In my family politics really is the order of the day. However we aren’t talking about the election fever that is gripping the British nation… Okay I mean every televisual news report trying to whip us all up into one mass of election frenzy. Everyone around these shores has practised voting on every issue there is over the last few years. I vote that we don’t need to vote again for another few years at least. Anyone else with me, please put a cross in the box below!
We’re not even discussing Donald Trump’s latest political faux pas. He tweets a disaster almost every hour, it’s so difficult to keep up with his every public relations nightmare.
My family’s political conversations (oh and there has been a lot of chatter coming from their mouths) have been dominated by the looming nature of 3000 houses engulfing our beautiful village and turning it from a rural idyl into a town. My Grandpa has started a protest group to try and garner local support against the build. I’m prepared for him to be laying in the middle of the road in front of a digger one day when we go out for a morning stroll. Or he could go sit in a tree just like Emily Bishop and her nephew Spider did in Coronation Street, in an attempt to save The Red Wreck. I will lend my support by barking along in protest and snarling at anyone with a local council clipboard. I’m a feisty Yorkshire Terrier, they won’t mess with me!
With Grandpa’s group just getting into its stride Granny, Mama J and I are feeling a bit like a family of golfing widows. All we’ve heard all last week is the pitter patter of, not tiny feet but Grandpa’s fingers going ten to the dozen on his laptop’s keyboard. I try to give him a, “Stroke me now please Grandpa!” paw but I am being more than slightly passed over for the cause. Now I know how he must feel when on a Monday I’m in my blogging zone and only wanting disturbing for food and exercise.
Well, generating interest for a blog pawed by a Yorkshire Terrier is such tireless Monday work! Then there’s all my other social media engagements, like Mama J waving a camera in my face just when I’ve pressed the button (don’t worry not the nuclear button that world leaders have) and this has gone live for that week.
Anyway I wish Grandpa and the other villagers involved in this campaign the best of luck in trying to change the minds of the local council’s planning department. I know Mama J and I like path walking but I also want to feel the grass between my paws and see the same idyllic country views that I and other doggies before me have had the pleasure of seeing for many years to come.
On Thursday afternoon when Mama J got back from the hairdressers looking gorgeously quaffed, us three girls settled down to watch Sarah Beeny’s Channel 4 property programme How To Live Mortgage Free.
The first episode where barge living dominated the proceedings had Mama J on eBay looking for a run down watery abode that she had no clue how to do up! Now Mama J as I told you all last week can’t swim, so she better look into some life insurance just so I’m fully looked after, should she fall in the canal whilst trying to board her boat. When she went on the school barge she missed her footing and her right jeans leg ended up taking a dipping, so things aren’t looking too promising for a new water lifestyle.
Anyway this weeks show was about a couple who did up a double decker bus which was interesting especially considering they both had mobility issues. However Mama J has decided to take umbrage with some of the ideas, as a lot of the people featured build their unconventional homes on family members land. This and all the possible building work in our village got too much for Mama J and she ranted, “I’ve had enough of folk! I’m off up Dale to live!” Granny was hysterical (I was worried at first as she was giggling so much I thought she was crying) and laughed all her make-up clean off her face at Mama J’s very Yorkshire dialect. Now I know I’m a Yorkshire lass too but we’ll be having sing songs of, “On Ikla Mooar baht ‘at!” next should anymore Yorkshire come out of Mama J’s mouth, along with stuffing our faces full of Yorkshire Puddings and washing them down with a mug of Yorkshire Tea. Now where’s my flat cap, I’m off up Dale too?