The Coronavirus Diaries, 17th February 2021

I have a new plaster cast, the same blue as my cast seven years ago. I also have confirmation that my wrist is broken. In three weeks I return to the fracture clinic. Life goes on. Doing the washing up, opening cans with ring pulls, sweeping up litter MasterB has enthusiastically excavated from his tray, multi-tasking, all are difficult. Chopping onions, chopping garlic, impossible. I need to vacuum but to do that means getting the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard and assembled, then disassembled and back into the cupboard. That is daunting. I am not sure if changing the bed linen ranks higher in the daunting ranks, but it’s certainly a close rival.

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Of Pets and Poetry

Yes, I can go on holiday. Hurrah.

Maybe there’ll be a film, When MasterB Met Julie, and you’ll see a slomo sequence where the two of them see each other for the first time: his perfect gingerness on the stairs in his purple velvet collar from Poundland, Julie proffering treats before I told her he wasn’t allowed them.

He happily showed her how he gets his treats from the catcher; played with the feathered stick when she waggled it; allowed hmself to be petted; sniffed her coat intently and tried to climb into its sleeve. In short, he liked her.
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Gift Puppy

This is Logan. Short, in my head at least, for Loganberry. Really he has been called after an enterprising five-year-old who has raised thousands for charity with his homemade Olympic Torch.

Logan


He’s my puppy. Or at least as close as I am going to get for the time being to having a puppy. Totally and utterly adorable. Don’t you just love puppies, and black Labradors make my heart turn over. Continue reading