Midwinter

It's a nice thought. Midwinter. I don't why. I just like it. In the deep midwinter and all that. I'm not so keen on plain old winter. That's just dull and dark and cold and wet and gloomy. But a proper bit of midwinter - that light you only get when it snows and bright frosty air that makes me snout tingle and makes me think that all kinds of things might be possible. Right at the middle of it all and knowing that the days will slowly be getting longer again.

Then again I don't have much of a commute - one side of the bed to the other - and I have never fallen bump, bump, bump down slidey snow covered stone steps.

Would have been bad if Coco had been stuck up here. It was lovely to see him but he had to travel home to Essex. He was incredibly brave and travelled all by himself by Royal Mail Special Delivery. We had a Postman Pat voodoo doll ready but he actually arrived ahead of schedule. Be nice to go and visit him sometime but I think I'd take Madame and she is too big to fit in an envelope so we would probably have to go by bus or train. Do they have buses and trains in Essex? I think Coco gets chauffeured everywhere, what with him being royal. I really need to look at a map. I do know that Essex is Down South Somewhere but so, I believe, are a lot of places.


And now it's just her and me again. We have a new bed with a wibbly wobbly mattress. We have new pillows. Less wibbly wobbly. A new oven. Not wibbly or wobbly. A big exciting pile of new books to look at. She has some wool to play with. She has a lot of wool to play with. And other types of yarn. There are a few presents to unwrap. Pyjamas and hot water bottles ready. A few lovely days of mooching before we head off to see various People and Cats in various Places.

That, my lovelies, is a Midwinter plan to make a small velvety bear happy.

wavy paw and best wishes from Bear

Coco!

Spent the afternoon running round the Botanics. Helping out with the fashion shoot for Coco's new knitwear. He's cheaper than Kate Moss and, I would expect, cuddlier and cuter. Also less likely to complain when stuffed into a carrier bag. He's a star.

Nowhere in November

Lots of coming and going recently. Not me. I'm still in the same place. Surrounded by knitting, undone housework, piles of paper, dying house plants, and more knitting.




Bit sad when I found out that my mates Mr Flynn and Mr Beaver were moving to California. Don't know why they want to go there. We have such lovely weather in Scotland. Sometimes it doesn't rain and it's not always grey and gloomy.

Cheered up a little bit when I found out they were going to be just up the road from the amazing Spud Murphy and his wonderful singing and scarf knitting hillbillie. We could go and visit them if we weren't poor and didn't have a fear of airports. We are going to have to think of an alternative. So far we have had to reject plans involving hot air balloons and getting work as cooks on a tramp steamer. That last one was only scuppered because neither of us can cook and we're not sure what a tramp steamer is or if they exist anymore. Otherwise it was a rather good plan.

They left and Coco arrived. His Highness King Coco Pops von Sunshine of Essex is up here on a state visit. He was promised lots of adventures and excitement but so far he's had one trip to Edinburgh and done a lot of hanging about the flat with me and been forced to model knitwear.




Madame has been a right gloomy panda recently. It's not my fault that she's not allowed to hibernate. Odd the things that cheer her up.

Can understand a good book - "Confessions of a failed southern lady" by Florence King sounds like good stuff. Although "Hitler's Canary" by Sandi Toksvig might be better for younger bears and madames.

Less impressed when she got excited over the new Byres Road Waitrose but the shiny only lasted until the first busy Sunday afternoon. She did bring us a box of Happy Monkey and Bear but apparently this Sunday I'm doing the shopping and she's having the afternoon nap.




Totally mystified by her *SQUEE! happy dance* over the news that Gourock is getting a new LYS and Ysolda Teague is going to be there next Saturday. No idea. Who's Gourock? Will the LYS eat small bears? What's an Ysolda Teague?

Let's ask Stinky Teddy.

Gourock
LYS
Ysolda Teague

It's a wool thing then. Oh dearie. More wool. More knitting. I'm just going to pop over to teddy7733's blog. Excellent travel guide for small bears. Looks like I might be needing an escape plan.

October revolution

shhhhhhhhhhh! *alert ears. shifty peepers*

I have disguised myself as a couple of balls of cheap worsted weight acrylic and, if anyone asks, we are talking about knitting mittens.

So. Yes. Twitter is A Good Thing. Mostly. It can - in the wrong paws - be a Very Very Dull Thing. Just like a ball of yarn. You can waste it on a boring old scarf or ... I'm sorry. What am I saying? Twitter. It's all Mitch Benn's fault.

We've had some fun with the old Myspace. Introduced us to some very fine stuffies like Spud and King Coco and their families. It's been good for music. But it has definately been losing ground recently. Very quiet.

Some people have been moving over to that FaceBook. Didn't fancy it. Not very bear friendly apparently. Madame - who isn't very sociable - prefers the practical sites like LibraryThing and Ravelry.

Then Mitch Benn does his Twitter song ...



Mitch Benn is one of my favourite humans. I was lucky. I caught Madame when she was too tired to resist and, by the time she realised that "Mitch Benn told me to do it" probably wasn't a good excuse, it was too late.

Turns out some of my favourite humans are twittering.

And there are stuffies! Old friends like Mooch and new chaps like Mr Rusty Monkey out in Carolina. I hadn't heard of the Gullah or Cherokee Tears until Mr Monkey mentioned them. Very educational for a bear of limited education.

It's wonderful to be catching up with other toys. It can be a lonely life. Back in the old days - when I was a cub - social networking was limited to a yoghurt pot telephone and a bit of chat in the toy box after lights out. Might get to see other toys in passing at play group or nursery but we were working and a lot of soft toys took early retirement. Got replaced by scary dolls. Ended up in dark, damp attics.

I've carried on working. Travelled about with Madame. She needs a lot of looking after. I couldn't leave her running wild and unchecked. My old mates Poogle and Mummy Ted have gone to live in a box on top of the bookcase. They're fine with that. Dust them every now and then and they're happy. But I wanted more.

I want things that toys my age aren't supposed to want - I want to dance to loud music, climb trees, bounce on trampolines, go fast across playgrounds in my biscuit tin car, run away from cats, build pillow forts, wear stylish outfits and fabulous frocks. All that and more.

And now I'm meeting other toys doing the same or better. Blogging. Twittering. Good stuff!

Time to get back to work. They've let that Madame have a day off tomorrow. I know her. She'll sit up all night playing with the evil yarn mountain. Then she'll be tired and grumpy. For a change.

What happened to the September stuffie?

Poor little blog. I have neglected you. I have been kept busy being evil Madame's knitting minion.

But - ooooooooooooooo! - what's that?

*tap. tap. tap*

Twitter updates! Hurrah! The thoughts of a small bear in 140 characters or less. Better than being poked with a pointy stick.

*happy dance*

Unenchanted August

Looks like I've had fun this month. Guess we didn't take photos of the rubbish bits. The dodgy phone line. The rain. Madame's poorly tummy. My ripped paw. More rain. Various bits of gloom and bad news.

So the sun did shine. We went visiting. Trips to Ayrshire and Fife. Madame did lots of shopping. More wool. *scream*

Wait! Sorry. Apparently we have learn to call it "yarn". Because it's not all wool. Oh, no ... *glazes over. falls off bed*

I do apologise. She has joined Ravelry. Stop her and ask her all about knitting cotton wash cloths and why bamboo feels lovely but is a nightmare to knit. Please. Give a bear a night off.

Maybe I should pray to the divine Alan Measles. He looks like he could do with some of the yarn mountain for a few repairs. But he does have his own golden throne. If the Church of Alan Measles takes off I wonder if they would let me be Pope. Or one of those Arch Bishop chaps. I'd be perfect. I look good in a frock. I can do that falling over and kissing the ground thing. I can speak Latin. "Ecce!" That's your actual Roman, that is - and it means, er, something ... um, er ... I can speak the Latin. Do I have to understand it as well? Life is not fair. We need Measles!

Nearly time to go. Got to get back to work. Going to see if we can get the poorly Madame to eat some soup. She needs to build up her strength for dealing with the Squirrel. BT bloke reckons that Squirrel was to blame for the problems with our old phone line. He's been out there today - Squirrel, not BT bloke - having a go at the new line. He should just be thankful that Madame is still feeling queasy and we can't find a recipe for bin fed squirrel pie.

Bear in July

Had high hopes for July. Was looking forward to birthdays, long sunny afternoons, picnics in the park, maybe a bit of kite flying, lots of relaxing.

Had the birthday. Very nice it was too. Madame made me a rather spiffing eco wool jumper and some socks. She did get a bit carried away and was talking about balaclavas and woolly pants but luckily Andrew Morgan has new album out and that distracted her.

I also got my extremely spiffing new car - a shiny red M&S Biscuit Tin Racer. Powered by a small boy and a bit of string that little biscuit tin can send a small bear flying across a play park like, um, a quite fast thing.

Did I say something about slow living? I was wrong. Obviously. Turns out I just needed safety goggles.

The rest of July was mostly rubbish. meh. Rain. More rain. Rain. Too much time spent staring at the phone and the computer. Too much time spent wondering if we have a dodgy phone, a dodgy phone line, a dodgy broadband connection, a dodgy computer or a dodgy power cable. Far too much time wasted thinking about how much better our lives would be if one of us was a telecom engineer. Took some time off from that to wonder at Window Box Squirrel's cheek - dug up half of our lettuces so that he could bury half a baguette. He likes to swing on the phone line. He might be our problem. We have confiscated his baguette.

And then this outrage. The Department for Children, Schools and Families don't have to worry. I wasn't going to share my crayons with them any way.

More rain. Bit of gloom. Apart from a lovely sunny day when Madame went to Inchailloch. I didn't get to go - to busy disinfecting my crayons - but she came back all smiley. Which was nice.

And now it's time to get ready for August. Let's have some Andrew Morgan to get us in the mood ...

June Bugs

I rediscovered my urge to stay in bed and snooze at the bottom of sandpit just outside Ayr. I had gone down the chute for the millionth time and was lying face down in the sand. At any moment a certain smallish chap was going to follow me down and land on top of me while certain largish grown ups cheered and clapped.

And it occurred to me - Bear, you're too old for this. You should be at home in bed in a pair of smart pyjamas with willing and attentive servants dusting you off occasionally and plumping up your stuffing.

I'll never join the Parabears or get myself shot out of a cannon now but I'm ok with that. I am still available for any extreme snoozing or hardcore picnicking that might be happening.

hmmmmmmm. Would a smoking jacket be taking things too far?

We still haven't found that Madame's get-up-and-go though. I think it might be tangled up in all that wool stuff she's been bringing into the house recently. It's everywhere - like tribbles - and she never seems to have enough. I thought it worked this way - buy some wool type stuff + do some knitting = knitted thing - but apparently it's more complicated and knitting even a tiny little thing involves buying tonnes of wool and hiding it in cupboards so that there isn't space for a small bear to retire there for a nap.

And then there are all the needles. Which small bears MUST NOT PLAY WITH even though the nice big fat chunky needles were just made for games of Harpoon!

I might have to make an official complaint to The Daddy when he visits next month. He has just had a Very Important Birthday and is now an Official Old Person. This is very exciting and good news for several reason but best of all he gets a rather nice bus pass thing so he can come and visit us on our slightly less important birthday.

Must go. Hoping I'll have time for a snooze or two before bedtime. Life is good in the slow lane.

Maybe. Maybe not.

We need some glamour. She has lost her get up and go. I have lost my stay in bed and snooze.

Back in the day - ooooooo, I think it might have been a Tuesday in 2007 - I had a bit of success with my burlesque act. Called myself Dita Von Sockpuppet. My fan dance was talked about from the end of the bed to the the top of the book case.

I gave it all up. Bear of a certain age. Ears not as young and perky as they used to be. Hoodies and jeans might be comfy but they don't tickle the snout like champagne bubbles or ostrich feathers.

Can't afford champagne so we think the answer might be more feathers. Madame has been buying varities of fluff and feather and flowers and could become the Fascinator Queen of Scotland. She has had vague thoughts about selling stuff on Etsy but that might cut into her already limited cake eating and film watching time. So many French films. They, the French, rather inconsiderately, keep making more. She may never catch up.

And she has to go and see "Coraline" again. And again. And again. And dye her hair blue.

But she is saying "no" to button eyes. What's wrong with button eyes then?

April in passing

Things I have not been doing this month -

- watching "Les Quatre Cents Coups"

- making microwave cupcakes

- walking through Glen Vale

- knitting

- ogling shoes on Etsy

- teeny tiny knitting

Things I have done this month -

- sat in the sunshine and watched me lettuces growing

- played in the park with Mr Flynn

- dozed, snoozed, and napped

- twittered

Mad March Bear

Busy. Lots of busy. Not enough time and too much grumpiness.

We celebrated the start of British Summer Time yesterday - a name that is one of the greatest triumph of hope over experience ever - with a hot water bottle and bed socks and a game of hunt the clock.

Those clocks and watches are wily. We do have a couple of nice radio controlled clocks that change automatically but there are a whole lot more lurking in dusty corners of the bathroom and disguising themselves as telephones and mp3 players and scary robot birds. They have to be rounded up and forced to change but occasionally one sneaky little watch will hide and Madame only finds out that it is clinging to GMT when she is late for an important appointment.

I'm thinking it's time for a major lifestyle change. I'm thinking tiger skin rugs and Eartha Kitt ...

Sticky February - or - fluff and marriage

Madame's mother say Madame needs a husband. Madame says Madame needs a nice long nap, a creme egg, and some one who will come and fix our stupid computer and then go away and let her enjoy her creme egg in peace. I would like that but without the creme egg.

Creme eggs are evil - causing sticky fur and fat madames - and should be stopped - but do take up less time and space than a husband.

We could get rid of some of the junk from under the bed - then we might have the space for a smallish husband. All the cds and dvds and old diaries and boxes of old postcards and birthday cards and the roller skates and the bathroom scales and the unused camp bed (for emergencies) would have to go.

But then we have our busy shedules - every day I struggle to find time for my morning nap and my mid-morning nap, a lunchtime snooze, afternoon siesta time, post-dinner doze, pre-bedtime forty winks. I need my rest or I just don't sleep well at night.

Madame has all her stuff to do - films and knitting and books and knitting and walking and more knitting.

And we both need to spend plenty of time wondering what it would be like if we lived in Ittoqqortoormiit or Tashkent or on Inaccessible Island.

Not much time in there for a husband.

Of course a husband might be useful back up for those moments when Madame comes stumbling in at 1am full of red wine and regret.

But apparently you have to feed husbands and iron their socks and make sure they have access to Sky Sports or they morph like damp mogwai into evil demonic gremlins who exile small bears to dusty corners of attics where they are nibbled to death by mice while madames are forced to watch Bond films and do cooking.

I think we will be struggling on without a husband. :o)

Excited bear in an ill fitting hat

Excitment! Two of my favourite things in one - online radio and Wondermark - behold! The Sound of Young America interview the wonderous and lovely David Malki !.

Just let me get me ill fitting hat ...

A pawful of dust

I should be hibernating. All sensible bears sleep through January. Find a nice warm cave or a decent five star hotel room and lock themselves in until Spring. But Madame won't let me. Needs her little bear alert and by her side. Bear - the ninth emergency service or something. Yes, it's not fair but if she can't hibernate then I can't hibernate.

Ho hum.

At least I've had the chance to listen to the radio version of Mr Pullman's His Dark Materials. Third time lucky. Read the books. Seen the *yawn* film. Radio version. It's a story for children *sob* I must be a bear of small brain. An idiot cub.

I like all the jolly adventure stuff - witches and gyptians and bobbing about between worlds. Daemons sound interesting. Perhaps it explains Madame.

And - ooooooooo, excitement - there are the armoured bears. Proud. Fierce. Heroic. Unfortunately also gloomy and stinky. I'll give Mr Pullman the first one - that's polar bears for you - never the life and soul of the party - but I think his dig at ursine hygiene standards is a bit low. I have a bath at least twice a year.

But then it goes all deep and dark and theological and my little brain starts to hum. There are a whole load of Da Vinci Code types who insist on being religious with menaces and violence and a god or creator chap who is probably just some old bloke in a box and everyone is fighting and no one is happy and ...

Apologies. Had to take a small break so I could do a little dance to the Banana Splits song. Don't mock. I'll bet Richard Dawkins does it all the time. Secretly. Maybe. Possibly not.

Right. His Dark Materials. Rebellion against false god. No one happy. Angels all grumpy. Death. Disaster. Despair. Dust.

Lots of dust. Only dust isn't just dust it is also original sin. Or something. I definately don't understand this bit. If this was the case then Madame would be the world's most original sinner. But then it's not really original sin because god isn't god and death isn't death and it's really partical physics. Or something. Dust is a Good Thing - but only if religious types aren't allowed to mess with it. I think that's the message at the end of the story. Which is nice. If you're an atheist and like things dusty.

Ho and hum. Very. Quite.

I was planning to read Winkie next but I'm worried that it might be too difficult for a Bear of Small Brain who can't understand dust. Perhaps I'll just prop it up over me and secretly hibernate. shhhhhh. Don't tell Madame.