Summer…almost!

Spring here is erratic.  One day it is bucketing down with rain and you cannot get your hands warm, the next you are in shorts and a t-shirt dodging sunrays and then suddenly it is summer…at least I hope it is.  It is still only April and the weather can be unpredictable. 

Still, it feels like summer and two weeks ago at the inauguration of our new Police Station I got a touch of sunburn.  I always get caught out every year, not realizing the intensity of the spring sun.  I was only out for about 20 minutes.  The worst place for the burn is the area between neck and chest, the décolletage.  Now it is slathered with sunblock as are other bits of me and I am being more careful to stay out of the full sunlight.  I discovered early on that lobster-red is not a good look on anybody.  Even Red Indians are not really red.

Two weeks ago I went to the hairdresser and got my hair cut short as well.  It was time, as the other cut was starting to be a bother and I was not liking how it looked or felt.  Or perhaps it was just a case of "Washing that Man Right Out of My Hair"?  When I got home I brushed it and styled it and put in gel and wax and all sorts of stuff to make it do what I wanted it to.  Then I told the FaceBook world with a photo and my sister posted me an article on "Mum Hair".  Nothing like a sister to burst your bubble.  Oh well, maybe the article is right and I am sending out a message to be left alone.  After all a girl needs time to slob around a bit in her PJs and tatty slippers without the male gaze to send her running for something a bit more sexy. The Westies could not care less how I look or dress as long as I feed them and rub their tummies.  Though now I come to think of it, they did look at me a little bit curiously when I can home with the new short hair, as if to say: "Sounds like her, smells like her, but is it her??"

So once I had got my own new look sorted I booked the 'kids' in to 'Posh Pets' for a spring haircut.  They were looking decidedly scruffy and Kerry even had a couple of dreadlocks developing under her armpits.  Burrs were beginning to be an issue on walks and with the temperature rising they were all beginning to look a bit hot and bothered.

Les, from PP came to collect them at 11.00 am on the Tuesday and I spent the day happily cleaning, washing and making beds in preparation for Kate (daughter) who was arriving the following day.  It is always easier to get things done without all those tummies to rub…every five minutes or so.  I steamed through the little jobs and when 5 o'clock came I was ready to receive my three delicious doggies.  They were already making their way up our lane from the carpark and as usual I hardly recognized them as mine.  They do look lovely after a wash and cut and they smell heavenly (if only for a short while).  To add to the confusion PP often get them into the wrong harnesses.  The first time this happened, when they were all quite new to me, I honestly did not know which was which.  Normally they are colour coded.  Kerry is red, Candy blue and Looki is black.  

Actually, I know them all so well now that their own little characters shine through and I can tell them apart easily.  Not so for others who pass us in the street and who see three identical dogs.  People often ask if they are siblings, to which I reply that the two girls are sisters and that Looki is their cousin.  Which in fact is not far from the truth.

Delicious Westies

I went to collect Kate from the airport the next morning telling the doggies that I was bringing someone very special home for them.  When we arrived in the door they recognised her immediately and were all over her.  Jumping up, licking and kissing her.  They are not stupid and know that her arrival meant an extra lap and even more cuddles for them.  Which was indeed the case.

Up until Easter had been especially busy for me.  In addition to the normal teaching and writing lesson plans I had to get some coin designs off by the 1^st of April.  I duly did this and, as I have said, after that was simply the run-up to the visitor's arrival.  The minute we stepped out of the taxi I went straight into holiday mode and at 12.00 noon we had cracked open our first bottle of Cava and dropped some amaretto into it.  Sitting on the terrace we began the usual catching up of what she had been doing and what I had been doing.  I don't think we stopped talking, except to rub a few doggies, until we dropped into bed that evening – quite early, but pretty drunk.  

After the Amaretto and Cava we had adjourned for something to eat to Kate's favourite tapas bar "Bar Juan Sanchez".  We ate and drank plenty and then, still chatting, came home and it seemed a very good idea to make Margaritas.  In retrospect it wasn't such a good idea as we really should have done our little bits of shopping first, but 20/20 vision is sooooo boring.  So we had a couple of very large Margaritas and then I decided that we could not live without buying a chicken for the dogs.  

Too many Margaritas and too many Westies

In the heel of the hunt we did not cook it until the Saturday, when the shops were all open again anyway and the dogs were perfectly happy with tuna and rice in the meantime.  However, our trip was not wasted.  Upon waking the next morning we discovered all sorts of goodies in the fridge, including smoked salmon and alli-oli and in the freezer were two tubs of ice-cream.  We also discovered two licked clean bowls carelessly flung in the living room and bizarrely one in Kate's room also.  I had no recollection of purchasing half these things, but apparently it was I who put the salmon in the trolley.

The next morning was Maundy Thursday and I was feeling very sorry for myself with a crashing headache and an untidy, sticky kitchen to clear up.  Margaritas are very sticky.  So we took the dogs out for a walk, came back, made sense of the kitchen and I cooked a decent fry to fortify us.

I do not remember all the details now of what we did together over the next couple of days, but it was a lovely chatty, peaceful time involving a few more glasses of wine and some very good food, such as smoked salmon on bread and scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and bread dipped alli-oli and the dogs became more and more fond of Kate as the days passed.  On the last night the two girls even deserted me and slept in the guest room…with Kate, the traitors!

Traitors

When I returned from the airport on Easter Sunday they were visibly shocked that Kate was not with me as they looked longingly at the door to see her walk back in behind me.

And suddenly Easter has passed. And with it the glorious weather.  We are back to rain and heavy skies and my humour is similar. And the back of my neck is freezing cold.

P.S. for some, no good, reason it has taken me nearly two weeks to post this, even though it was written.  Artists it would appear do not only suffer from writer's/artist's block, but also from self-doubt.  Not so Westies! Xxx 

Utterly confident, but it makes getting to the desk rather difficult…utterly cute too.

A Little Extra: My Name is Candy

Since adopting our two little girls from Lynne and James, nearly a year ago now, I have stayed in contact with them both.  I especially enjoy the emails I receive from Lynne in which she tells me all about little things that the girls used to get up to when they were living with them, or better still, when she sends me photos of the pair before I knew them.  In turn, Lynne enjoys reading my blog as it lets her know that her little girlies have settled perfectly well into a life here and are happy and contented with their new family.  She also notes when I am busy (well up to my tonsils in fact) as the blogs become a bit scarcer, so she took the time over the past couple of weeks to ghostwrite a post from 'Candy' for me to include in my blog. 

For me it was a delight as I was enchanted to hear Candy's story from her own mouth…..

MY NAME IS CANDY

A while ago, my goodie-goodie sister, Kerry, decided to help our mummy, Mary, who was a bit behind on her blog writing, by writing her own blog called My Name is Kerry.

To show I am not as daft as I sometimes appear, and generally act, I have decided to write my own.

In the beginning

When I arrived at the family home in 2007, my sister Kerry was already there, and seemed a giant – she could get my head inside her mouth! I was told that she was 10 weeks older then me (about twice my age then), and that, as we came from the same father, and our mothers who were sisters, they expected another little angel like Kerry. Sorry to have been such a disappointment!

When we were  just pups.  I think Kerry loved me from the start??

On the day after I arrived, my big sister was showing me round the garden, when I suddenly found myself in the swimming pool – at the deep end. I can’t say I remember being pushed, but I have always had my suspicions! Fortunately, my then mummy, Lynne, came rushing down, and scooped me out of the pool, then wrung me out!  Since then, both my sister and I have avoided water like the plague!

Once I settled in

Once I began to grow, and Kerry stopped putting my head in her mouth, life became good, and we spent a lot of time chasing round the garden, chasing birds, barking at whatever was inside the two old olive trees, and going out.

The olive trees held special delights

When we were ushered into Lynne’s C3, we knew we were going walkies in the country or on the beach, but when our harnesses were put on, and we were manhandled into the big Volvo, we knew were going out to the Marina for coffee, where we could wander round the various stalls, and see the dog-life around.

The unkindest cut

When we were two, we were taken to the vets – individually – to have an operation to remove our sex drive. Painful, initially, but at least the male dogs no longer sniff round us!  Looki tried once or twice, but never again.

How I get on with my sister

She’s OK; a bit bossy at times, but, after seven years, we look after each other, along with our brother, Looki. Kerry used to be especially bossy when we went for walks near the house. I used to sniff fox or rabbit trails, and go crashing through the undergrowth, and eventually, after calling me for ever, and me ignoring them, I would hear the words “Kerry, go find Candy”, and know that the game was up. I made it as difficult as possible for her, but eventually, the moment for reckoning arrived, and she would tell me off, in no uncertain terms!

She can be a bit bossy, but Kerry is lovely and soft to cuddle up next to.

Escape from Colditz

The first couple of years, I was quite happy to stay in the garden, but then, I began to wonder what was outside it – there were a lot of noises, and movements and I decided to investigate.

Often, the front gate was left open, but neither my sister nor I deigned to use it, as it seemed beneath our terrier dignity.

Kerry proved not to be much of a terrier, and it was usually left to me to dig the holes, move bricks, wood, fencing, etc., and then, if she could squeeze her fatter body through it, my sister would follow.  Normally, we would just go out of the garden, wander about outside and then come back, either through the hole we had made, or if not, via the front gate – if it was open, we would just wander in, if it was not, we would wait till someone saw us.

Eventually, I got bolder, and started to stay out overnight. At first, Lynne and James would wait for me, but eventually they gave up, and would go to their beds, leaving the front gate open, and I would wander back at my leisure, and go to sleep on the seats outside.

When we moved to the other house, it was too well contained to get out, but when we moved back, I was at it again, despite the various defences increasingly put up to contain me.

Holidays

James worked away a lot of the time, and Lynne often went to see him or our uncle and auntie. When that happened we used to go to Cozy Kennels, where we had our own special cage and then to Glynis and Ian’s, which we always enjoyed as there were always another five or six small dogs of our own size.

I'd be lost without my sister.

And now

We moved to Mary’s house last year, and now live with her and Looki, our brother. We all get on well together, but Looki and I get into more scrapes than Kerry. We are all very happy together. 

(I wonder if they’ll print this?)

(Copyright:  Lynne and Candy)

Deep Clean February

Last night all the Westies were in bed before me.  This is not the normal course of events as they are usually respectful of my position as pack leader and wait at least until I have one foot under the duvet before making a dash for their favoured spots, but last night for some reason they were all eager to get themselves tucked up early.  I brushed my teeth and prepared for bed and then attempted to thread myself in under the duvet which was firmly gripped on one side by Candy and on the other by Kerry and about halfway down, where my knees should be, Looki was spread out like butter in the sun.  I ended up with my head crushed against the wall which was not very comfortable as the wall is somewhat rough in texture and we never got round to a headboard.  My legs were crossed like a badly broken scarecrow and my arms were pinned tight to my sides.  So I rudely turned over and pulled the duvet.  Dogs rolled and grudgingly moved about a bit and I managed to get myself into a reasonably comfortable position for sleep.

There is always a dog somewhere looking for a cuddle

It was not to be.  Just as I was dropping off all the dogs jumped up as if electrified and, leaping off the bed, started sniffing and scratching furiously around the window, under the chest of drawers and in the bathroom.  What on earth was going on?  I had horrible visions of a huge spider, a mouse, a cockroach or…..?  I switched on the bedside light.  I could see or hear nothing.  "It's nothing." I said.  "Lets go back to bed."  I took the opportunity to spread myself very quickly all over the bed though before they all hopped up again.  Once again I was just drifting away to the land of nod when they all jumped up and starting barking and running around like lunatics.  This time I heard it.  It was a great big, lazy bluebottle.  "It’s a bluebottle you nitwits." I said "and it's a dying bluebottle," I added.  This seemed to do the trick and thereafter we all slept like babies until the morning.  They can be reasoned with at times.

As February draws to a close I look back over the past weeks that have disappeared in a veritable blur.  February turned out to be a sorting and clearing month in the end, not quite what I had expected or planned.  Productive, though not yet completed, though the mountain is not so impossibly high now.

What on earth is she talking about?  You may wonder. 

Well, after splitting up with my Victor at Christmastime I spent January rather in the doldrums wondering which way to turn.  Come the start of February however, I was beginning to get the bit back between my teeth and plotting and planning the next part of my life with some alacrity. 

The first thing that I thought I should do was to attack the last few outstanding jobs on the house to finish it off once and for all.  These include completion of the ceiling in the front bedroom and repairing and renovating the façade of the house.  So I contacted our builder and asked him for his quotes.  These duly came in, along with the outstanding bill for our fourth electrician.  I totted them all up, fainted, pulled myself back together and then had a chat with Vic about them.  We still need to address these things together as we are in the process of selling the house.  For both our sakes we need to get the best price possible to enable each of us to buy a tiny little home out of the proceeds.  All of our money is tied up in this house, even though that was something I swore I would never let happen.

We both put our cards on the table honestly and openly regarding our finances and I did some more sums and then contacted our lawyer as we also need to get our paperwork in order to sell the house.  At the moment the Escritura (deeds) to the house do not reflect the extension we have built on, so these have to be updated.  Our lawyer sent me a list of all the things I will need to do as well as estimated costs so I had to do yet more sums.  I fainted once more, but came round again quite quickly.  It turns out we cannot afford to do everything, but I have decided that it is more important to get the paperwork in order first as that may take some time.  Everything here takes ages to do, especially anything that involves paperwork and the Town Hall.  Though amazingly the first piece of paper that I had to acquire, my Nota Simple, was ready for collection within 24 hours.  So it can be done, but not all offices here are created equal.

While discussing things with Nuria (our lovely lawyer) I had to find and email her various documents and of course was confronted with the usual stack of files and folders that have found their way into my life over the past few years in Spain, not to mention the files and folders that I had accumulated before that while still living in Ireland.  In addition to my own files I also inherited the files and folders of my parents.  My mother died in 1990 and my father in 2003.  I have been carrying a lot of paper for a very long time.  So without thinking about it too much at first I began sorting through the first stack of drawings, notes and documents which included electricity bills and telephone bills, receipts for garden forks and lawnmowers and even payslips dating back to the 1980s!  I never throw anything away it would appear!  Before I knew it I was up to my neck in old chequebook stubs and warranties for things I no longer possess.  That bank account has long since been closed.

Art college (1995-2000) created an enormous amount of drawings (most of them really bad) that I never threw away and also created lots of source books and notebooks which I have now revamped with the drawings, notes and doodles that have some virtue, pasted over the older, really sad, drawings that I had done and thought were wonderful at the time, but on reflection were shite.  Some books and folders have just been thrown away in their entirety.

Then I started on the letters.  That proved more difficult as I had to read them all first.  Some were really good so I am glad that I took the time.  We have a long history as a family of letter writers, but still they had to go.  It is just not healthy to hold on so much to the past.  In addition to the letters that people wrote to me over the years I also had inherited (remember that) all the letters that my mother had kept and filed under various headings:  Mary, Patricia, Josephine and Misc Friends to name the main protagonists.  

Initially I asked Jo if she would receive her own stack of letters to dispose of as I thought it far too much of a responsibility to burn hers as well as my own, but in the end I became ruthless and just chucked them on the fire (with her permission of course).  I thought I could just throw my own file away without reading any of the letters, but when it came to it I had to read each one and relive my own awkward past.  I also read some of my mother's to me, not all, but I think I was just getting tired by then and her handwriting is quite difficult to read, not to mention the fact that it embarrassed me that I had been such a twerp and yet she was very patient with me.

I do not think that the Westies have been that impressed with my February works.  I think they much preferred when I was plodding through listless January and spending a lot more time sitting on the couch watching DIY shows and Celebrity Big brother (the Spanish version in which I know absolutely none of the Z-list participants, but really, do I want to?)

Last Saturday I decided to sweep through the house, vacuum the carpets and wash the floors.  The dogs were of no assistance whatsoever and as usual I ended up with one or two Westie-shaped unwashed patches on the otherwise clean floor.  Yes, I know all I really need to say is, "Candy! Move!"  But in reality it just doesn’t seem to matter much if I miss a small bit of the floor.  It will get done the next time round, after all the floors need cleaning quite often.  It felt good to get the place aired and washed and fired me on to finish "The Great February Purge"

There are still large boxes of paper all around the place.  I am staring at one overflowing here in the office and another is down beside the fire, it makes for very good firelighting in the evening, but never seems to get emptied as the next day sees me cutting and throwing out again. 

Dogs amidst the chaos in my office

And I also have all the photos to sort through yet…oh and did I mention my mother's postcard collection?  March may well be spoken for too.

And of course the Westies demand my attention constantly.  When I come home from school in the evening and finally settle down on the couch they descend on me like a swarm of gnats and if they think they are being neglected in any way they push me or prod me with noses or paws until I rub their bellies for them. 

Dogs are very ingenious - for example, using the box of waste paper by the fire to be really cute!

They invent ingenious new tactics to gain attention all the time too.  For instance the other evening they all decided to go out for a sniff in the garden.  Looki came back first and knocked at the door.  I let him in.  Then Candy gave one little woof at the door to be let in.  So I did.  Kerry did not show up for a long time, but then I 'sensed' her presence on the other side of the door.  When I opened it I reeled in horror.  She was smeared from ear to tail with soft, fresh, smelly poo!  She looked rather pleased with herself if the truth be known.  It was of course up to the bathroom immediately for a shower.  I gave her a good scrubbing and dried her.  The other two lay happily curled up on the bathmat while I sorted their sister out.  I think she enjoyed all the fuss and attention just for her.  They all do.  I hope she does not try it again any time soon, though she was lovely and fluffy afterwards I must say!

Meanwhile the sun is getting stronger and the days are getting longer.  There is a grand stretch in the evening and it is still light now when I get home from work which puts a spring in my step.  Very soon I will be able to take the dogs out for an evening stroll on my return.  They will like that and they will like it even more when all the paper sorting is finished and I can return to more creative activities.  I am sure they will enjoy it more when I start writing short stories again or making little sculptures in the evening…. No, I think they will be happiest when we can go up to the forest every weekend or when we can just lounge in bed in the mornings or spend all afternoon snuggled up together on the couch, that is, if I can squeeze my way in.

Flat January and New Year Revolutions

I have felt a little bit flat of late, but that could just be January Syndrome.  January has never been my favourite month.  On the whole I try to put my head down and work through it. I can't believe how quickly the time flies by, we are already into February, so I must be having fun in spite of the time of year! 

But what of our New Year's resolutions?  I will admit that this year my resolutions have not been particularly original, intellectual or creative.  First and foremost I set out to lose a kilo and a half by the end of January, bringing my weight back down to a manageable 70 kilos.  That goal is now to lose three kilos!  For some reason I have managed to put weight on rather than lose it.  I also vowed to do half an hour of exercises every day.  I kept that up for the first week and a half, but have wavered and fallen.  Yesterday I got back on the horse and did do a bit, but today, owing to a small dog crisis eg Looki falling into an uncovered drain on our morning walk and me having to bath him on our return and taking the opportunity to bath the girls too as they were just a tad smelly, I am behind on jobs and so exercising does not seem to be in the equation.  The mending that has been pending (Ah, how poetic!  Pending mending!) since the new year seems to have gone on hold too, though I did get my sewing machine out which is always a hopeful sign.

A small crisis and a very dirty doggy

I always aim for a couple of weeks of sobriety in the New Year, stupid really as I always have odds and ends of bottles that need finishing before I can go teetotal.  Once they are done I have to wean myself off the booze again, but I have done a few drink-free days over the past two weeks, which is good for my liver, I guess.  Still I do enjoy a little wind-down drink in the evening, after a hard day's work, and I really don't see a problem with that.

On the Westie front, on the other hand, things are going really well. Kerry has lost a little bit more weight, bringing her down to 10.5 kilos.  This is a great achievement for her as she weighed in at a hefty 11.2 at the start of December.  I don't want her to lose the weight too quickly obviously and I know it is difficult for her as she is hungry all the time, but she really was very rotund and I could see her struggling on her little legs.  Her big round belly was nearly touching the ground and I was painfully aware of the dangers of her becoming diabetic or suffering with other weight related illnesses in her older years, or worse, getting stuck trying to get over a humpbacked bridge!  Her goal weight is 9.5, though I think that 10 would probably be just fine, so we only have another little bit to go.

A much slimmer Kerry all scrubbed up

Candy too has lost half a kilo bringing her back down to a perfect 8.5.  She had just tipped over the 9 kilo mark and was starting to look a bit chubby.  But now she is back to being sleek and athletic and chasing her little carrot tail around in circles like every good Westie should.  Right now she is tucked into the chair behind me, wrapped around my lower back keeping me warm and making me sit upright while I write.  What a thoughtful little girl.  She just loves the computer and when I get up to make a cup of tea she will sit up and watch the screen until the dancing shapes finally go to sleep.

Looki was fine really.  I thought him a little bit heavy, but the vet said he was in perfect shape.  He is quite a large dog, for a small dog, if you get my drift.  I keep hoping that I will walk him a little bit fitter over the next few weeks, but that is up to me really and that is the problem, my own resolutions having fallen so pitifully by the wayside. 

Still slightly damp, but cleaner

Why oh why is it so difficult to get up at the crack of dawn, do half an hour of exercises before taking the Westies out for their walk and then on my return eat a healthy fibre-rich breakfast eg porridge?!

Since returning to work I have been tired in the evening and have got into the habit of going to bed early, at around 10 or 10.30.  So I set the alarm for 10 to 7 in the morning, giving me a one hit snooze to be up at 7.00 to wash and dress and get stuck into my exercise programme before it even gets light.  But can I get up?  NO!  I hit the snooze button once, twice, three times or simply just turn it off and slumber on until 8.00 or even later.  The bed is really cosy at this time of year, especially when there are three delicious Westies tucked in around you.  Who really wants to get up?

Once up, bleary-eyed and late, there is not always time to walk the dogs.  Of course the intention was to get back into the habit of walking them twice a day, but to my shame often they do not even get walked once!  I can blame everything.  Being tired after work, dark mornings and dark evenings, the cold, being too busy with work and other chores etc etc, but the truth is I cannot get myself motivated where in the past I have been so motivated and had not a single problem getting up and walking or exercising as the case may be.

So what is different now?

I think the decline began way back when we took Looki on, which is over a year ago now.  Prior to that I was a great walker.  I was always up early and up the road and down the road and around the North Ring or the South Ring and that could be day or night.  I thought that having a dog would be great, which it is of course!  Lovely to have company on these walks, which can sometimes be a little bit solitary.  But the dog we adopted loves to sniff (what dog doesn't?), even to the point of when he has something really interesting in his olfactory glands he does this complete limpet thing with his body and literally hugs the pavement.  Trying to prise him free is often not worth the effort.  For a small dog he is very strong.  So I let him cling there, hoovering up the fascinating odours until he is ready or until I finally lose patience and say "Looki!  Come on!"   He is a dog who has to water every lamppost and every hubcap on our route and all this stopping and starting makes for a very unsatisfactory aerobic experience for me.  Now, times three, of course the walk is even more about the dogs and practically nil about me as they all pull and sniff and stop and start in three different directions.  The only plus point of that is that my fledgling bingo wings have completely disappeared.

The only time I get a really good workout is when we go up the mountain and then I can let the dogs off the lead and actually stretch my own legs a bit, but that is a longer walk and one I can only contemplate on a day off.

Still I would rather have the dogs, I just have to figure out how to manage my own life again……something I am contemplating now on another front since Vic left also.  A strange feeling, being able to make my own decisions again without discussing or even considering another person…only myself…..and I wonder sometimes if that is at the root of my lethargy.  I am not saying that I am especially generous and thoughtful of other people, but I am happiest in my role as a carer of others: children, husbands/partners, dogs, or even just the house.

So perhaps I should make a new list of resolutions for February:

Be kinder to self.

Set smaller goals for self.

Drink more gin.

Go to bed later and get up with the light and not before.

No more self-flagellation (figurative flagellation that is).

Eat more chocolate.

Allow myself time to daydream again.  Life is not all about work.

Allow more cuddle time with the Westies.

Did I mention chocolate?

And finally: 

Stop making so many darn lists and so many resolutions!

Happy Full Fat February!

More cuddle time

Love's Young Dream and Not Very Much About Westies

Over the past couple of weeks I have written this and written it again, but it just wouldn't come out right.  So I cleaned the house and put away all the Christmas decorations.  Still it wouldn't just write itself.  This morning I started the day with a fibre-rich breakfast of porridge and then a wonderful health-giving salad for lunch, from there the afternoon went downhill as I ate four of the luscious Swiss chocolates we got as a Christmas present, finished off the buttery Salmon risotto I made before Vic left and then had a large bowl of pecan and caramel ice-cream.  Oh, did I say that?  Before Vic left…

That's what has happened to love's young dream, it's bust, it's over, it's irretrievably broken and now instead of two laps there is only one and the Westies have to take turns so I get even less work done, at least we all fit in the bed again.

The last years have been hard, harder than anybody could really imagine.  Our initial mistake with our original builder/architect followed by the strain of the building works going on and on and on, not to mention the money going out hand over fist and the long empty times between visits, when we wrote each other emails every day full of love and promises as well as news and gossip. 

I noticed in the last year though that we were both getting too good at being on our own.  My life here was full of teaching, building, Westies and going out with the girls every other Friday night.  I was content with my own company and as the house was finally taking shape everything was finding a place, places that I chose.  Vic, on the other side of the world it would seem, was working ridiculously long hours and on the weekends walking by the sea and beachcombing, also becoming content in his solitude.  His room in the house where he lodged was his little sanctuary where the shells and pebbles were steadily mounting on the windowsill overlooking the golf course.  He spent his evenings reading or listening to music and on his weekends, as well as the beach, he explored the town and the quirky little pubs he found there.

When he came home on his infrequent visits he would rearrange all my organisation of things.  I let him because it should have made him happy, but it didn't, and then when he went away again I slowly put everything back where I could find it.

Now my head is full of all those songs about lost love, "It's too late baby, now it's too late though we really did try to make it" "It must have been love, but it's over now".  As I wash the dishes I find myself singing "My love is in America" and I keep thinking about the little cracks in our relationship that we tried to patch up, like the settlement cracks in our living room wall, but we couldn’t keep them patched and now the cracks are canyons.  The walls on the other hand are holding up just fine.

I thought I was going to feel more excited about being single again, but instead I feel listless and uncreative.  I have only done house-cleaning really and restacked the wood so that I can get at the olive.  Today I chopped back the wild tentacles of the fig tree.  I make a list everyday, but find myself doing totally other things that I have not written down.  Most poignantly I have avoided writing my blog and doing the mending, because I do not need to mend Vic's favourite jeans now as he does not belong to me anymore, but on the other hand to mend my own things will only make me feel guilty about not doing his, so I do none at all and sweep out some furry corner of the house instead or clean the windows now that Christmas is gone.  The blog, well, it was bound to be difficult.

Taking down the Christmas tree was the hardest part.  It took me three days.  The tree was the first birthday present Vic bought for me.  My birthday being on the 5^th of December it seemed apt.  I had no tree and had not really 'done' Christmas for several years prior to our meeting, but Vic loved Christmas.  I wonder now if he still loves Christmas or will again in the future.  I feel that Christmas is for children and not having any now, not small ones that is, there seems very little point when I would much rather go for a long walk in the mountain than sit down for a huge traditional roast with all the trimmings.  Decorating the house only means undecorating it again when all the fuss is over.  It does mean the house gets a good spring clean mind.  So I suppose that has to be a good thing.

We began with so much hope and so much love.  Where did it go? (Baby, baby where did our love go?)  I can't believe that there is nothing left after all these years together.  But rather sadly we have simply grown apart and apparently there is nothing.

The last few days were the most painful.  We could not talk, there was too much to say and no way to say it that would not hurt the other, so it seemed better to hold one's tongue.  On the other hand the silences were like a roaring storm in my brain that made my head hurt and my eyes water.  We had to endure each other's presence until the 31^st of December when Vic got a taxi for the airport and left the house.  There was no last minute reprieve and now he has gone.

So I sit here finally forcing myself to write.  There is a dog asleep across my lap, another on the axe-cushion and the third sprawled and snoring at my feet.  The church bells are clanging out  'Amazing Grace' and 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful', which is really rather lovely.  I wish I was not so stuffed with rice and chocolates and ice-cream.  I have left no room for a final sherry to put this Christmas, which I would really like to forget forever, to bed.

In happier times when we shared a Big Love as well as all our hopes and dreams….

My Name is Kerry…..

And I am a West Highland White Terrier.  My pedigree is perfect and I am pretty perfect too.  I have a very responsible job and that includes looking after my sister (who is a liability in her own right), our brother and also our mum (Mary) because she spends a lot of time on her own as our daddy is away a lot of the time. Well, obviously she is not entirely on her own now as she has us.

I may be small, but don't mess with me!

This is our second home, that is me and my sister Candy.  We had a lovely mummy and daddy before, Lynne and James.  I loved them to bits, especially my James-daddy, I am a real daddy's girl that's for sure.  In fact I was named after his first Westie which makes me very proud.  Apparently his family always kept Westies.  Unfortunately he was away a lot of the time too, but unlike Mary, Lynne usually went with him, so we used to go and stay with another family.  They were very nice and good to us too, in fact they used to let us sleep on the bed sometimes, which we weren’t allowed to do at home, but it just wasn't the same.

One day last spring, when the weather was starting to get nice again after the winter, our Lynne and James came home from a trip.  We were both delighted to see them again and rushed up to welcome them.  Of course I had to tell them about all the naughty things that Candy had been doing while they were away.  She can be a real handful that girl, but I love her because of course she is my sister.  So I was busy listing out all my gripes while we both gave them lots of cuddles and kisses too.  Then they told us that we were going for a long drive the next day so we were to get to bed early and be rested for an exciting new adventure.  We both love going in the car, it usually means a lovely walk on the beach or in the countryside.  So the next morning we got up and had some breakfast.  I was too excited to eat, so Candy finished mine off.  Then we all bundled into the back of the car.  Lynne and James also put in all our cushions and towels and blankets and feeding bowls which was not unusual as we used to take a lot of kit with us whenever we stayed with the other family, so we just assumed we were off for a short holiday again.

Candy is a liability

We drove and drove for what seemed like days and finally we arrived at a new place we had never been before.  As we circled slowly around what looked like a park we noticed a couple of happy-looking people waving us.  At their feet was another West Highland Terrier.  He looked very handsome.  We drove up to where they were and stopped and we were let out.  Well do you know that naughty boy-Westie took a quick sniff and then tried to get the leg over.  First me and then Candy!  I can tell you I very quickly told him where to get off and so did Candy.  She can look after herself that way alright.  He had another go a little bit later on, but soon got the message that neither of us was interested.  We have been neutered after all!  Apart from that introductory episode he seemed to be ok.

Then Lynne and our new dad, Victor, me and Candy and our new brother, Looki, all walked up a steep hill together until we came to the front door of the house that we now call home.  I am not proud of this, but I had to have a poo on some stone steps on the way and we left it behind as nobody had a poo-bag with them! 

The new house was strange to us, long and thin with horrible open steps, which we did not trust for quite sometime, though now Candy and myself run up and down them with not a care in the world.  Lynne and James did not stay very long.  James drove the car up under Mary's direction, offloaded all our clobber, did a quick inspection of the house, to make sure it was suitable and then they were off.  We expected them to come for us after a week or two, but they never did.  I really missed them for a long, long time.  Whenever I saw a car like ours I would perk up, or sometimes I would see a person walking on the other side of the road and for a moment I would mistake them for Lynne or James and go rushing over.  But it was never them.

For the first couple of weeks we stayed downstairs, on account of those terrible steps, and outside in our new garden, which is quite exciting.  Often there are cats to chase and we do like a good cat hunt.  There are lots of places for cats to hide and we go down every morning to do an inspection.  We have flushed out quite a few invaders.  They don't hang about and go over the walls in any direction.  We like to keep our territory clear. 

During the summer months there was lots of banging and dust as another terrifying set of stairs was erected up to the roof.  We couldn't quite see the point of it all as it made it very difficult to get around the house for a while, but slowly it all eased off and the nice builders went away again.  I missed them as I am a real socialite, but it was nice to have a peaceful house again.  And bit by bit, first Looki, who is not frightened of anything, and then Candy and finally me, went up the stairs to the roof.  Well!  What a vista!  Up there you can see cats for miles and miles!  It is one of my favourite places now.

When we first arrived and I had put Looki in his place I assumed that he was a total pushover.  How wrong was I!  For a couple of weeks he gave in to my nips and growls and I figured I was on to a winner.  Not only was I the boss of Candy, who can be soooooo irritating by the way, but also now in charge of a big boy like Looki.  However, after his initial bowing to my will, suddenly one day he decided he had had enough and what do you know!  He turned on me, bared his teeth and growled right back at me.  I was shocked!  I had him down for such a wuss, but he wasn't.  I have since discovered that he is just a very placid kind of a guy.  He had a really rough life before coming to live here so though he is not in-your-face aggressive he can, on the other hand, stand up for himself and is no pushover.  So now I just have to keep Candy in line.  She is a total flake and everybody thinks she is so cute with her little limp paw trick.  However, she is irritatingly much slimmer and more athletic than I am, so when there is a cat in the offing she can always get there quicker than me.  This really gets up my nose so I snip at her before she can get off out of the starting blocks to give me a chance to get there first, but I never will unless I can lose this spare tyre that I have.  It's really not fair.  Candy can eat all she wants and never puts on an ounce but I just have to look at a slice of bacon and it immediately hits me in the middle! 

As you can see I have my work cut out with the two clowns on the left.  Why can't they just behave like proper terriers?

Last week we all went to the vet for our vaccinations and a check up.  I heard the dreaded words:  "Too fat" and "Diet" and knew I was in for a bumpy ride for the next few weeks and now I am simply starving all the time.  I will admit that I am taking it out on that slim little madam too.  She doesn't deserve to be so slim when she can eat like a horse.  On the other hand she will also spend half the afternoon chasing her tail around like a nutcase!  Doesn't she realize it's attached to her own body and a) she'll never catch it and b) if she does it will really hurt!  I am much more sedate and ladylike and don't really like to break a sweat.  I told you, I have a pedigree as long as your arm.  It still irks me that Candy and I both have the same biological father, but I believe her mother was a bit common.  I heard stories about her in the kennels.   I could tell you a thing or two over a couple of rawhide chews.  Looki is the surprise really, a bit of a rough diamond.  I laugh sometimes when he kisses our Mary on the chin and she says "Ouch! stop biting me Looki!"  But on the other hand, he would not knowingly harm a fly.

So why am I writing this blog post today?  Well Mary is terribly busy at the moment.  She teaches here in the village from Monday to Thursday, but it does not stop there as she is also an artist and coin designer.  Some nights she stays up until way past midnight working on some design or other and right now she has another design on the boil.  There is another thing….now I feel a bit disloyal saying this….but she also has a rather nasty IKEA habit.  Whenever she can get there she is off like a whippet and comes back with all these large brown boxes.  She starts unwrapping them and then she goes to get her screwdrivers and hammer.  I can't understand it.  She seems happy enough for the most part but every so often when something does not go quite right she says words that would make a sailor shudder in his bellbottoms.

Mine is a responsible job.  Pictured here guarding my favourite people's smalls.

So at this very moment, while I am writing this, Looki and Candy are panned out on Vic's Axe-cushion in the office and Mary is in the spare bedroom hammering and swearing.  Vic is due home this week thank goodness, I miss him and I need another adult to help me keep control of everything, but for now I'm gnawing on a slim-line dog biscuit and my nails and hoping that I will hit the deadline!