Hey, fellow UK residents, remember “summer”? It was this hot, sunny thing we used to get, long, long ago? No? Not ringing a bell? I think I can just about remember it if I try really hard, but the memories are fading. Actually, I’m pretty sure that at some point in the future, when we talk to kids born in the UK in the 21st century about “summer”, they’ll just laugh at us and call us rude names, because it’ll totally sound like we’re remembering some ancient, possibly mythical thing. Like unicorns, maybe. Or the black Michael Jackson.
Which sucks, really.
Anyway, last week, I started receiving press releases telling me that now that summer is almost over, it’s time for me to start thinking about Halloween and – oh God – Christmas. Christmas. And I REFUSE to start thinking about these things. I WILL NOT, and they can’t make me. But I will indulge the senders of these doom-laden press releases (“NEWS FLASH: TIME MOVES ON! WHOOO, SCARY!”) by buying myself some new coats for Autumn. Just, you know, to be prepared, and not AT ALL because I’m a shopaholic who just can’t seem to stop herself, seriously.
(Yeah, this is another entry about my clothes, by the way. Sorry about that. I AM a fashion blogger, though, so I guess it is to be expected…)
In preparation for the approaching Autumn (BOO! HISS!) I have bought, not one, but two new coats. Which makes me happy. Not as happy as it would make me if someone figured out a way to reverse time and make it so that summer actually happened this year, but happy none the less. Here is the first one, which – shockhorror! – is not black:
Obviously, with this coat – in fact, with both of them – I’m going to have to either pretend we live in a warmer climate than we actually do, or just accept that it’ll be too cold to wear it without multiple layers underneath by mid-October. But look! Swirly skirt!
Here is the second coat, which IS black. Because I cannot seem to stop myself buying this stuff.
The photos don’t do this coat justice at all, because it’s too dark to see the details… Anyway, it’s a rainproof material, and it has these cute little puffy shoulders and a big stand up collar, which I like, because it makes me feel a bit like Elizabeth I, and I’m all about the drama. (“No!” I hear you exclaim in amazement…)
Clearly, this year’s theme is big, swishy skirts with pockets cut into the seams, and standy-up collars. Which is fun, you know, but not nearly as much fun as SUMMER would have been. I miss it. I miss it so, so much. Today, when I was out mowing the lawn (fun factor: 0) I realised we haven’t had our wooden picnic table and chairs, which we got for our wedding, out AT ALL this year. Last year we got it out once, but it rained that day, so it doesn’t really count. And then it rained for the next two months. Annoying!
At least I’m prepared on the coat front, though. Whew!
Tagged coats, Outfits, Things I Bought
Just a quick update on the Virgin Media/Broadbandgate saga I posted about last month… After my epic rant on the subject of how our Internet connection had died (Oh, the humanity!) and Virgin staff had hung up on Terry, Virgin did actually get in contact with us, and I thought it only fair to update here to say that we’re now totally happy with the service, and Best Friends Forever again.
We’ve now exchanged a few emails with the complaints department, and Terry spent some time on the phone today with a very helpful man from Virgin, who went through what had happened with us, and not only apologised again for the service we encountered, but explained why they won’t send out a network engineer until a certain number of calls have been received. Apparently there are sound technical reasons for this, and it’s not just a case of one person’s problem not being important enough to warrant attention, which is obviously the impression we were left with after our serious of disastrous phone calls.
Anyway, although Black Thursday will live forever in our memories, I thought it only fair to record that once Virgin’s UK headquarters were aware of the problem, they did their very best to resolve it with us, and to make us happy customers again, and all credit to them for that.
Also: no barking from Rubin for two nights now – looks like he really did just want a haircut after all…
For as long as we’ve owned him, Rubin has never actually looked like a Bichon Frise. Well, OK, maybe when he was a puppy. He looked like a Bichon Frise when he was a puppy. What’s that you say? You want to see the "Rubin as a puppy" photo AGAIN? Oh, OK, any excuse…
Everybody say, "Awww!"
Once he grew up, though, he stopped resembling any kind of pedigree creature at all, and started to look a lot like a raggedy ball of fur that likes to spend its time digging in the mud, standing belly-deep in stagnant water (yesterday) and maybe rolling around in things that are too unspeakable to mention. And that’s exactly what he is.
Because of Rubin’s love of Unspeakable Things, Terry and I do our best to keep him groomed, but sadly, that doesn’t often extend to the full-on, fluffy Bichon treatment. Because it would be a waste of time, basically. No sooner than Rubin was done being be-fluffed, Rubin would go out and find a dead bird to roll in, or a wood full of twigs to get stuck to his fluffy self, and that’s why we tend to keep his hair in what’s known as a "puppy cut". It’s also why when we take him out for walks, people always stop and ask us if he’s a poodle. (This is ironic, actually, because when I DID have a poodle, people used to stop and ask me if he was a Bichon Frise. Fluffy white dog ownership: ur doin it rong!)
Anyway, over the last few weeks, Rubin has been a little @*!#, to put it mildly. Sorry, mum. There has been barking. There has been more barking. There has been – yes! – even more barking. Sometimes the barking has come at 6am, sometimes it has come at 5am. Sometimes the barking has come at 2am, and again at 4am. Then there’s the barking that goes on ALL DAY, every time the wind blows, or someone drops a feather in the next street.
We have tried everything to work out what the night-time barking is about. He has water. He has toys. He does not appear to need to relieve himself. His routine has not changed. Our routine has not changed. We don’t think anything is disturbing him, because our night-time alarm call is not his trademark "hysterical bark", but rather his, "I’m going to bark steadily and consistently until I get to sleep in the Big Basket" bark.
Terry thinks he’s doing it because he’s jealous of Pepe and the Tortoises. (Their new album is out on Monday, by the way). I think it’s probably just the way we raised him. Maybe the wine wasn’t such a good idea:
Anyway, today it suddenly occurred to me what all of the barking meant. It meant Rubin was trying to tell us something. Either someone was stuck down a well, or… he was trying to tell us that he wanted to look like a REAL Bichon. I couldn’t be bothered going to look down all the nearby wells (or to find out if there even ARE any nearby wells – we’ll leave that one to Lassie, I think), so I decided to assume Rubin was sending us the second message.
And so I made Terry brush him, and trim his hair into a proper "Bichon" shape. (Look, I had twenty gazillon blog posts to write today, OK? Also, if Rubin is going to start hating one of us, I’d rather it was Terry). I should add here that we DO brush him regularly anyway, but this was different: rather than the usual, "brush out all of the tangles and make him look vaguely presentable" brush, this was a mammoth, "make Rubin look like a proper Bichon, even although tomorrow he will be back to usual bedraggled self" brush. It took hours. But lookit the result!
These pictures actually don’t really capture the amazing fluffball that is the R-Man right now. Seriously, that is one BIG head he has right there. But I thought I’d post them here anyway, so that tonight, when he wakes me up at 4am with his barking, I will perhaps be able to remember this moment, when he was fluffy and cute and totally silent.
Oh, and as well as spending a long, long time be-fluffing Rubin, Terry also found time to make me this as a snack:
I think I’ll keep him. And oh, what the hell, Rubin too.
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