AN OSCAR WORTHY FLOWERING MYSTERY

It is a wet and grey day here in North Yorkshire and I have just been snuggled up on Mama J’s lap having my furry face stroked whilst repeatedly giving her my paw to also gently caress. Life is good chilling here but I’m definitely stalling for motivation for this post to kick here today. Yes, even I a great Comedienne in a black and tan fur shaggy coat needs divine inspiration some days. Right Elsie (that’s me giving myself a kick up the proverbial) come on, let’s commence with the funny today!
It was Mama J’s lovely friend’s birthday last Tuesday and seen as she has been so kind towards me and Mama J, especially in supportive comments towards my blog (she’s got impeccable taste in the pawed written word that one) we wanted to show our appreciation and organised her a beautiful bouquet of flowers to be delivered. I even placed my paw on the key pad and selected the flowers I wanted to send (I’m a clever and extremely decisive flower ordering dog) then paid for them with my doggie treats (okay with Mama J’s debit card as I don’t think the Florist would take the Pooch and Mutt method of payment).
   On Tuesday when Mama J returned home from work we were disappointed that the delivery company hadn’t been able to deliver the flowers. We couldn’t even arrange for them to be re-delivered for the next day so Thursday was the new designated date for delivery.
   Thursday came and an email was sent from the delivery company to say the flowers had been delivered, yippee… Or so we thought! 
   Mama J text her friend who was now excitedly visiting her family for more birthday celebrations, to get her to get her partner to open the flowers so they could be placed in a vase of water for her to enjoy on her return. On doing this she received a text back to say no flowers had been delivered to her house or even the neighbours. The hunt for flowers not the Easter bunny was on!
   Mama J sent a very disgruntled email (oh she was giving them it with both barrels and I was hiding behind the sofa as she grumbled on in keyboard form) of compliant to get the reply of a picture of a shed with some boxed flowers in it. Mystery solved… Or so again we thought!
   On forwarding the picture of said shed to her friend it turns out that this was not the correct shed! Whose shed was this? Where are the flowers? Why did numpty Courier not put a card through Mama J’s friend’s door to say where they had left said flowers? Why didn’t they put them in a shed on Tuesday instead of having to re-deliver? Will the flowers ever be found? What state will they be in? There are so many questions to be answered here that I think this could be an off shoot storyline on tonight opening episode of Broadchurch. David Tennant and Olivia Colman please help us in our quest to locate the missing flowers!
We have been stressed out (I’m having to learn breathing techniques to calm myself down and saying a lot of, “Um’s!” and “Ah’s!”) as a family over the past few weeks. No, this isn’t due to workmen who don’t email back with quotes. Please don’t get me started, I’m already reeling with flower gate, that would send me over the edge! This is all to do with the England Rugby teams latest Six Nations campaign.
   They have put me, my family and the whole watching nation through the ringer every weekend they have played. My family have been shouting, screaming, hiding behind cushions and even not daring to turn the telly back on after the half time whistle has been blown.
   Yes, yesterday afternoon Granny and Grandpa whipped me out for my second walk of the day then lived in pure fear of pressing the big red button at the top of our remote control and seeing what was happening on the Rugby pitch. Fear not my beautiful family England were now winning and indeed won the game. 
   However this is a plea to Eddie Jones and his team of players, “Mr Jones and your wonderfully skilled chaps, please don’t give my family and the rest of the supportive nation a coronary next time you play. Win and win well in a calm and relaxed manner for all of us watching. On a personal note Mr Jones, I don’t want the black parts of my Yorkshire Terrier hair turning grey because of your on pitch performance. Thank you and good luck.”
Lastly I must say a huge congratulations to La La Land on winning the Oscar for Best Picture at last night’s ceremony… What do you mean they didn’t win it? I saw Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway and heard the announcement with my own pointy ears. Yes, folks this is todays fake news. Donald Trump must’ve been in his element watching the ceremony as the fake news phenomenon has moved from Washington DC all the way to “La La Land” Hollywood.

There we go people, I feel much better now I’ve got all that off my Yorkshire Terrier chest. Follow my therapeutic advice, express not repress!

THE SNIPPET OF A GROWING FRIENDSHIP

I shouted loudly as I awoke this morning, “Hip, hip hooray! I can see!” So okay I hadn’t lost my sight entirely but until yesterday morning I couldn’t fully see where I was going. I was walking into the sofa, the dining room table and trees (gosh an oak really is a might tree to do battle with) whilst out on my walks. However this isn’t an add-on to the Eastenders Dot Branning storyline, although I do think one of the soaps could highlight the doggie version of temporary blindness as a dramatic plot line. However my storyline isn’t from a soap opera, I just needed the fur around my eyes trimming.
   My styling team, which girl on earth doesn’t want a team to call her own? Yes, mine is my Granny and Grandpa and they are very good at giving my fur a once over new look. Grandpa was in charge of keeping me calm and feeding me lots of scrumptious doggie chocolate drops (good job Mama J was at work otherwise she’d be begging for the drop or five as well) whilst I sat and stood on the dining room table as Granny snipped away at my fluffy bits. I know it’s not very hygienic however my small Yorkshire Terrier stature makes it difficult to trim me anywhere else in the house. I better add here that Granny dusted and vacuumed up right afterwards just in case How Clean Is Your House’s Kim Woodburn and Aggie MacKenzie happen to read this post and think we are filthy beggars!
   Granny chopped and preened my fur not just with some average paper cutting scissors (Mama J has trimmed her fringe with those types of scissors in the past, please don’t tell her Hairdresser) but with my very own hairdressing thinning scissors as well as Grandpa’s clippers. My fur is being styled by the best scissors/clippers in the business, naturally for a loved and glamorous girl such as myself. 
   Following my chop (haircut wise of course this isn’t a new version of Nightmare On Elm Street with Granny playing the role of Frederica Krueger), it was up to the bath for the next session of my pampering day. Granny wet my fur with warm water and then massaged in my specialist dog shampoo and it foamed up all over my body. No pictures were taken (or ever will be as I’m going to get myself insured on this matter. If it is good enough for Cristiano Ronaldo legs it is good enough for me) of me in this state as I look like a scary drowned rat instead of my beautiful everyday look. After a rinse a radiator warmed towel was rubbed against me. I then ran downstairs to roll around the sofa to dry myself off further in my usual crazy manner.
I should really have got my hair done prior to Valentine’s Day as it might have increased my chances of gaining cards and gifts. Mama J and now my trucks must be driving around the countryside with our wares in their boots. Mama J’s truck has seventeen years worth of treats in it so will be collapsing now with the weight of all those cards, flowers and fluffy teddy bears. We are blaming our house for having a name and not a number above its door. Never mind the fact that every other delivery finds us no bother at all. It’s a conspiracy against love we think.
   I have struck up a friendship with a new Labrador on our street named Billy. His family moved into the village last autumn and I was a little bit frosty towards him at first (a lady should always play it cool to keep the boys on their paw pads) but just recently we have become firm friends.
   Billy’s Mum was walking him the other day and seems to very much approve of our friendship as she gave me a couple of yummy treats to show she was on side too. I’m hoping a play date (I’ll share my ever expanding toy basket with Billy of course) will be on the cards next to help develop our friendship further.
   Now Watson of course is still my favourite boy as he was so welcoming towards me when I moved into the village but it is always great to have friendships with a variety of local pooches.


DIARY IN A BOILING BAG MIRACLE

Here I am! Yes, I know I’m two days early in posting but I really must tell you all about the miracles (okay they are weenie minor occurrences in most peoples lives) that have happened since I last blogged. This Yorkshire Terrier is dead excited, can’t you tell?
Mama J has reached the dizzying heights of having an organised life. You didn’t think I was going to say she’d conquered the grand scale of Mount Everest over this two week period did you? Remember we are still working on her putting one foot in front of another and gliding swiftly and effortlessly (yes that means with ease and grace Mama J) across the pavements in our vicinity.
   Mama J has bought herself (the drama is palpable here) a diary and an address book! Okay you can stop those drums rolling now please, my ears drums are buzzing like a city centre filled with drunken revellers on a Saturday night. I know most people have all their data such as diary dates of interest and contact information stored on their mobile phones these days but our Mama J likes to keep the stationery sector going in a traditional old school manner. Well, that’s my reasoning behind it all and my way of thinking Mama J is keeping the economy afloat following the Brexit leave vote last summer. Mama J’s reasoning is that having all this information stored in her mobile phone eats not so elegantly into her data and watching it going down was starting to bring her out in full scale panic followed on by a heat filled anxiety rash. Crack open that address book and diary, grab a pen and start writing Mama J, we can’t have you having data filled panic attacks can we?
   On receiving her new diary and address book Mama J proceeded to fill them in using her finest handwriting skills. I say started as after a few hours (yes Mama J knows an awful lot of people and their vital statistics) of penning peoples information down and popping in her holiday dates her handwriting turned from almost legible (she writes like an eight year old at the best of times) to spider scrawling across the page at the end of her mammoth data entry session.
   Now Mama J’s organised I do fear that she maybe taking things too far as at 10.47am every day she jumps up and goes to the toilet for a wee. Then she goes into the kitchen and ticks it off in her diary to say that she’s been!
Last Friday evening the ice age hit our lives. Don’t worry you haven’t missed out on some apocalyptic event while watching the six o’clock News. This event only hit three people and an extremely cute Yorkshire Terrier, who were plunged by a faulty boiler into realms of coldness they’ve never felt before. Okay so Mama J did ride a horse in temperatures of minus fourteen before but she’s an absolute loony so that really doesn’t count.
   Yes, on Friday evening Grandpa said to Granny enquiringly, “Why isn’t the heating on?” On checking the boiler all the lights were off (well apart from a very telling yellow warning light that is) and it wasn’t playing its usual show tune. On pressing the yellow reset button the boiler would fire up for five minutes then not work. They tried this a few times, as well it works so hard and may need a rest, only to be met with the same issue, the boiler wasn’t performing that night and its show Director okay the Plumber needed a call.
   Grandpa found our trusty Plumber’s number and dialled it with such gusto to be told, “I’m just packing to go on holiday for eight days.” Our Plumber is fantastic and knows our heating system inside out, however he’s an extremely galavanting man. Let’s just say he’s a work to live kind of a guy and we definitely needed this to be the opposite way round in our moment of crisis.
   He did say that a part may have gone and advised Grandpa where to find this part and how to fit it (yes because my Grandpa really is a Super Mario Brother). On sourcing the part early Saturday morning and fitting it, Grandpa fired the boiler up for all of ten minutes (our timings were improving ever so marginally. The Great British Cycling Team would be so impressed with our marginal gains) then it died a death again.
   The next thing we did was ring a twenty-four hotline boiler repair company. Their twenty-four response is obviously on a different time scale to ours, as we are still waiting for a call back from them a week later.
   Grandpa had one more solution while we all shivered and shook our way through the weekend and that was a clay pigeon shooting buddy of his who is a Heating Engineer. Chris visited our home at 5.35pm on Monday evening and he has been given the title of this weeks Miracle Man. He had worked out the solenoid had gone and replaced it with a new one and after a nervous minutes wait the boiler fired up and has continued in its mission to fire up ever since.
   I have stopped wandering around like a chilly snow woman in my largest hoodie coat and the irreplaceable in our lives blow heats have gone away back into the loft. The only thing we do need our Plumber to take a look at when he returns from his latest holiday auditioning for the role of Dirty Dancing’s Johnny Castle (yes he likes to shimmy his way around the dance floor) is the fact that when the boiler isn’t firing up all the lights are off, even the power one. Is it just that my family is now totally boiler obsessed and it has always done this or do we have another heating crisis waiting to happen?
The last miracle happened yesterday lunchtime when Mama J found the Holy Grail!  You may remember in January me telling you all about Mama J’s quest to find the perfect red handbag and that she didn’t have any luck in finding one better than her pink Fossil one. You may also remember her in the end giving up and getting a black one, in the same style as her pink one.
   Well, yesterday while on a shopping trip with Granny the pair decided to go into Fossil and there almost with a glistening halo over it on the shelf was a perfectly different but equally pocket filled red handbag. Mama J’s eyes lit up as she and Granny looked around the bag in pure wonderment. Mama J walked grinning as she stepped to the counter and purchased her new bag. She then wandered around the rest of the shopping centre exclaiming, “It is fate! It is destiny! It is a bloody miracle!” 
   See folks the moral of this story is that when you stop really wanting/looking for something it always turns up. So Mama J doesn’t want to own a Porsche or indeed want to win the lottery, no not ever!