She’s finally back. About ten years ago we started our very own Communist Society, complete with badges. Tonight we sat in oh so trendy Soho. After quite a lot of discussion we went with a dry white that had echoes of both nettles and mangoes. We expressed our doubts with the usual amount of sophisticated cynicism. Pizza and jazz followed.

My darling boyfie keeps reminding me that Marx was buried in Highgate cemetary, with only 11 or 12 people in attendance. Details, details. One of my first crushes was on Trotsky. If that’s wrong, then ice-pick lobotomies have become unfashionable very suddenly indeed.

ON BEAVERS

I wonder if any of my loyal readers have been confused by the repeated mention of The Beavers. Well, here’s a quick explanation. We are a clan of fierce, intelligent, clannish Beavers, extremely anti-otter and anti-duck. Otters and Ducks have Agendas. Beavers have Dreams. Just so you know.

For more detail do click on this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beavers

On Saturday I packed a small bag and headed to visit the CeeBee household.  When in London they live on the other side of town, and have a sustained belief that it is the only sensible place to live. (‘I mean why would anyone live anywhere else? Everyone should live here.  I mean not EVERYONE obviously.’ NB The CeeBee’s didn’t say this, I overheard it and thought it was funny.)

On Friday, Miss CeeCeeBee, the younger twin by 14 minutes, had emailed an invitation for the weekend – along with the weekend’s menu. So with the perfect weather and the lure of barbeques in the sun, poached salmon and a roast lunch on Sunday, I happily boarded Chiltern Railservice’s arctic carriage and left London behind, heading to MK’s outskirts. A weekend with the CeeBees -  woohoo!

CeeCeeBee and I missed England’s goal – getting back from the station a little bit after half one, we decided to put lunch before football and so only heard Mr CeeBee’s roar of delight from the next room.  Once we started watching he quickly adopted armchair pessimism, taking great delight in taunting us with how awfully England were playing.

Post football, we moved outside.  I lost at all games we played, despite strategic ganging up against smug repeat winner AyCeeBee at croquet, AND losing at a card game I’d just taught CeeCeeBee.  

Chocolate sustained us until supper. Mrs CeeBee = kitchen goddess.  The twins and Gemma call her The Feeder.

To bed, had twelve hours of sleep, yum.

Lunch, and then back to London in the Beavermobile with Buttkiss(AyCeeBee), Boris(GeeCeeBee) and the Alpha(CeeCeeBee). 

Back to life as usual.

Tarka is Mills’ puppy. I am very fond of him.

A few weeks ago I stepped on his tail. He started crying and hid under Mills’ chair. Guilt and an an overwhelming desire to improve puppy -godmother relations led me to bribery, and I fed him small treats for the rest of the afternoon.

If I was any judge, I know to who all medals would be awarded: they would go to Tarka (“Tarkie”), the most darling of puppies. 5 months old, wet nosed and noisily curious, like all the worst tourists. Maybe I am biased, but he’s my first godson. But with his beauty and sweet temper, he is pretty perfect. God bless Tarka. I would put a piccy up but i think it might fly in the face of privacy laws. Also, Budge has taken the camera with him and my camera phone and I don’t entirely understand each other.

Have been reading the Ali Smith book that’s up for Oh So Many Awards. Initially quite a dizzy-making experience, now loving it as have come to grips with the multiple stream of consciousness that was brutally assaulted with. Smith is quite morbid and that certainly runs across all the characters.

And it’s the start to the end of the working week! Hope my newly loyal readership is well.

Thanks for the link, Drew. I should probably stress that this really is my personal blog and I tend to go on about slightly… well, inane things, but if it looks fun to you, please do grab a pew!

I tend to talk about my experiences with technology quite a lot (because I’m a complete geek technophile), so if that’s of interest, my RSS feed sits somewhere down on the right…

He believed in a thing called Dove!

I kill me, sometimes!