Mid-week up-date, one day late

Firstly, a big welcome to Ruth, who has finally declared herself publically as an official 'follower', having dallied with the blog from behind the scenes for a while now. I can only think that she has finally got over the embarrassment of being seen lingering at the Manor gates wearing a mysterious cloak and even more mysterious hat pulled down over her eyes, and thought, 'What the hell! I shall declare myself with the rest of the loons!' This is lovely for me, of course, because it's always nice to add to the photos on the right of the blog, if only in terms of competition with fellow bloggers who may have less, but generally have more, followers than me.

Welcome Ruth! It was good to see your picture appear today!

Secondly, I keep thinking it's Wednesday. So I'm really looking forward to tomorrow when I'll be thinking it's Thursday and then realise it's really Friday and half term is upon me a day earlier than I anticipated. And ye Gods, could I do with a half-term. I texted Andy today at lunch-time with 'Remind me why I'm doing this job again?' and he responded with, 'Cold hard cash?' and I think he might be nearer the truth than he thinks.

Thirdly, job up-date. A part-time job has appeared, teaching, but only three days a week. Or 0.6 as they say in teacher-speak. It's at a Pupil Referral Unit, which is where they send all the naughty kids that aren't wanted in mainstream school for various reasons - rudeness, violence, swearing, arson - and I figure that a) I've taught in a PRU before and b) it's part-time and c) lots of the kids I work with now are rude, stroppy, potty-mouths, so I might as well apply and see what happens. Or failing that, there's always the pet crematorium idea.

'What?' I hear you say. 'Pet crematorium? What's all that about then?'

I shall tell you.

Earlier this week, a special friend of ours lost one of her pets, a much-loved cat. Andy and I offered tea and sympathy, for we both know how upsetting and traumatic it is to part with a creature that has shared a goodly part of your life and love. And our friend told us about taking her departed cat to a lovely man who ran a pet crematorium, and how nice he was, and then she looked at us and said, 'I thought I'd tell you about this because it could be a business idea for you two.'

Well, I looked at Andy, and he looked at me. 'I couldn't do that,' said Andy. 'You know how upset I get when I have to put an animal to sleep.'
'And that's why you'd be good at this,' said our friend. 'Owners want someone who understands their loss, and who is sympathetic.'

I don't think Andy was convinced, but the thought has been put to simmer on the back-burner of my mind.

Fourthly, I am thinking of starting up a weight-loss club. Well, a healthy eating club. Well, a get-fit 'n' possibly-slimmer-in-the-process club. Because recently I have come across several people who've mentioned that they are 'going on a diet' and I think I can motivate people better than Weightwatchers, Slimmer's World, Lighter Life, All You Can Eat in a Day as Long As It's Only a Water Biscuit, mostly because my meetings will culminate in the ceremonial eating of cake. I realise I may have to increase my repertoire of reasonably low calorie cakes, but I think that the best time to eat cake when you are on a diet is straight after your weigh-in, because 1) you've got time to lose any cake-eating weight gain during the following week 2) you should be rewarded for losing weight in the first place and 3) I'm not giving up cake for anyone and eating it with other yo-yo dieters will make me feel a whole heap better about my lack of self-control. It's purely mercenary.

Meanwhile, my grand-daughter is growing increasingly lovely, Phoebe is becoming a grand mistress of the Buddha grooming position, Tybalt fell off the back of the sofa whilst we were watching the Chelsea Flower Show together, Pandora nearly made a dash out of the front door today causing me much stress but not as much as when she nearly made me fall down the stairs by making a sudden leap in front of me, the hens are enjoying the sun because it's dried out the gardens of Cluckinghen Palace and they get to thrash about in dustbaths, and Andy had a scary encounter today with a Bulgarian Barber and a Blow Torch.

But that's another story altogether.