Ready Already Ongoing and Ongoing

For a few days now I have been using FP's dissertation folder as a pillow. Should I tell her I am ready to begin writing Chapter One, or just not get involved?

I notice that some of you have already started letting off fireworks. Why would you do this? And what (WHAT!) is the point in letting off one firework in the small hours of the morning? Surely the best thing about fireworks is enjoying a well-managed display with a large crowd? Don't even get me started on asking how much of a pillock one has to be to let off fireworks during daylight hours...

Puppies are still a problem for me in the park. Where do they get all their energy from?

I tried eating another jelly baby. Sticky. I put it in my bed.

Curious to see...

#cataloguingsongs
It ran out! Nevermind; worth knowing it runs out.

Jelly Babies

I cannot work these little fellas out. At all.

Silent mode

Someone's switched FP to 'silent mode' again. You know, when she's quiet like this she makes clicking noises like a dolphin to communicate with me. It's kind of sweet but not always easy to fully understand straight away. 

Luckily I've been listening to the Count of Monte Cristo and will see if I can work out some scheme like that of Valentine de Villefort and Monsieur Noirtier de Villefort! 

In other news, I met Agent Slim in the park this morning and we both barked at a massive puppy called Merlin.

Calculations

FP mumbled something about some maths lessons she was in once. I got the impression things hadn't gone well for her at the time and briefly supposed that this is one of the reasons she forgets to halve or quarter at least one ingredient whenever she modifies a recipe...

Anyhoo, it got me thinking about the times I use maths. Being a collie of course I am naturally given to the counting of sheep (and roughly pointing out to shepherds the general direction all x number of them were heading in when I last saw them). Now, did you see how I introduced the concept of 'x' just then?

'X' is going to help me explain some of the more frequent calculations I do in a normal day:

Scenario: a squirrel is over there *points*, beneath a tree looking for its nuts. There are x trees within x metres of the squirrel. There are x friendly squirrels already up x of the trees but twice as many unfriendly squirrels up half of these trees. You are a collie weighing x, capable of attaining x speed in x seconds (on a good day) and there is a slope of x degrees between you and the target squirrel which will slow you down by a third. 

Question: Will you catch it?

So you see, my daily walk in the park is not a walk in the park, as the saying goes (I've watched Top Gun). Rather, it is a huge maths problem and I think it's worth remembering that *starts licking paw*

Exhausting research

We were pretty sure that their were no actual cats in these books but we had to be sure so we read them cover to cover.

And then we had to sleep. Heavily.

Stupid prickly things

There's really nothing so great, IMO, as scampering about a field. Ah, the feeling of freedom, the wind in my ears and all the loveliness of being a slim dog on the hoof...Well, you know, slimmer than of late (see earlier post where vet probably messed up weighing machine results and declared me a heavy lass, the bas****).

Anyhoo, there I was sprinting about, fly style, in all directions I fancied for no more than 3 seconds at a time then BANG! we're in the car and heading back to Londres (where my Midlands/Borders accents sometimes stymies the locals)!

Traffic. Bah!

Crowded streets. Bah again.

Take me back to the wide open spaces or if not the wide open spaces then the steep hill where the deer hang out chewing whatever it is they chew unsuspecting of the presence of the NunuThunder!

I have to admit that recently I have been much taken with the RNIB audio book of the Count of Monte Cristo and it may be colouring my blog style, so stop me if I meander into close detailed descriptions of FP's dress or ST's stash of poo bags...

But I digress; where I meant to stay was on the topic of tearing about in fields only to arrive home, assume the position for a Brushing Brushing and discover one of those prickly things in my tail feathers.

We've had the devil of a time getting it out and it almost came to scissors*. But it is gone now and I'm not sorry either as it was damnably uncomfortable to sit on so that I was forced to lay down my weary head throughout the journey and snore loudly from just outside Birmingham until Kilburn, when I was required to navigate from the back seat whilst all the time sitting on a prickly thing. If you were in Kilburn, Marble Arch, Victoria or Clapham today and saw what you imagined to be a dog snarling at you from the back seat of a passing car, then rest assured it was I, Nunu, and it wasn't you, it was that prickly thing in my tail feathers causing the rictus expression.

*Always bad to hear scissors mentioned in relation to the tail feathers.