘jokers’. I don’t know if that’s because they are funny or silly. I think perhaps they’re silly. Anyway, after she read the paper today she was stomping up and down the kitchen ranting to Uncle Hugh about ‘thestateofthenation’ – then she shouted a bit more and started telling him about something she’d read. When mum gets mad, she talks REALLY fast and all the words are joined up so I don’t always understand. What I think she was telling him was that now, in the UK, in a place called ‘Lestersher’ if you’re a black man with a farm and you’re harvesting your own food (which is what I thought farmers do) lots and lots of police will come in lots and lots of police cars and ask you why you’re doing it and accuse you of stealing. They’ll do that at least three times. However, if you’re an old lady being mugged or if your house is being burgled by a drug-crazed maniac (mum’s words), or if someone is being stabbed to death, then the police won’t come, because they’re too busy. Perhaps they’re too busy stopping farmers from harvesting their crops?

I don’t get it. In France, the police protect nice people (including farmers) from nasty people and nobody calls them ‘jokers’. In France, the police carry these firing sticks in a belt around their waist, and in our area they have road blocks once a week to try and find nasty people doing nasty things. In the UK, people laugh at the police. In France, they wouldn’t dare, and they wouldn't want to because they respect them. I reckon that the police in the UK should come over here and see how they do it. Then perhaps they’d organise it so that they have the time to help little old ladies being mugged instead of stopping farmers from harvesting their crops.

Monday, September 22, 2008

It was all to do with very short people!

Mum seems much happier because apparantly the markets are selling their cheese and stuff again. I heard mum saying to Uncle Hugh that the newspapers were saying that one of the reasons that the markets have been having a bad time lately is due to the actions of ‘short sellers’. I don’t really know what ‘short sellers’ are. I think they’re probably really, REALLY short people who sell things, but don’t quote me. Maybe they’re a different type of human, just like I’m a dog, but I’m a mini schnauzer. There are lots of types of dogs, so perhaps there are lots of types of humans.

Thinking back there MUST be lots of types of humans, because I hear mum talking about them. There are ‘lying, cheating, bastard politicians’ - they're the ones who are in control of the United Kingdom. I used to think the Queen was in control but apparently she's not. She's just very rich. There are ‘useless WAGS’ - I think that to be a WAG you have to have i) orange skin, ii) a boyfriend who plays football, iii) the ability to spend an enormous amount of someone elses money on things that aren't particularly useful and iv) an IQ below 25 - at least that's what mum says. There are 'binge drinkers' - they are people who think it is enormous fun to drink such huge amounts of alcohol in such a short space of time that it makes them vomit and pass out - perhaps they have an IQ below 25 too. There are ‘benefit cheats’ - they are people who steal money off taxpayers, ‘couch potatoes’ - vegetables that sit on the sofa all day watching daytime TV, ‘teenage mums’ - they do babies instead of GCSE's, ‘compensation culture leeches’ - they blame other people when they don't look where they're going and trip up and hurt themselves, ‘solicitors’ - they cause a lot of trouble then charge lots of money for it, I could go on - I reckon there are as many types of humans as there are dogs.

Anyway, mum is happier – a bit. When mum is happy she wraps herself around Uncle Hugh a lot and they touch their lips together and she calls him that other name – Sweet Hart.

Saturday, September 20, 2008


Mum says I should stop begging. I heard her complain to Uncle Hugh that I’m obsessed with food these days and that it’s his fault “if you’d stop throwing him bits of your food whilst you’re eating he wouldn’t beg. Sam never begged…” Then she goes on about how her old dog, Sam, never begged, was never naughty, always came when she called him, never had fleas, never stole her socks, didn’t attack Rottweillers, nah nah nah nah….. HE WAS A LABRADOR! Labradors are notoriously biddable. They don’t have a mind of their own. Not like us terrier types.

Anyway, back to begging. It’s not begging really. I’m not asking for food. I just sit and wait for food to drop on the floor. What’s wrong with that? If I didn’t hoover it up, that sucking Dyson thing would have to. She moans about me begging, but she moans about having to suck the floor too. She would have to suck it more often if I didn’t hoover up all the bits.

People beg. I know they do. But when people do it, they’re called ‘bloody beggars’. That’s what mum calls them. Mum once took me to the Saturday farmer’s market in the local town where we live in France (she kept saying “never again, never again” – she didn’t seem to like it when I peed on the stalls and had a big argument with a German Shepherd - but it’s what us dogs do). Anyway, there were some ‘bloody beggars’ at this market and they seemed pretty happy to me. They wore Nike trainers and Gucci sunglasses. I know ‘cause mum complained about it to Uncle Hugh. I thought mum liked Gucci, or is it Pucci? Or Nucci? Anyway, if humans can beg, why can’t I?

She’s started locking me in the lounge now when they eat in the kitchen. It’s not fair. Mind you, when she goes back to the UK, which she has to do from time to time, Uncle Hugh will let me beg. Uncle Hugh lets me do anything I want. I like Uncle Hugh.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

A Big Bank Broke and Mum's in a Tizzy

Mum’s been in a right tizzy the last couple of days. From what I can make out it’s something to do with the Credit Munch and this big bank breaking - I think it’s called Lemons, or something like that. Anyway, it’s broken. I think it might have fallen from somewhere quite high, onto something quite hard. That can break things. Anyway, because this bank broke, then lots of people won’t have as much plastic and they’re not very happy about it, and the markets aren’t going well. I think these markets are a bit like the ones in the village near us where there are lots of stalls selling cheese and stuff. Perhaps these markets can’t sell their cheese.

I thought that if things are broken they can be mended. My mum’s dishwasher broke and she cried a lot and went a bit hysterical, but she got it mended. My mum’s fingernails used to break when she had those funny false ones put on them, but she always got them mended. So why can’t they simply mend this bank, then everyone would be happy again?

Mum was talking to Uncle Hugh about a ‘knockonaffect’. I don’t know what that is but it’s worrying mum and she’s bitten her nails even shorter. She says we might have to go and live back in the UK ‘on a fooking council estate with fooking pond life’. I don’t know what a ‘fooking council estate’ is but I don’t mind pond life. I like ducks. I can chase them. When you chase ducks, sometimes they pretend to be dead. They fall down and roll over and it makes me laugh, because they’re not really dead. They’re good at acting, but it makes me stop chasing them because you can’t chase something if it’s not running away can you? I like newts too, and frogs. Frogs are funny, they make daft noises and jump high.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Uncle Hugh has a flying car

....And sometimes I go in it, but only when mum goes back to the UK, which she does from time to time. I think it's called a 'That Thing' because before she goes she always says to Uncle Hugh "Don't you dare take him up in That Thing whilst I'm away. Take him for walks like any normal dog owner would. Demonstrate a bit of responsibility for the little lad." But Uncle Hugh always ignores her. Mum goes to the UK in a really big That Thing - a huge flying bus.

I like going in That Thing because I get to meet Uncle Hugh's friend who he calls "Le Fred". Le Fred is french and really nice. He always gives me bits of cheese and plays with me but he talks gobbledygook too, just like the french dogs. It's strange though because whenever Uncle Hugh is with Le Fred he speaks gobbledygook as well (and mum does too sometimes). But they seem to get along ok. I think the french people must be very thick, because they can't speak English. Perhaps this gobbledygook is a very simple form of communication. Sometimes I hear familiar sounds coming out of Le Fred's mouth. Whenever we are around That Thing, I'm sure I hear something that sounds like "Lerrperrteeavion". I've even heard something similar, like "Monperrteeavion" coming out of Uncle Hugh's mouth when he's with Le Fred and the other guys who hang around the place where That Thing lives.

When I go in That Thing Uncle Hugh always ties a white scarf around my neck and straps some silly eye goggles on my head and I feel really gay. Then Le Fred and Uncle Hugh laugh for a long time and sometimes take photos of me. They once sat me in the front seat of That Thing where it looked really complicated. Much more complicated than mum's car. There were lots of dials and stuff that I didn't understand and they made me stand with my paws on the steering wheel. I obliged to humour them, then Uncle Hugh took photos of me and lots of other french guys did too. I had quite a crowd of people taking photos of me. I suddenly realised how Victoria Beckham must feel, and I liked it - but I smiled, I wonder why she never does?

Anyway, when I go in That Thing, they stick me in the back seat, where there isn't much room and there's lots of noise then it runs down the long road for a bit and then jumps in the air and we float around for a while and my ears feel funny, then I normally go to sleep. I usually wake up when it gets back on the ground and sometimes we're in a strange place and I go with Uncle Hugh and Le Fred for lunch in the strange place. Le Fred always gives me some of his bread and lets me lick his plate when he's finished. Something my mum would be REALLY angry about if she knew. Uncle Hugh says "don't tell mum". As if!!!

Monday, September 15, 2008

CERN gets mum excited & she thinks Jeremy Clarkson is a God

Recently mum has been talking alot about this CERN place. It really excites her. On 10th September she got all giddy, saying it was the most exciting thing to happen in her time. Then I found out that at this CERN place they are going to make really teeny weeny bits of dust collide with each other. These bits of dust are smaller than the nits that fleas sometimes lay on my hair when mum's forgot to use the 'spot on'. It worries me that mum can get excited about bits of dust colliding. I reckon that Uncle Hugh should take mum out more.

I had a surf on the internet and found this . I'm a dog so none of it made any sense at all. It all looked very complicated to me considering that all they're doing is smashing bits of dust together. But I guess if mum wants to get excited about bits of dust then that's her prerogative. Uncle Hugh says it might be the end of the world once the dust starts colliding. How can smashing bits of dust together, albeit at high speed, cause the end of the world? I think he was making a joke because mum said that word that she's says quite alot these days "bollocks".

I sometimes wonder why humans do things like that - smash dust together. It seems to me that sometimes when humans find themselves with time on their hands, instead of just sleeping - which is what us dogs do - they have to do something, even if it isn't useful. Mum and Uncle Hugh sometimes spend all night sitting in front of the TV. Sometimes they watch people cooking food. Food that they can't eat, because it's on the TV. I don't understand. How useless is that?

Sometimes they watch something called Top Gear. On Top Gear is a man called Jeremy Clarkson. Jeremy Clarkson is a God, apparently. I know he is 'cause mum says he is and Uncle Hugh agrees, so he must be. I thought Gods lived in churches but I think God Jeremy Clarkson lives in a big hangar on a disused airfield and drives fast cars all day. I wonder if he can perform miracles? Mum says he should be in control. In control of what?

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Mum's scared of Sarah Palin

I don't understand all this politics stuff. I like being a dog. It's easy. I get fed, watered, cuddled and walked (most days) and I don't have to do anything other than wag my tail from time to time and look dead cute, which is easy. I don't have to think about the Credit Munch or who's in power. Actually I didn't realise I WAS a dog until I had my first holiday in the kennels when I was a puppy and an old Jack Russell explained it all to me.

Anyway, back to Sarah Palin - I thought she was a dog, but it turns out she's not - despite the fact that she called herself a Pit Bull. I reckon she's trying to confuse people. Maybe she is a dog after all but she's trying to pass herself off as a human. Anyway, I overheard mum talking to Uncle Hugh and she said "that Sarah Palin is really scary. She's more scary than Bush. Anyone who believes that the world was literally created in six days should never be in a position of power".

I'm a dog, right? And I know that the world couldn't possibly have been made in six days and dogs are supposed to be less intelligent than humans, so mum must be wrong - Sarah Palin can't possibly believe that, can she? Or perhaps Sarah Palin is a cat, now they are truly thick, they just pretend that they're not. They may look cool and sophisticated but believe me there's nothing going on upstairs. I've not met one cat who knows who Harry Potter is - think I've proved my point.

Anyway, back to mum being scared of Sarah Palin. I don't know why she's scared of her. I reckon mum would beat her paws down if they had a fight 'cause mum's Alpha Dog. I think it must be something to do with a man called Obama, who mum seems to like - A LOT. I've not met him yet, but she seems to think that he's dead nice. I think she's scared that Sarah Palin will get off with Obama. Maybe mum fancies him. I don't know how this Bush guy comes into it though. I thought he was a comedian because mum always laughs hysterically whenever he's on TV.

There's also someone called Mr Brown, who I think is in charge of Downing Street, but he's not very popular and whenever he's on TV mum sighs heavily and switches it off and says that the UK has gone to the dogs, which I don't think is such a bad thing.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

A bit more about me & my mum

My mum did take me out yesterday. We went for a nice long walk in the woods near where we live and there were lots of good smells, some new dog poo, a dead mouse, a squashed slug and some fox vomit. It was great. I like it when I can run around without my lead on. Mum seemed very far away and didn't even tell me off when I ate some duck poo. I think she has a lot on her mind.

Mum lives with a guy called Hugh Bastard. At least I think that's his name. That's what mum calls him alot. But sometimes she calls him Sweet Hart or Patrick. I don't think he's my dad, but then again she does call me Little Bastard sometimes, so perhaps he is. I call him Uncle Hugh.

I like Uncle Hugh but he's a bit naughty because he doesn't come when mum calls him and he doesn't do as he's told. When mum's away we have a great time. He never tells me off, he lets me play with his socks, which smell great, he gives me 'fingers of fun' (which is when he dips his fingers in his beer and lets me lick them) and occasionally I get one of his Haribo jellies.

I don't think that mum and Uncle Hugh are married but they've been together a long time. Longer than I've been alive, so that's a REALLY long time. I'm not sure about their past but I think Uncle Hugh has someone called Ex Wife and there's also someone called Babstheslag, who mum tends to bring into the conversation from time to time when she's drunk. That usually ends up in lots of shouting and screaming. When that happens I go and sit in my bed under the table in the kitchen where it's quiet.

I think Uncle Hugh had puppies with Ex Wife, he certainly didn't have any with my mum. These puppies grew up and now have puppies of their own. I don't like human puppies, they make me want to growl. They're noisy and rude and don't do as they're told. In the UK human puppies eat things called chicken nuggets and turkey twizzlers and stuff like that. Mum says they eat crap in the UK but I like crap.

Mum used to have another dog before me. His name was Sam and I get a bit jealous when she talks about him. Sometimes when she talks about him her eyes get all wet. It hurts me when I've been a tiny bit naughty and she says "You're not like Sam. Sam would do anything I asked him to do". Well he would, wouldn't he? He was a labrador. Everyone knows that labradors are thick.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Hello everyone

This is my first blog and I'm really proud. I wonder if I'm the first dog to have his own blogsite? I bet I'm not. Maybe I'll meet some cute little lady dog bloggers - maybe not - mum wouldn't be pleased, she's a bit possessive.

Anyway, as you can see from my profile I decided to start a blog because mum's not giving me much attention these days. She's busy. She says it's something to do with the Credit Munch (think that's what she said anyway) and that means she hasn't got as much of that stuff these days as she used to have. That stuff that she gets my food with, and my toys. I think the stuff is made of plastic but I'm not sure.

I live in France at the moment, but I also live in Switzerland sometimes, and mum goes to the UK now and then where I was born. France is my favourite place because there's lots more dog poo to sniff, and the bread's fresher but none of the dogs can speak properly in France. Nobody has taught them 'sit', 'stay' or 'come' and gobbledygook comes out of their mouths. I can't have a proper conversation with any of them.

Well, mum said she was taking me on a long walk today, but she said that yesterday and we didn't go. She used to be very reliable, but nowadays she's very forgetful and she has a weird expression all the time - wide eyed with a huge cleft in middle of her eyebrows (that she used to eliminate with buttocks, or something like that) and she's bitten all her posh fingernails off. They weren't real, her fingernails. She used to have pretend ones put on and she would have to give that plastic stuff for them. I think she needed the fingernails so that she could have a good scratch from time to time.

Whoops, must go, mum's on her way back into the room. Will write later!!!