Inondations - that's "floods" to you and me

Whilst some of you lucky folk were having heatwaves, Lee, whilst some of you were holidaying at the seaside and being literally pampered to death, Braja (I did offer to do my ‘Super Dog’ impression and rescue her from the torture, but mum said she was enjoying it), us folk in this part of Europe have been having stinking weather. Gales and driving rain.

Last weekend in this part of France we had "bohcohdanondaseeons” – that means lots of floods to you guys who don’t speak French as well as me. And we had terrible wind at the weekend. (No, I’m not going to make a funny pun, that’s the type of thing puerile Uncle Hugh would do). That photo above is of a restaurant that mum & Uncle Hugh sometimes go to for Sunday Lunch. There’s normally a lovely patio, beautiful gardens and a car park at the back. I reckon there won’t be a Sunday lunch for a while n’est-ce pas? Here's a close up:

And this is photo is of the fields we pass on one of our walks – no longer fields.

Mum’s not keen on rain and she hates wind. I mean, REALLY hates it. She hates it so much it was one of the (many) reasons she was really happy to come and live in this part of France because we don’t normally get any. I think I’ve said it before – it blows her hair into her lippy and gets her all vexed. I don’t think it’s just that, I think it scares her too. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know how anyone can be frightened of weather – a mad axeman, yes, but weather – no. Unless, of course, it’s that extreme kind that they find in some places of the world. The type of weather those guys in The Big Storm Picture go and chase. Mum calls them ‘bloody nutters who want their heads looking at’; I think they’re dead cool. But honestly, here in France, we’re unlikely to get it as bad as they do there (and before you start, yes, I do know about that freak hurricane in 2000 that wreaked havoc over Europe, but it’s not a regular occurrence, is it?)

Anyway, this bad weather caused power cuts all over. We had no electric all morning on Sunday, and mum was having anxiety attacks thinking that she wouldn’t be able to use her dishwasher or her hair straighteners. I mean, I ask you, how can life continue without one’s hair straighteners? (Henry rolls his eyes, shakes his head and sighs) At the time of her anguish, I did think that there are folk in the world who haven’t even GOT electricity. Who’ve never heard of a dishwasher or hair straighteners, but who still manage to survive. Honestly, she is a bit of a wussy girl sometimes.

Our electricity came back mid-morning, but three days after and there were still lots of folk without it. As I said before, things take a long time in France, you see, they have to stop for two-hour lunch breaks – it’s obligatory. Nothing comes between a French workman and his ‘plat du jour’. Nothing! Mum has often joked that the worst time to have a house fire in France is between the hours of 12 and 2.

We still managed to go out for a walk though. Nothing comes between me and my walk. I INSIST on having my walk. Except that when it’s really ‘bucketing’ down, as mum puts it, the walk only lasts about ten minutes.

Here’s a little clip of me getting all excited about my walk (it's very short & you get to see mum's grey socks & messy kitchen):

Likes and dislikes of a Celebrity Pooch

I was inspired to do this post by my pal Stubby, because now that I’m becoming famous (it having been leaked that Victoria Beckham is my number 1 fan) some folk are wanting more nitty gritty personal stuff. I don’t mind – it happens when one is on the road to celebritydom. Yes, that’s me on the cover of Vogue (thanks Braja). When Armani signs me up, I’ll be earning more than £10 a month and will be able to support mum so that she won’t have to go back to the UK.

So here goes for you folks who are hungry for more insight into my complex character and celebrity lifestyle.

Food
Loves: Whatever mum and Uncle Hugh are eating. It always tastes better than anything else.
Dislikes: Grapefruit – it kind of makes my nose wrinkle and my eyes screw up tight.

Place to sleep
Loves: On mum’s knee (pictured below)
Dislikes: Actually, I can sleep anywhere, but I guess if I had to choose somewhere that I like least, it would have to be in the back of Uncle Hugh’s flying car, and that’s not because I’m afraid of flying. It’s just that it sometimes gets REALLY bumpy and sometimes I float, which can be a bit disconcerting!



Toy
Loves: My tennis ball and my new squeaky tug that I got for Christmas (pictured below)
Dislikes: Toys that won’t fit in my mouth – what’s the point?





Time of day
Loves: Walk time – of course. It means I get to spend time with mum and smell lots of interesting stuff, like fox poo and things that died a long time ago.
Dislikes: The boring bit in between breakfast and walk time when mum and Uncle Hugh are sat at their desks on their computer and not taking any notice of me. That’s when I start ‘playing up’ to get their attention – here’s a little clip of me doing just that.



Body position
Loves: Curled up all snug.
Dislikes: When mum puts me on my back and cuddles me as if I were a little pup. MUM I’M A BIG BOY NOW!!!

Temperature
Loves: Between 0 and 55 degrees - perfect!
Dislikes: Summer when it’s too hot to walk. NOT good.

Activities
Loves: Eating, walking, peeing, sniffing poo.
Dislikes: Going to the “The Vets”, of course.

Petting
Loves: My chest being tickled.
Dislikes: My head being patted - grrrrrrr

Animal
Loves: Lady dogs, of course.
Dislikes: Most big male dogs (my blogging pals excluded) – they make me feel all prickly and want to show them who’s boss.

Grooming
Loves: NOTHING. I hate being groomed – period! It should be outlawed. Mum tries to do it from time to time but I sulk so much and look so pitiful (I’ve perfected the art of looking pitiful) mum simply cuts the lugs out of my fur when they appear. However, I have no choice but to succumb when Claire, my groomer, cuts my fur off. Otherwise, I’d melt in the summer.

Game
Loves: “Farting hands” – even though they scare me stiff and make me run away, I still run back for more – I can’t help myself. I also love “Kill Uncle Hugh’s Slipper”. It makes me all giddy.
Dislikes: Football – those bloody balls are simply TOO big.

People
Loves: Anyone who likes dogs.
Dislikes: Naughty human pups – they need their backsides nipping.

Noise
Loves: Thunder and fireworks.
Dislikes: “Farting Hands” – I know, I know – I voted it as a game I love, but let’s say I have a love/hate relationship with it. I get borderline hysterical.

Book
Loves: Anything to do with Harry Potter. I’d love to be a dog Wizard. Now that would be cool. I could turn everything into food.
Dislikes: I’ve only read Harry Potter stuff, so I can’t really say.

So, there you are – for all my fans out there – hope it quenches your thirst for more minutiae of my celebrity lifestyle.

Actually, at the moment I’m in the doghouse. Mum discovered me eating something I shouldn’t have been eating and it gave me a bit of a poorly tum. I won’t go into detail – some of you may be in the middle of breakfast – but it was very old and very dead. Normally, I’m very good because mum has taught me NOT to eat stuff like that, or roll in things that are slimy or stink (like fresh cow poo), but sometimes….just sometimes….the dogginess in me simply takes over!

Are you a creature of habit?

Are you a creature of habit?

I got inspired to write this post by Profoundly Inarticulate, because it made me realise that my whole life and the whole life of mum and Uncle Hugh is governed by rituals and habits and routines. Mum is the worst when it comes to habits and rituals and routines. Uncle Hugh said she would be really easy to assassinate, if she were President, which she isn’t – ‘cause that’s Mr Obama. I think he was just making a point.

Every morning, it’s the same. Mum and Uncle Hugh get up at different times. Uncle Hugh (7.00), Mum (8.30). Uncle Hugh’s morning ritual is to have a big mug of tea in his old, trusty mug that he’s had longer than I’ve been alive (the one on the left of the photo), and then read his book whilst I snooze in my night-time bed under the table with my head on his foot. Then mum gets up and has a big mug of coffee in her own mug (the one on the right) that she’s had since she moved to France (her old one broke in the move and it made her anxious until she got a replacement). Then she reads or catches up with some blogs whilst she drinks her coffee. After mum has had her coffee in that mug, she has to have a tea in another mug – a plain white one. They take their mugs wherever they go. Even on holiday. Yes, they are sad bastards.

Then, they have breakfast, whilst I beg. Then I have breakfast. Then I snooze in my mid-morning and afternoon bed whilst mum and Uncle Hugh do things on their computers and talk to folk in the UK

Than Uncle Hugh and mum shower (not together).

Then Uncle Hugh goes to do things with his flying car.

Then me and mum go for a walk.

Then I come back and snooze in my afternoon bed whilst mum does more stuff on the computer for Uncle Hugh.

Then mum goes to the Supermarket to buy stuff for dinner and takes me with her for a ride. Whilst there, mum ALWAYS parks in the same place. ALWAYS. It’s nearly always free too ‘cause it’s about a five mile hike from the Supermarket itself. But mum doesn’t seem to mind the walk. It means that HER space is nearly always free. It’s a little space right at the end of a parking row and it’s a big space so it also means that mum’s car doesn’t get dented by people opening their car doors. (Borderline OCD if you ask me – this parking obsession thingy).

A digression - it’s obligatory in France to open your car door onto someone else’s car door and leave a little dent. Same as when you’re parking, it’s obligatory to ‘kiss’ the bumper of the car in front or behind. That means you’re parked. Mum doesn’t like this French custom. In fact, mum hates it. Which is why she chose a parking space far, far away from anyone. Now don’t think that mum is ‘precious’ about her car. Far from it. Mum doesn’t give a damn about her car. Mum’s car is the messiest, dirtiest car you’re ever going to see on the road. Mum never, EVER cleans her car. That’s why she always has silver ones – she says they never look absolutely filthy. Uncle Hugh says that mum would rather buy a new one than wash one. However, saying that, she hates those little dents that sometimes happen when folk open their car doors.

Mum always drives to the Supermarket on the big roads, and always comes back on the little ones (the scenic route she calls it). She never, ever does it the other way round. Why? (Again, borderline OCD methinks).

Then after mum gets back from the Supermarket, Uncle Hugh gets back from the aeroclub.

Then they open a couple of bottles of grape juice and start drinking that whilst Uncle Hugh cooks.

Then they eat , whilst I beg.

Then I eat.

Then it’s more drinking and ‘play with Henry’ time.

Then mum sits on her sofa, Uncle Hugh sits on his sofa, and I sleep in my evening bed whilst they watch TV or read.

Then we all go to bed after nighttime pee, which me and Uncle Hugh do together.

Then it starts ALL OVER AGAIN, the next day.

Why do folk have routines? Do you have one?

I can’t imagine mum or Uncle Hugh ever varying theirs.

Even when they go on holiday. I’ve heard mum talk about how they quickly set up a routine – when on a City Break, Uncle Hugh finds a bar to sit in whilst mum goes sight-seeing and she walks and walks. Or, if they’re doing a ‘beach holiday’, Uncle Hugh finds a bar to sit at whilst mum finds some shade and reads or walks and walks. Especially when on a ‘beach holiday’ they find themselves eating lunch and dinner at exactly the same time every day. After one holiday mum said that the folk at the resort were setting their watches by them. “I’m sure they were. Whenever they saw us heading for the restaurant in the evening I saw them glance at their watch just to check it was 7.30.”

Other little idiosyncrasies of mum & Uncle Hugh – they have ‘their’ side of the bed (and I know other humans do that too), they have a sofa each, and they’re exactly the same but even so, they would never swap – unthinkable.

Mum has all her toiletries laid out in her bathroom in the order she uses them and she KNOWS if Uncle Hugh has been in and touched anything.

Uncle Hugh can’t go to the loo for a number two without his mug of tea and a book - too much detail, I know, but hey! I'm a dog.

There are more but too many to list.

I do think you humans are a peculiar species. Saying that, since I first posted this, I've had time to ruminate and I wonder if mum & Uncle Hugh's routines are a result of them living in chaos for many, many years? Perhaps their routines make them feel safe? More secure? I don't know.

Talking of peculiar – here is Uncle Hugh doing ‘farting hands’ and scaring me. He puts his hands together and makes a strange farting noise and he gets me EVERY time. He always makes me think he’s holding something horrid in them - a horrid farting creature. Deep down I know he isn’t, but I can’t help myself. I get all hyper. It's short and it's a bit dark, sorry.