Thursday, 22 May 2008

Greyfriars Bobby; She is in love.

Last August we went to Edinburgh and saw Greyfriars Bobby, the statue. The Princess was so impressed she spent her hard earned holiday money on the cuddly toy who now lives on her bed. I know the story is sad, but I find it so lovely that a story from 150 years ago can still touch a 5 year old today. It also makes me feel sad, because I'm not sure the same thing would ever happen again.

If Auld Jock died now, he would most likely be cremated and his ashes stored somewhere on the off chance that any relatives came to claim him. Bobby would be sent to the dog rescue where, if he did manage to escape from the cage he definitely wouldn't get out the security doors to reach the city mortuary. If he did get there, then his entry would be blocked again by a numerical lock (dogs have trouble operating those; the key pad is usually too high up to reach) and a security guard who works there on the days when he's not a night club bouncer.

Even if Auld Jock had had a burial plot booked with his name on, Bobby would have to be very brave to hang around in a cemetary. There are some pretty frightening things happening in graveyards now and I'm not talking ghosts here. Bobby would have to risk the alsatian guard dogs, the fast trucks carrying more grass and the slow moving hearses (they can be very deceptive) and that's not even accounting for the gangs of dispossessed youths who find a cemetary fun.... or if Auld Jock was Jewish(!) the gangs of stupid and intolerant people who think it's fun to vandalise a place just for being different.

And, finally, the main reason why Bobby's story wouldn't happen today; who would care? Nobody knows their neighbour, let alone the dog (although I realise as I write this that there is a chance you might know the dog's name, but not the owner. It's like me and children; I know their name but who is their mother? No idea; don't care. Very often the child has more sense anyway. Apologies to any dog people who know this to be so; just bear with me) and, moreover, no one would be bothered to feed him. There are no independant pie shops left and the chains could never give out pies 'just because' without the poor pie person losing their position and, love dogs or no, they aren't worth unemployment.

No, I think Greyfriar's Bobby holds a special place in our hearts because we know it just ain't so; that the reason Greyfriar's Bobby has endured so long is that it must have been an exceptional case even then and that, sadly, human nature is not usually as patient with loyalty and devotion. Perhaps we should make sure that we keep his story strong just because it gives us hope; it happened once, it could happen again. Strange as it seems if there is to be a world wide recession, maybe it may just drive us back into cooperation and interdependance. When nobody has anything, we will need to share. At the moment nobody is dependent except if they're on State benefits (nuff said) and everybody has a degree of self interest that we could do without. When we need our neighbour, they will be there just as we should make sure we are there for them. And, if you ever see a little doggie in a graveyard, just feed him, please, before you call the pound.

Monday, 19 May 2008

I have a crafty moment going on round here....

But the trouble is that I keep changing from project to project, ignore any house work completely and can always think of a reason why I need (that's need ) to go to Borders.

Apart from sewing blue Pinkies for the task master, there's a ripple blanket for DP, a waistcoat to knit for me, some mats that I bought 14 years ago to embroider, several cross stitch sets I have found and want to finish and a tapestry cushion that cost an indecent amount that I must, from shame, finish sometime. I will photo and post like a good girl sometime but, for now, I am in love with Photobox and busy cutting and sticking a scrapbook of our Scottish holiday last year. I'll leave you with my new header photo; the crystal bowl is at least 30 years old, the mat I embroidered myself. Enjoy.

Saturday, 17 May 2008


I took my daughter to speech therapy on Monday.... she can't get the difference in saying G and D so we have a lot of dods but only one Dod. Do you get it? OK, so speech therapy is supposed to be only half an hour at 1.30.... but going and returning take a good 15 minutes (drive slowly) and play is at half two, and after play is only story time..... do you see where I'm going with this? All in all it makes more sense not to take her back into school, especially since my Dad can collect the Boys on a Monday so we (she and I) indulge and I mean indulge in feminine time. Translation; we go to Borders (and Starbucks within) where I get fleeced right royally. This week's highway robbery was a Japanese craft book, so cute that I have barely been allowed to touch it and, indeed, at the moment can't find it to copy and show you. Don't tell her, but I did get this matching volume;

so she will be getting the hairbands, bags and bits 'n' pieces that are dear to a young girl's heart (and make excellent Christmas presents for teenage girls) but this one I keep under lock and key. Ha!

The little mascots are very quick... at only two or three inches tall they should be. I made this cutesy today in 35 minutes, including living pouch and I do have dreams of making books, teddies and suitcases for the Princess' little Pinkie, who I have not scanned, since she is at present sleeping in the dolls house.

My daughter is an entrepreneur, and has dreams of building a vast empire based on selling little craft bits. I regularly make her little hairbands, part of my nostalgic living excercise when I make her suffer the same indignities in the name of craftiness that I did (just joking; they're not indignities; they're a stand against globalisation and a quest for individuality in an increasingly homogeneous world.) Now, with these little dolls she has seen a way to expand her empire. Unfortunately, I seem to be her slave labour and the provider of raw materials. I think I'm being exploited here. If any one wants to contribute to my release, please send me a message of support. But that won't work, either because my e-mail is till down and I haven't actually set up another one. Blow. Instead, I'll leave you with some pretty pictures; my uploading programme worked for once, I had an hour on the computer and some gratuitous prettiness never goes amiss.

Flowers on my mantlepiece; thanks to my lovely Husband for these (not fresh every week, but when I run out, he gets me more)

Rhododendrons at Calderstones Park. I love the fact that there are so many open spaces in Liverpool. Calderstones is one of the biggest and best and a regular day out in the summer.

The baby goslings at the park; it is still spring time and a little cuteness goes a long way. Won't these taste lovely at Christmas?

And a bluebell wood. There is a portion of the park set aside for these, and fenced off to stop people from picking or walking over or... well, whatever people do to bluebells nowadays. It's sad to see the barrier, but a sign of modern life. Don't ask me if they're indigenous or spanish; they're blue (and white) and shaped like bells. Nuff said?