It is well known that the www was created to allow public sector workers to fill their working hours looking at pictures of cats on the internet. But for some reason Friday saw a surge in views of an article I penned many years ago about the facebook page of Oakley.
That facebook page is still up and running although the rather portly three legged cat to whom it belonged passes away seven years ago at the ripe old age of 15. Not bad for a very overweight cancer survivor. It has been updated a couple of times since by the Mrs.
When we moved up to Wales we told my son, them aged three, that although Oakley was now living in the jungle he had sent instructions to bust out two of his cousins from the cat prison in Birkenhead. Since Sian and Quincey do not have facebook pages they have appeared on Oakley’s a couple of times. Sian also appeared on Panorama when the team came up to film me about how I exposed the scumbag fund manager Neil Woodford and is thus a village celebrity.
The old photos on the facebook page which you can see HERE, especially those of Oakley sleeping next to a baby Joshua bought a smile to my face.
11 days to go, still twenty five presents to wrap, deliver or purchase, ducks to pick up and other matters to attend to. A friend of mine moaned today to me how much he hates Christmas and would happily go back to the days of Cromwell, banning all celebrations and happiness. How can one possibly be so miserable?
That facebook page is still up and running although the rather portly three legged cat to whom it belonged passes away seven years ago at the ripe old age of 15. Not bad for a very overweight cancer survivor. It has been updated a couple of times since by the Mrs.
When we moved up to Wales we told my son, them aged three, that although Oakley was now living in the jungle he had sent instructions to bust out two of his cousins from the cat prison in Birkenhead. Since Sian and Quincey do not have facebook pages they have appeared on Oakley’s a couple of times. Sian also appeared on Panorama when the team came up to film me about how I exposed the scumbag fund manager Neil Woodford and is thus a village celebrity.
The old photos on the facebook page which you can see HERE, especially those of Oakley sleeping next to a baby Joshua bought a smile to my face.
And then it was on to Carols at the Welsh Hovel. This was the second year we have invited round friends for carols, stew and mulled wine made by me with home made brandy butter for bought in mince pies. Conceitedly it was my best brandy butter ever. I am a bit ashamed of buying in mince pies but when I have tried to make them in the past I have always failed. It is just something I struggle with
As last year twenty of us walked up the track to sing a couple of carols of the elderly widow who lives next door and then the adults sat around the tree working their way through a programme I selected and the Mrs had printed off. I introduced a couple of new numbers this time and the Sussex Carol, a favourite from my childhood, seemed to stump almost everybody. Since Church carols are bound to be blighted by a vicar banging on about the wicked Jews and the suffering in Gaza and how Jesus was a refugee just like the channel migrants, our party is a preferable treat.
This year, I think that I shall risk midnight mass over the water in England and hope that I do not have to storm out in anger as happened last year here in Wales at our sister parish of Gresford. As the vicaress should have considered, demonising the Jewish state as she did with what were patent falsehoods has consequences. Those consequences we saw, all too sadly, at Bondi Beach today.
The Carol party is also a chance to hand out presents (cheese, home made picked radishes, dried chilies, jams and chutneys) to friends attending.
I truly do find at Christmas that giving really is better than receiving something my young kids find hard to comprehend. I really do not want for any new material possessions. A man who has a ride on lawnmower, a strimmer, a chain saw and every episode of Foyle’s War and the Sweeney on DVD cannot want for much else in life can he?
In the “hidden room” here at the Welsh Hovel there is a growing pile of presents for the stockings that Santa brings while under the tree, more wrapped presents appear every few days. The spare fridge still has cheeses in for family and friends to go with jars from the larder. It is at this time of year when folks say a smiling thank you for presents of jams and chutney that I hope the Mrs feels a little bit sheepish for bashing me for making so many jars in the late summer and Autumn. There is method and planning in my madness.
11 days to go, still twenty five presents to wrap, deliver or purchase, ducks to pick up and other matters to attend to. A friend of mine moaned today to me how much he hates Christmas and would happily go back to the days of Cromwell, banning all celebrations and happiness. How can one possibly be so miserable?