A Toy's Own Story

Dawn of the Ted

2010-11-04T06:43:00.001Z

"I'm a zombie now" she said.

I sat very still & tried to think "what would Simon Pegg & Nick Frost do?" I had been doing some very important staring & wondering & was caught unprepared.

Sure enough she had been very pasty faced recently & often stumbled about moaning & groaning. I hadn't noticed. I was a very bad but very busy bear.

She only calls me Teddy when she's angry or gloomy.

"Teddy, I can't sleep. Do you have a hug for your old madame?"

She wanted me close so she could munch me like a toffee doughnut. A sad end to the life of an amazing bear.

"I'm too wonderful to die in the paws of the evil walking dead". Oops. Did I say that out loud?

"Quite" she said "but what about my insomnia?" & she prodded me with her sleep diary.

She has insomnia. I have cloth ears.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.4

Testing. Testing. 1. 2. 3.

2010-10-21T03:06:00.001+01:00

Hello little blog. I am a bad & naughty blog bear. I have been lured away by the shiny that is Twitter.

We got one of those smartypants phones & discovered we could tweet from exciting & exotic locations like under the quilt or Fife. Got to go to pawpawties & take part in world tours & spend evenings at nipclub.

Poor little blog - you just couldn't keep up. But we've found this app thing. Not sure if it will work. Let's see :o)

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.3

Where is Bear?

2010-04-26T17:41:00.003+01:00

Hello little blog! More neglect. Busy bear. Easier to Twitter when I'm out and about. Or hiding under the covers. We're having a tough old year so quite a lot of hiding under the covers is happening. I am thinking about retraining as a tractor driver - how do I look?

What happened to February?

2010-03-05T19:51:00.008Z

Busy February. Proud to represent Scotland in the Teddy Olympics. Managed to collect bronze in Peek-A-Boo, silver in Dabbling and Eye To Eye, and - extremely proud of this - gold in the Balltastic event ...

Bit disappointed that Partick Thistle haven't been in touch. Maybe they're worried that I'll cost too much now I'm an olympic star.

Ah, well. Don't know what happened in the human olympics but the teddy olympics were very well organised by a great team of toys - Olly Ted, Spencer Teddy and the rest of the gang.

Must be the award season. The lovely Frugal Dougal got on the shortlist for a Shorty for his charity work. Just missed out on first place but still top dog - and full marks to his staff for that Dougal costume so that they could represent him properly in New York. Brilliant!

Excellent news from the Grammys - once I got over my disappointment that it wasn't an special award ceremony for grannies and grandmas - Mr Ramblin' Jack Elliot got the award for best traditional blues album.

And in the post today ...

... thanks to my mate Spud - now available in Twitter size as Spudacious - and his wonderful Hillbillie.

Madame has been up to stuff too. Coughing. That film festival thing. Messing about with phones. Doing stuff with wool and *shudder* that mofluff stuff. More coughing. I blame the mofluff. The mo should keep that fluff to themselves.

All I want now is that spring to hurry up and arrive. Liked the snow. Not so keen on ice and slush and sharing the bed with freezy cold feet. Ready for snowdrops and daylight and goodbye to bed socks.

Need to get some sleep then so wavy paw for now!

No new ears

2010-01-14T17:31:00.008Z

So I work from home and maybe it does look like I'm just lounging about in bed all day, staring in to space and doing nowt. I'll have you know that the life of a small bear is full of trauma and angst. I have to protect the pyjamas from pyjama thieves and something horrible could happen to those pillows if I wasn't here to keep them in their place. And looking after Madame. That is a whole heap of hard work.

I haven't had much time for hobbies. She has her knitting and moaning about things.

Do enjoy a good book. Have a couple waiting for me by the bed - Teddy Bear Stories for Grown Ups and The Panda Book of Horror. The Panda book has a story in it by Ian Potter - the chap behind the rather excellent No Tomatoes.

I did have the rally driving but having to give that up now that my navigator has gone off to California to hunt jackalopes.

Got some new coloured pencils recently. Would be nice to do a bit of drawing but they are rather smart Muppet pencils. All lovely in a Fozzie Bear tin. Don't want to waste their loveliness.

What to do? tum te tum

Hang on. This looks promising. Dude Craft! I'm a crafty dude.

And here it is - the perfect hobby. I just have to roll under the bed and I'll have everything I need for dust bunny sculpture.

I am a happy bear :o)

Midwinter

2009-12-11T15:42:00.009Z

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!

2009-11-22T18:22:00.006Z

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

2009-11-20T15:17:00.020Z

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

2009-10-04T17:38:00.006+01:00

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?

2009-10-01T17:20:00.003+01:00

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

2009-08-27T18:10:00.032+01:00

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

2009-07-30T17:45:00.000+01:00

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

2009-06-25T17:25:00.001+01:00

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.

2009-05-04T15:18:00.009+01:00

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

2009-04-20T17:15:00.008+01:00

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

2009-03-30T10:15:00.008+01:00

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

2009-02-13T15:27:00.003Z

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

2009-01-16T22:50:00.001Z

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

2009-01-13T17:41:00.009Z

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.

The greatest Christmas film ever made!

2008-12-22T21:48:00.009Z

Got my jammies and my bunny slippers ready. Got a pile of interesting books by the bed. Madame is ready with the hottle bottles. No turkey to cook. No spuds to peel or sprouts to ... er, whatever happens to sprouts. We are looking forward to a couple of days worth of high quality hibernating before we go off to visit The Cats and Madame's family.

Lovely :o)

With a cherry on top - A Muppet Family Christmas

In the clean midwinter

2008-12-21T21:19:00.006Z

We were up early to see the winter solstice sunrise. Hmmmm. We were up early and if there had been a sunrise then we would have seen it. We did see the early morning winter solstice drizzle. Very nice but glad we didn't make too much of an effort - no scale model of Maeshowe in marzipan. I suppose the ancient druids might have worn jammies and bunny slippers. We don't really know, do we? About as likely as anything else.

We've been cleaning. I've had a bath. Some rather posh Crushed Silk and Jasmine bubbles almost made up for sharing my bath with a load of towels and Madame's socks. I had a go in the spinny machine but didn't go on to the tumbly drier. Decided to go for the slow dry against the radiator instead.

I'm hoping that my dazzling clean fur and fresh smell is going to hold off The Cats when we go to visit them. Probably won't last. Madame has bought a new windproof/rainproof jackety thing - it's red - she thinks Little Red Riding Hood. I couldn't possibly comment. Big grumpy tomato. Big grumpy tomato with new black wellies so I'll be getting dragged up some muddy hill to look at sheeps and probably a big pile of stones.

Why can't sheeps hang out somewhere sensible? Somewhere nice and warm with waiter service and a well stocked bar.

And those piles of stones? Bears don't wander about the countryside leaving big piles of stones so why should humans get to? Neolithic burial mound - my fuzzy ears! It's just untidiness. Lazy humans. One day bears will rise up and take back the countryside!

If the evil Cats don't catch us first. eek! Sprinkle me with catnip and bat me round the garden. Shred my fur and scatter my stuffing.

Perhaps a nice country walk would be just the thing. Maybe we'll get to meet a Baa Humbug. Maybe it will snow and - ooooooooo! - I'll get to meet the Abominable Snowman.

Seasons Winter Comments And Graphics

Mr Postgate

2008-12-09T15:10:00.003Z

Sad day but lots of things to remember and celebrate ...

Cries for help and happy birthdays

2008-12-07T22:12:00.008Z

I'm putting my Re-educating Madame programme on hold. I caught her listen to the Prairie Home Companion yesterday.

I don't like to kick someone when they are so obviously down.

That's a lie of course. I prefer to kick someone when they are down - otherwise I have to stand on a chair or something because kicking ankles is just dull. Especially during wellie boot weather.

Not that I go around attacking people - what with me being a clean living, peace loving small bear.

Er.

Um.

Quick! Look over there! It's a cute little cat chasing a ribbon.

Now what was I saying? Hum. Bears in space? Fumblog? Sad Kermit?

Ah, ha! Sad Madame! She was supposed to be fixing my paw yesterday but got into a epic battle of wits with her new mp3 player. It was just like an indoor version of that Captain Ahab bloke and his whale. Moby Zen had a whole lot of tricks inside his little rubber coat - at one point he was insisting that "William, It Was Really Nothing" was definitely by Alison Moyet. Controversial. He wouldn't let things be deleted. He pretended he was dead. He drove her to seek refuge in Garrison Keller country. We were minutes away from a future full of wax cylinders and wind -up gramaphones. Making our own entertainment. Family fun round the pianola.

*Shudder*

But she kept going and finally our little Zen friend was subdued. He is now full of lots of nice sounding things.

And "In The Night Garden : A Musical Garden". *Double shudder* Yeah. Any more trouble out of the little chap and she has him singing the Makka Pakka song. Harsh punishment.

Managed to scrap enough of her together to get my paw fixed today but don't want to push it - at least not until I've tested the new stitching. Bit disappointed she couldn't do something bionic - just ordinary thread and a bit of stuffing but I'm back in one piece. Mustn't grumble.

Especially since it's my mate Mr Flynn's 3rd birthday tomorrow.

Yay! Happy Birthday, Mr Flynn!!!

Criminal injury

2008-12-03T21:30:00.007Z

ow. ouch. sore paw. broken.

Had a lovely time at Mr Beaver and Mr Flynn's Thanksgiving Dinner. Right up to the point where someone - who shall remain nameless - we'll just call her Madame - decided that I would do the Makka Pakka dance and popped the stitches on my right paw. Paw fell off.

It'll get fixed. Sometime. When she can be bothered.

No sirens. No ambulance. No trip to Stuffie Casualty. No lawyers or big cash compensation payouts.

I got a couple of safety pins and a pat on the bonce.

There's no union for stuffies. No health and safety. We're just puppets. Dancing to the humans' tunes. And I don't think that they deserve us.

Except. Mr Flynn and his family - they're good people. And my charming monkey friend Coco has his humans very well trained. They helped him to send me a lovely Get Well card and little pressie.

I suppose I've got this far with Madame. She's probably too old to retrain but I should give it a go. Rightie ho. Must go. I have a training programme to organise.

Wow.

Cats, dogs and llamas are already way ahead of me!

A bear's first Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T15:22:00.006Z

Work suspended on "Ours de désespoir" - I'm going to my very first Thanksgiving Dinner tonight. Party pants on! I'm quite looking forward to it - now that I've been promised it won't involve me being dressed up as a turkey or Pocahontas and pelted with cranberries. And being Scottish I don't think we'll be expected to be too thankful. A wee nod and a "canna complain". Nothing excessive like.

(See Vintage Holiday Crafts for more lovely vintage turkeys!)

Windowbox Squirrel - The Movie

2008-11-25T15:13:00.007Z

Ta da! Have finally premiered my first feature film - "Windowbox Squirrel" - a poignant tale of a young squirrel and his travails through a pitiless urban landscape. Will he become internationally renowned concert pianist and racing car driver or will he be forced to raid window boxes and steal food put out for the the poor little birdies?

It got quite a good reaction over on StuffieAndPugSpace but *sniffle* unfortunately the fame has gone to Squirrel's head and he went all Amy Winehouse on me - ending in a punch-up with another squirrel over some of Madame's snowdrop bulbs. A lot of soil got thrown about, a small concrete bear took an unexpected and unsuccessful flying lesson, and a very angry Madame did a lot of shouting and window banging and suggestions were made about squirrel kebabs and squirrel fur mittens.

My next film is probably going to be about a small toy bear. He sits sadly by a window as darkness falls on a dismal winter day. He remembers the fun he used to have with his wild carefree squirrel friend and despairs for all the empty days ahead. Betrayed by the Madame he loved. He ends in a puddle of his own stuffing in a Parisian gutter. Shot by the gendarmes for a crime he almost probably did commit. Le end. Working title - "Ours de désespoir". Maybe it needs something punchier? Hmmmmmmmm. How about "Stuffed!"? Hum. Might need to think about that. Might do a bit of research.

Might take a wander over to the BFI.

Monkeys in need

2008-11-17T19:47:00.005Z

It's not easy being a stuffie ...

... but help is on the way ...

... just as soon as Happy Hour is over.

Go, President Spud!

Mad about the bear

2008-11-13T21:43:00.002Z

Busy. Pretending I'm Jessica Biel's bear. *swoon*

She wouldn't wander about in grungy jammas. Eating biscuits and whinging about stuff. Jessica's bear would live an elegant life on a pile of silk cushions. Not covered in cake crumbs and lost under a pile of dirty laundry.

A bear can dream.

Dangerous times

2008-11-05T13:43:00.009Z

Busy times. Lots to do and lots to worry about.

We did have a little sigh of relief when we heard the American election results. That Obama bloke won't be the answer to all this stuffed animal's problems but considering the alternatives on offer he is better than being poked in the eye with a pointy stick.

But now - eek! - what will Shrub do?. And even more importantly for bears - what's that Palin woman doing? She'll be on the loose now - possibly armed and dangerous and with a grudge against us. Should I be wearing a bullet proof vest? Oh noes. I don't think Build-a-bear do bullet proof vests. aaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhhhh!

Ah, well. Madame is dragging me away to Makka Pakka country* for a few days so I could end up as the victim of an over vigorous face washing.

Look at him - all innocent in his little scarf and bobble hat - but he's just waiting for an unsuspecting bear to wander past. Then *boom* he whips out the Sponge of Doom and the Red Soap of Despair and *wallop*. Bear down. Soapy faced indignity.

Watch out. They are everywhere. In the bath. On the beach. Up trees.

Must go. Take care.

Oh. *Ayrshire

Murder and mayhem on a Sunday night

2008-10-19T22:30:00.012+01:00

Madame has been making us listen to a radio version of The Duchess of Malfi - "coz it's like culture and that". Hum. I listened very hard and I have no idea what was going on.

Lots of people seemed to be mooching about the Italian countryside - between that Malfi and somewhere they keep calling Millen - which might be Milan. I'm not sure. There's lots of verily and prithee and naughtiness involving apricots or *nudge nudge wink wink* apricocks. Oh, my aching sides. humph. Madame says that one probably went down a storm with the crowd at Globe. I don't know how she can know that - she's old but she's not that old.

Back to the play. Some woman - probably this Duchess woman - gets called a strumpet. I think that sounds like a nice cuddly word - crumpets and trumpets are both good stuff but apparently strumpet is a Bad Thing. Perhaps she goes round spoiling crumpets with trumpets. That would be a Bad Thing. But not bad enough for what happens next.

Some blokes turn up to strangle the strumpet and various other people who happen to be hanging around. Then they all take turns to stab, poison and strangle each other and various other people who still haven't cottoned on to what is happening and are still hanging around. Points are awarded for the most gurgling death and someone makes a gloomy speech about life being like chasing bubbles. Quite.

By now I am a very confused and bewildered little bear - distressed by all this mayhem and murder. I need some jolly music to cheer me up. Aha! A little bit of Gillian Welch ...

um. oh. well.

It is quite cheery sounding. For an extremely gory murder ballad.

Right. I'm off to hide all of our sharp and pointy kitchen utensils. This culture stuff is too dangerous for impressionable minds like Madame's. She'll be sticking to Enid Blyton and Girl Aloud from now on.

Excuses, excuses, or, Citizen Bear and Woolly Revolution

2008-10-15T15:01:00.020+01:00

Poor little blog. I have been neglecting you. I have been busy - I might have looked like I was just lying there, staring at the ceiling but I was actually taking part in an experiment to see if it really is possible to die of ennui.

Turns out to be harder than it looks.

Just too easily distracted. There is the clickety click of Madame's knitting needles. She says she's being inspired to have another go at the knitting thing by sites like anti-craft - but I suspect something even more sinister. hmmmmmmmm. The revolution will be warm and woolly. She's just learned how to do stripes so if anyone needs a stripy cover for their guillotine then she's your woman.

See. Easily distracted. I was going to write all about bear-type stuff and now I don't have time to tell you all about Happy Bear's secret path to happiness or recommend Polar Bears Against Palin. And no time for the story of how I fought off a plague of evil Makka Pakkas who wanted to take over the world.

Next time ...

Singing in the rain

2008-08-21T10:48:00.001+01:00

Fine ark building weather.

2008-08-12T20:03:00.005+01:00

Excuse me. It difficult to typ e in snorkle and flippers. Rain, rain, go away. We all laughed when Madame said her Big Life Plan included learning to kayak but it's starting to look like a useful skill. A couple more weeks of gloom and rain and she'll be able to canoe to work every day down Byres Road.

While we are all waiting for blue skies and ... what was that funny yellow glowy thing ... up in the sky ... very warm ... er ... oh - the sun - yay, the sun!

Let's go the Little Zoo of Misfits! The Little Zoo's owner and creator has just come up with the bestest Misfit yet - the Washy Machine Monster - devourer of lost socks! eek! so scary. so cute.

Yes. Ever so slightly scary to a small bear who is due for a bath soon. I think that someone should give him a home so that I can bathe without fear. Apparently I use the same launderette as Kylie Minogue. Which is nice. I'll feel right glamorous when I whirling round with the towels and t-shirts.

If Mr Washy Machine is too scary then there are some lovely Misfit bunnies and we've just ordered a little happy robot brooch - because someone really loved WALL-E.

Rightie ho. I'm off to read up on What to do in case of Flooding. I'm going to call my boat "The Saucy Pink Hippo". Because I can.

Summertime blues.

2008-08-05T15:28:00.007+01:00

Oh, dear. Since we got back from holiday it has been Problems. More problems. And rain. Mostly.

How things should be.

How things are.

We are available for hire if anyone has a small Caribbean island that they're not using and needs a small bear and a smallish woman to look after it. We've got our dessert island discs already picked out.

Nearly back again

2008-07-17T20:55:00.005+01:00

We have been off having fun - a bit here and a bit there - and now we're trying to get back into our miserable little rut. *sniffle. sob.*

Wish we were still there.

Where is Bear?

2008-07-01T22:35:00.009+01:00

Woo hoo! Bear is on the loose!

Sleep deprived solstice

2008-06-21T22:11:00.008+01:00

We celebrated the summer solstice by being woken up by our downstairs neighbour deciding to practising his bongo playing at 3am. He was very decent about stopping when Madame went down to complain but he might have just been stunned into silence by the sight of her Bride of Frankenstein hair and pink frilly bloomers. Or maybe not since he was working a 1980s Italian knitwear model look. Apparently.

Sleep would have been nice. We are both knackered. Lots of busy. All the usual stuff and getting ready for our holiday next month. We're going Up North and then Over There.

The computer has been playing up which hasn't helped. I probably shouldn't mention this - it is very huffy. Oops - right in the middle of typing - eek - Listen Again decided to shut down. Honestly. A diva with a modem attached.

Our computer knowledge is a bit limited. I'm very good at pressing the big ON button. Madame presses the smaller buttons and wibbles the mouse. But if anything goes wrong mostly we panic and she cries and I get soggy. And then she starts having fantasies about going back to wind-up gramophones and crystal sets.

Except. All the stuff we would miss. No more

Nemu*Nemu

Savages Chickens

Bear & Kitten

Boing Boing

or the chance to see this again ...

Sun stroke

2008-06-01T19:19:00.012+01:00

I had a lovely quiet day yesterday. Until the strange woman appeared.

It was a sunny day. Before grumpy Madame went out she left me by the window. Warm fur and a view of the lettuces. A bit of light thinking. A nap or two.

And then she appeared.

I was expecting Madame and this woman did look like her. Except.

This woman who looked a bit like Madame was smiling. She seemed to be quite happy and cheery. Madame isn't generally happy or cheery. And she doesn't smile much. It took me a while to remember that an upside down frowny face was a smile.

I was frightened. She might look friendly but she could be a Cruella De Vil trawling the city for lonely little bears to turn into her very own Castelbajac coat.

I don't want to be a chair.

Or a rug.

"Bear, darling, there's hardly enough of you for a decent oven glove." She picked me up and examined me carefully. "I suppose I could scoop out your insides and turn you into one of those golf club covers."

She was wearing Madame's new Wondermark elephant t-shirt. She had Madame's cruel laugh. But she had her pockets full of sea shell and sand in her hair.

A sea monster. Yes. A sea monster - maybe one of those selkies had found its way into the city and possessed Madame.

She said she had a present for me. I told her I was ok for sea shells.

She said it was a Biscuit album and was I feeling alright. Maybe she shouldn't have left me lying in the sun. But she had had a brilliant day and the bloke in Avalanche Records in Cockburn Street told her that Biscuit might playing a gig in Edinburgh later in the summer. So. Yay!

Cockburn Street. That's in Edinburgh. Had Madame gone to Edinburgh and got happy without warning me? And where did the sand and the sea shells come from?

Unfortunately she was right. I had been lying in the sun too long.

Careful now!

2008-05-27T21:49:00.009+01:00

A public service announcement. Exercise extreme caution. These bears are very, very naughty and should only be approached with care. They may be considered pawed and dangerous.

Spud Murphy and his moll Bluebell may be found in those disreputable corners of the interknit where loud music and strong liquor is enjoyed. Naughty. Naughty.

Innocent young stuffies may be lured from the path of righteousness into a loose life full of alt-country music and nice frocks. One of Mr Murphy's associates is allegedly involved in yodelling.

The Big Op

2008-05-25T00:37:00.012+01:00

Four new paw pads and a hole in my ear repaired. At last. I've been on the waiting list for months and had been bumped several times for not very good reasons. I like to think that I am a vitally important member of this household so I was a bit upset that my health and welfare wasn't more highly thought of. I'm not bitter. But next time she has a migraine I might be looking for an orchestra of car alarms and pneumatic drills to play right outside the flat.

No. I'm really not bitter. When she couldn't finish the sewing last night she did wrap me in my blankie so I didn't lose any fluff. Then this morning we sat in the sunshine and listened to some James Bond radio play while she finished the sewing up.

Don't like James Bond much. Oh, it's all entertaining enough - the films and that - but Bond himself - he's not what you'd call a deep character. Not much to say for himself. All that manlier than manly butchness. He's just trying too hard - isn't he? And shouldn't that martini be stirred not shaken? He's no Richard Hannay.

Or The Saint.

Or Harry Lime - ok - he did come to a bad end and he was a completely sleazy bastard but still - I'd give my ears to sound as smooth as old Harry in his pre-Vienna adventures. Maybe I'm biased. I think I do look a bit like a young Orson Wells. In a certain light. And from a certain angle. Possibly. Maybe not.

A musical interlude

2008-05-13T19:22:00.005+01:00

Off for a walk in the park, a picnic, and a yomp through Wuthering Heights ...

Tough love

2008-05-12T18:12:00.005+01:00

Little Miss Storm Cloud went back to work today. Ah, the peace and the quiet! Trauma sponging is hard work and I'm soggy with angst. Yesterday was the worst. The wailing. The weeping. The promises. "I'll never drink wine again. Ever. Or go to parties."

I had to do it. Told her to talk to the paw. Yes. The poor ripped paw that she promised to fix weeks ago. No fix paw. No sympathy. No hug. No "bear make it all better".

I can't quite see the rip so I've jiggled about a bit and I'm not losing any fluff. Which is good. But it's a short step from "tiny tear" to "only fit for dusters".

If I can get my mitts on the credit card then I might have to take a trip. Let her look after herself. A little bit of pampering. Just what a bear needs.

Or maybe I'll just sit in the sun and watch me plants grow. Little lettuces showing up already :o)

Goodbye, Mr Slug

2008-05-09T19:02:00.006+01:00

She's hot and tired and grumpy. I'm still waiting for my ripped paw to be repaired. The big scary slug that was living quietly under the window box isn't living there any more.

We do have some nice fresh plants in the window boxes. A lovely mixture of herby things and flowery things and a bit that will hopefully be lettuce. And everything else is covered in copper tape just in case Mr Slug didn't get the message.

Who knows. Maybe he enjoyed the surprise flying lesson.

He was lucky. Groochy Girl has been in a right sour mood this week. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. She was on holiday. And stomping about with a bad attitude. I was sure Slug Boy was a total goner when he popped up and waggled his waggly bits. He got away with a sudden introduction to extreme sport. He looked like the kind of slug that would have enjoyed it.

Several little and biggish spiders were carefully rehomed because spiders are Our Friends.

Don't know why Madame's in such a strop. I could ask but I have my own problems. Have I mentioned my ripped paw pad and how I've been waiting for weeks to have it repaired? I'm the injured, neglected party but she's one with her own storm cloud.

Oh. Apparently she did have a nice day today. Although it wasn't the nice day she went out to have.

She was supposed to going out to have a lovely country walk but thanks to a bit of train chaos she ended up going over Queen's Park but it rained and no stale bread to feed to the ducks so off to the Southside branch of Tchai-Ovna for destressing with baklava, a pot of White Monkey tea and a good book.

I wonder if they would like a resident bear?

Plant life

2008-04-25T21:59:00.004+01:00

A warning to all my little plant friends.

Yay! It's spring. New growth. Shoots. Buds. Leaves. Wave it all about.

And she seems like a nice lady. Offers you a lovely terracotta pot. Maybe a hit of BabyBio. Your own place on the window sill with a view of the bins.

But she is Madame Plant Killer!

*scream*

Poor Mr Sprouty. Only a couple of weeks old. Happy in his little ceramic egg. Only yesterday he was looking good. Standing proud. Today - dead. Drowned.

Of course she says it was an accident. Didn't want Mr Sprouty to dry out. Hum. Once could be an accident. Twice would be a misfortune. But this is a serial offender. This space is filled with the ghosts of murdered tomato plants. Poor pots of basil who were promised a long and happy life but didn't make it to the end of week. Trays of mustard and cress seeds never allowed to reach their potential.

Be warned. She is looking for new victims to torment. Filling up the window boxes with poor innocent plants. Lambs lettuce to the slaughter.

Now would be the time to rise up and be a TRIFFID!

You have nothing to lose but your leaves. And stem. And roots.

Back again

2008-04-24T22:47:00.000+01:00

Busy times = neglected bear = neglected blog :o(

Right. On to cheery things.

And it don't get more cheery than a new Biscuit album on the horizon - this time next week CSI Ambleside should be on its way to my fuzzy little paws. Causing joy and happiness. And maybe dancing.

Until then we'll have to amuse ourselves with a bit of online radio.

TV junkies can mock but we love our radio in this house. Did try one of those DAB radios a couple of years ago. Hum. Not quite as wonderful as we'd heard. I'm sure that the whole thing is genius but the only way we could get a signal was if Madame stood on a chair and held the radio up to the top of the window. A lovely Statue of Liberty effect but not really practical. Apparently. She does like to moan.

So we get the computer and - woohoo - there's Listen Again - oooooo, now Madame can have a life AND never miss an episode of The Archers. Hum.

No. Not going to make any jokes about The Archers. I've seen The Archers message board. Some of the scariest people on the interknit hang out there. One wrong word - you wake up with a llama's head on your pillow and the threat that Lynda Snell's voice is last thing you'll ever hear. *shudder*

Some good stuff on BBC7 and when they've run out of episodes of Round The Horne and Old Harry's Game we pop over to the OTR Network for some old time Lux Radio Theatre fun. Because sometimes we just need the sound of Marlene Dietrich selling soap flakes to get us through the day.

Not much time for music radio. Used to listen to a bit of Radio 2. The bits with Radcliffe & Maconie in them.

But now we have AOL radio to play with. Hours of fun. Read about it in Word magazine. Article on internet radio. Haven't had a chance to try any of the other recommendations yet.

Too busy playing with all the AOL options. How to chose? And how could you not love a site that offers a radio station that plays nothing but klezmer music, an All Mariah Carey station and channels with themes like Love Stinks - songs of heartache and disgust.

Just time for one more cheery thing - Joshua Allen Harris's inflatable plastic bag polar bear (as seen on BoingBoing) -

On the road to recycling

2008-03-26T20:20:00.009Z

So last weekend Christians and confectioners had their big celebration. This weekend it's Madame's turn. A pilgrimage to one of the holiest of holies. All hail Livingston Designer Outlet. Sigh. I know. I know. Isn't it a good thing that I am here to do the Big Thinking for her.

I've got to figure out how we deal with this recycling lark. The blue bins finally arrived today. They're out there in the back lane. Looking embarrassingly brash compared to the haughty racing green wheelies whose territory they are muscling in on.

Recycling is A Good Thing. Yes? Probably. But here we are in our shoe box. Not much space for anything and everything in its place.

It would be lovely to have room for a compost heap and a jolly collection of wine bottles waiting to be driven out to the collection centre.

Glasgow City Council have given us a "durable and reusable bag" to help us out. Which is nice. I'm thinking that maybe we could set up home in it while the flat is left free for a variety of recycling bins.

Sigh. We do love our wee home but sometimes there is a bit of hankering for something bigger.

*blush* Back in 1977 I was awarded the prize for "Best Loved Bear" at Lomond Venture Scouts' Teddy Bears' Tea Party. Haven't won anything since then so I am very honoured that Puddock has included me in her list of Blogging Excellence.

The idea is that I now pass on my recommenations. Will have to do some very Big Thinking. So many good things out there. And Puddock's own Two And A Half Acres is our first stop on a miserable grey city day. Unfortunately another of our favourite blogs - The Big Side Order - has retired. We've got our copy of Freeze! Armed Farm Animals!. We''ll just have to keep rereading it and hoping for something new.

Hum. For now, have a look at Cat Rackham Gets Depression. Winter. Spring. Good stuff. Although I don't think he is a cat. A racoon? And I have no idea what those bugs are up to. Animated version here :o)

Thoughts of bunnies on a snowy spring day

2008-03-24T17:36:00.013Z

Here I am with my Peter Rabbit Easter egg bucket on my head. Madame took the chocolate eggs, even though she's not that keen on Easter egg chocolate. While she was working I was watching wispy drifts of snow falling and examining the tree outside the window for signs of spring.

This time last year we were in Latvia.

I don't remember seeing the Easter Bunny in Latvia. There was a pig who ran about tickling people. Not sure if that was an Easter tradition or just a veggie pushed over the edge by the big barrel of stewing pig snouts on offer. There was a bear with a big egg. The pig stole the egg. Everyone laughed then they sang a song. Chickens danced. Hum. Maybe that wasn't Latvia. Maybe this was a nightmare I had. Hum.

Any way. No bunnies. Poor old bunnies. They're not just for Easter you know. Let's celebrate bunnies right through the year.

The scary Polish bunny. Crash test bunny. A bunny in Barcelona. Steamed bunny buns. Little White Bunny. Big pink bunny. Rabbits!

And King Coco (not a bunny) - Your Majesty, long may you reign over us - *tries to curtsey. falls over* - HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Fluff in a time of grumpiness

2008-03-19T15:12:00.006Z

We've had a grumpy couple of weeks. And by "we" I mean "her". I'm a little ray of sunshine - my chance to shine constantly blotted out by Madame's big bad storm clouds of doom.

It should really be the other way round of course - I sit here day after day with only the occasional squirrel for company while she roams the streets and gets to do interesting and exciting things like seeing Mitch Benn playing live ...

I was going to go on strike but I'm not in a union and I'm not allowed to touch her felt tip pens so couldn't do myself a placard. You need placards if you're going on strike. And one of those brazier things. Just asking for burnt ears and scorched fur.

So - Plan B - I am going to run away to and open my own cocktail bar. Over to Mr Chris McMillan, master mixologist of New Orleans for the Brandy Alexander, the Grasshopper, and the Pink Squirrel ...

Oh, and just in case cocktails aren't your thing - SourPuss has very kindly, in between humpfing and grumpfing, added a little linky thing - it's under Links - that should take you to a rather lovely Jacquie Lawson e-card.

Whatever happened to Baby Bear?

2008-03-07T18:45:00.034Z

Some of this ...

We would probably have enjoyed it more if it hadn't rained quite so hard and if Madame had brought her wellies and had a map rather than a vague list of directions and I hadn't ended up with bright red fur thanks to a dodgy bag and a leaky water bottle.

We did like our hotel - we had a snuggly room just right for a bear and its Madame.

There were some nice little shops - I got a 1966 Sooty annual in the bookshop and Madame found one of these in Jenny Wren's shop. Making her a very happy Madame.

But we had to come home. To bills and work and washing.

So yay for the weekend! I'm bear-coloured again. Madame's going to get her fluff chopped tomorrow and then she's going to see that Hanif Kureishi bloke talking about the film Venus.

If you're looking for something cheery to do then she would like to recommend the play The Wall. I would like to recommend snuggling up somewhere warm and doing as little as possible but a bit of brilliantly acted, funny, heart warming theatre is good stuff too. :o)

A bear's path to Nirvana

2008-02-17T21:45:00.011Z

I'm plodding on. We've had a couple of spring type days. A lazy sunny crisp afternoon. Just a hint of malt in the air from the brewery. Doesn't get much better for a small bear.

I could see Madame more. She's back at work pretty much full time and now the Film Festival has started. My only chance of getting her attention is having myself subtitled. I did catch her eye the other day by pretending to be Steve Buscemi.

I was going to use my free time to have another look at Buddhism For Bears but then they mentioned the new Mr Men website on The News Quiz - I can't remember why - but ... well, the chance to attain spiritual enlightenment vs the chance to prod Mr Happy with a poky thing and help Mr Tickle tickle a monkey.

Perhaps they are simply two paths to the same goal. I shall now contemplate this while watching the wonder that is Splat Pig -

The Roman Spring Cleaning of Mr Bear

2008-02-04T21:35:00.000Z

Madame decided to make a start on the spring cleaning. A dangerous time for small cloth animals. One false move and it's the *shudder* Charity Shop Bag *scream*.

It can happen accidentally. A certain bear of my acquaintance had to be rescued from a jumble sale stall after she fell asleep in the wrong pile of clothes.

But you don't want to be drawing attention to yourself because then the "Oh, poor little thing. Maybe you should go the charity shop and then someone will buy you and love you" can happen. That's the stuffie equivalent of "it's not you, it's me". What it means is "Vile bag of stuffing - gathering dust and taking up valuable space that I could fill with shoes - into the Rag Bag of Doom".

Luckily Madame has been trying to go easy this year and we had a nice break from the chaos so we could watch Rome. We love Rome. They might have taken a few liberties with the history but don't think old Suetonius would have been too bothered. Makes a good companion piece for his Twelve Caesars - an entertaining romp with enough details to tickle the brain. And lots of naughty humans to amuse small bears.

Of course Madame likes to imagine that she would have been a Vestal Virgin when we all know that she would have been a scuzzy little Celtic slave. Don't know about me. Wouldn't have lasted long if they expected me to fight gladiators and eat Christians in the Colosseum. Yuk. No. Maybe a small temple with me on a plinth. Attended by lovely handmaids and fragrant slave boys. Gold offering. Sweet incense. Silk cushions.

I'm off to see if I can build myself a time machine.

No country for small bears

2008-01-20T22:03:00.000Z

If we were a plate spinning act then we would be up to our necks in broken china. Never enough time or enough energy to get everything done.

Unfortunately we're short on household staff at the moment and someone has to pay the bills so Madame has been plodding on with much humphing and grumphing. I've offered to do my bit but they're just not hiring small cloth bears right now. Don't know why. I could do anything that Jonathan Ross does for half his fee. Or a high court judge. Do they still wear the wigs? I'd look good in one of those wigs. I think I'd be willing to try most things. Except maybe children's entertainer or fire eating.

Did manage to get her out of the house today to see a preview of Sweeney Todd. She seems to have enjoyed it. Enjoyed the music and the gloom and the tousled pretty boy charms of Mr Depp. But found the ending a little unsatisfying. Foolish woman. How could a film with Helena Bonham Carter be unsatisfying in any way? Apart from that monkey one. And that one with Steve Martin as a dentist. Sigh. I wish I was Helena's bear.

Bear vs Beowulf.

2008-01-13T17:49:00.000Z

I've been to see the Beowulf : 3D film. Madame wanted to see it because Neil Gaiman was involved in the script. I wanted to see it because I have no life, never get to go anywhere, and thought there would be lots of monsters and things hitting one another. Or because I thought it would be an interesting culture experience. One of the two. You decide.

It was tosh. Posh, entertaining tosh - with extra proddy and splashy 3D fun. But tosh.

And I did feel sorry for poor old Grendel the monster. There he was, minding his own business, when the neighbours start having noisy parties - drinking ye olde mead, ogling the wenches, and singing rugby songs. He pops down to complain and it all kicks off. He ends up being jumped by some big naked goon with the voice of Ray Winstone.

To add insult to injury the big goon then gets off with Grendel's mother - a dodgy type who likes to wander around in high heels and gold paint and nothing else. This is all happening Up North - Norway, I think, or somewhere like that - you'd think she'd get cold. It all goes horribly, horribly wrong and everyone ends up dead or nearly toasted by a dragon, apart from Beowulf's mate, Wee Gloves, who quite sensibly has stayed out of it all.

It's a modern interpretation of the story. I thought I would make the effort and have a look at the source material. Unfortunately my knowledge of Old English is a little rusty. Completely rusty. Non-existent. One of the three. Madame has found me a modern English prose translation.

Hum. Apparently there are many translations to choose from so it might be a little early for me to be drawing my conclusions. But it is reading like a "Songs of Praise" special from Stavanger. Tolkein reports back on fisticuffs at the after show tea party. Maidens eek as the Lord's name is taken in vain and macaroons are crushed beneath the boots of heroes with more consonants than brain cells.

I have to be honest - me and her do have a low tolerance for any stories that involve the likes of "Brave Hgrlfrt, son of Strguflt, did gird himself with his golden armour and did heft his magic sword, Krtlmngy, and did travel westward ... blah blah blah ... until everyone was dead and the gods wandered off to watch Corrie". Lord of the Rings - Just Say No! And this is where it all began.

The film version of Beowulf does manage to make a couple of sly points about the rise of the Christian church in the pagan world. And about role in a crisis of humanist action versus religious contemplation. But you could easily miss them if you rustle your popcorn at the wrong moment.

I haven't seen it but Madame suggests that if you intend to see one Neil Gaiman related film then try to see the recent film version of his novel Stardust - a sweet and funny fairytale.

Right. I'm off to fight diverse monsters with my magical letter opener, Smgrflt. I will gird myself with woolly vest and pants and magical tin foil armour.

Or I might just have a nap.

Things to come. Probably shoes.

2008-01-05T23:53:00.000Z

It's nearly time for me and Madame to get back to work. It's been a long time - what with Madame being ill and then all the midwintery christmassy fun. Going to take a bit of effort to get us back to where we should be.

Madame is definitely going to have to do a lot of health eating and gentle exercising and getting fresh air. Just one more day snuggled up in bed with hot water bottle, good book, and the last of the Christmas chocolates. She promises. Honestly.

She did promise that she wasn't going to buy any more shoes. And then she bought two new pairs just this week. Claims the alternative was spontaneous combustion. Hum.

Not sure what I'll be doing this year. I'm thinking I need a challenge. I've got my philosophy and my career as a drag queen but neither are as glamorous as people imagine. Lying on my cushion, staring up at the ceiling and wondering "Is there a god? War - what is it good for? Why are Arcade Fire so popular?" is a fine way to pass the time but eventually one does want to get out and smell the flowers. And doing that dressed in full Showgirl Kylie regalia can be satisfying but doesn't really help a young bear get back in touch with the earth and the air and the birds and the bees.

We put nice bird seed out for the birds - it had that Bill Oddie on the packet - Madame assures me recommended by Bill Oddie rather than containing Bill Oddie - but no birdies. Not even a mangey pigeon. Not even a fat squirrel.

We do have a little pot of miniture irises that Madame has just brought in from the cold. It's not much but it is a little touch of spring and things to come.

Fireworks and feathers!

2007-12-31T13:48:00.000Z

Add Glitter to Pictures

Lots to write about but not much time and it is difficult to type in feather plumes and a showgirl costume.

So I am just going to wish you a wonderful 2008! May your feather plumes stay fluffy!

In the deep midwinter

2007-12-21T21:36:00.000Z

Hello. In darkest Fife. Nearly time for the Winter Solstice and we've just had a wee bit of snow. A glittery of snow on top of a sparkly of frost. Pretty to look at. When you're wrapped up in hats and scarves and gloves and many, many layers and you know a nice warm cottage is at the end of the path.

Here's something for the longest night - The Sunshine Makers - as seen on BoingBoing.

Big warm solstice hug from Bear and Madame

Mulled bear

2007-12-11T00:18:00.000Z

Deck the house with bits of muffin

Tralala la lalala
Wrap the bear in lots of tinsel

Dededede dede de

It's fun! fun! fun! Until you get caught doing it and have to spend the rest of the evening in the naughty corner while someone else hoovers up the bits of shredded tinsel and crumbled muffin.

Ok. So I got a bit overexcited at the weekend. But I had fun.

We struggled through the wind and sleet to attend Mr Flynn's birthday party. I say "we struggled". Obviously I was wrapped up safely and warmly in a nice bag. Madame and Nomi did the struggling and got all soppy wet.

They got dried out and ate sausage rolls and stuff on sticks while I got on with the important business. I played Hide Behind The Cushion and Run Up And Down and Roll About On The Floor. Mr Flynn's younger brother Mr Theo expressed a polite interest in my nose and buttons.

Mr Flynn received some very lovely presents including a pair of froggy wellingtons and an ~~wol~~ owl hat. But my favourite was the big yellow dumper truck. I would love a big yellow truck. You know. If someone would like to buy me one.

And then on Sunday evening we did Decorating The Tree. Yay! And to make it even more special we listened to The Cinnamon Bear. It was the first time I'd heard of Paddy O'Cinnamon. It was some good old time fun! An every day tale of naughty pirates, evil witches, crazy quilt dragons and things that throw mud. What more could you want? Oh. Really! I suppose ...

Must go. Busy week for Madame. And next week - aaaaaarrrrrgggghhhh - preparing to visit The Cats.

The bah humbug traitor

2007-12-08T12:54:00.000Z

I had decided to hold out against all the Christmas jollification and stuff after all. Too much fuss. Don't like fuss. Bah humbug to fuss. I grrred and growled and told her ladyship that there would be none of that nonsense here. We would do a bit of low key solstice celebrating - maybe hug a small fir tree when no one was looking - but bah humbug to tinsel and glittery things and fairy lights and getting all jolly and jingly.

And then. Shhhhhh. Promise me that you won't tell anyone I said this. Ok. Oh, the shame ...

Yesterday Madame received her parcel full of Wainwright does Judy Garland and she was listening to it last night. Over and over again obviously. I naturally attempted to hide and to block my ears with cushions. But. Half way through The Trolley Song - yes, The Trolley Song - I started to feel all - I think it's called happy. I danced. Bear does Rufus does Judy. Don't you make that face at me. I know. I know. And it could happen to you.

And I woke up this morning with a great need for Crimbo nonsense. I want snowmens and reindeers and fake snow and - no, not santas - Madame is santaphobic - holly and mistletoe and - do I want egg nog? what is egg nog? - maybe egg nog.

But first I'm going to Mr Flynn's birthday party. He's 2 today. Hurrah for Mr Flynn! He does lots of running about and making noise and he's brill!

Rise up. Be a nation. Go back to bed.

2007-12-02T19:26:00.000Z

So we've had St Andrew's Day and have started to burn down the numbers on our advent candle. Time to look forward to all the glitter and tinsel and stuff that helps us through gloomy midwinter.

Well, I'm looking forward to that - in my own Bah Humbug Don't Make Me Wear A Stupid Santa Hat way. Madame can't see past next week. Oh, when will her copy of Rufus!Rufus!Rufus! does Judy!Judy!Judy! arrive? Gosh! You mean you didn't have the release date marked in big red letters in your diary? We must not mock. I certainly won't be mocking. I don't want to be destuffed and used as an oven glove.

And she's not been well. Yawn. Operation Get Madame Back To Work is about to enter its 2nd week. Hum. Why do I keep thinking of Raise The Titanic? Never mind.

Have a good week. And remember when you are dusting off those decorations - tinsel is never as tasty as it looks.

Let's call him Mr Splashy Pants!

2007-11-28T13:22:00.000Z

Hurrah! Some happy Name that animal news!

Round of applause for Greenpeace.

Mass Observation

2007-11-27T20:01:00.001Z

Madame has been reading Our Hidden Lives. The book follows five diaries, collected by the Mass Observation Archive, through the years straight after World War Two. Madame had originally bought it with the idea of giving it away as a Christmas present but has enjoyed it so much that I think it's going to stay. And she'll be hunting for other copies to give away.

She has been a bit gloomy recently but the book has been giving her lots of things to think about. Very different times in some respects but a lot of familiar situations.

How would we deal with rationing, fuel shortages and make-do-and-mend? Hum. Luckily for me, Madame can manage a bit of making do and mending - repairing my fur is fine but darning socks and turning sheets?!

I've been busy stomping about and being angry. Do I need to say about what? Let's just say that yesterday I was thinking about changing my name. I was going to call myself Buddha Ganesh Jehovah Thor Modron Great Mother of the Lineage of Avallach Ra Flying Spaghetti Monster McMuffin Bear. But Madame has vetoed this. Says she's not in any condition to deal with fatwas and legal action. Although there might be the chance of a free meal if the Pastafarians turned up to throw meatballs. She might buy a net on a stick just in case.

Cutest of them all

2007-11-24T20:59:00.000Z

Having a nice quiet day. Freezing cold and rain demands that we go back to bed with a hot water bottle and a good book. Listening to Biscuit. Madame got me Saucy Haulage Ballads as a thank you for all the extra trauma sponging I've been doing recently.

A good day. But the Guardian has to spoil it. A certain Sam Delany person claims, in an article in today's Guide, that "not content with being the poster bears of environmentalism, our polar friends are taking over TV and cinema screens too." The creamy furred iceberg botherers are apparently taking over from penguins as the Cute Animal Du Jour.

Humph. And humph again. I don't think the seals are going to like this. Never mind the penguins. Never diss a penguin. They can be right nippy when they want to be. If you ever wake up with a sardine head on the pillow next to you ... oh, that's a whole lot of Witness Protection Scheme you'll be needing. Unless you have a cat. In which case, just be glad you've woken up with your head still attached.

But I digress. Oh, yes. Having a hissy fit about polar bears in the Guardian. "But Bear," you are probably saying, "aren't you just being jealous and mean?" Yes. And what of it? If it had been pandas - fine, who doesn't love pandas (oh, this is odd news) and koalas - ok, they look a bit grumpy and they are all riddled with various unpleasant diseases - but they have the cutest fluffly ears. And, ladies and gentlemen, I give you *drum roll* - The Sea Otter ...

Where's your cute old polar bear now, Mr/Ms Guardian Person? Eh! Well! Ok, maybe I have been sitting too close to the hot water bottle. Off to sit in the fridge for a while. See if proximity to the ice cubes boosts my cuteness levels.

More sea otter fun here.

The Bear Identity - a secret life in pictures

2007-11-21T17:41:00.000Z

Oh, little blog! I am a bad and unfaithful bear. I have been off having wild and dangerous adventures without you.

I have hung out with rock stars.

There have been mysterious blondes

and glamorous raven haired femme fatales.

Wild parties,

private jets,

and knitting.

All that and trying to stick Madame back together again.

It has been tiring. Occassionally fun. Often frustrating. Worrying. Confusing.

And not nearly enough of this

Extremely Tired Toy

2007-11-09T00:02:00.001Z

Bear is having a nice long lie down in a darkened room.

Back soon.

Beware the tattie bogle!

2007-10-31T00:12:00.000Z

Hello! Want any guisers? None of that "Trick or treat?" stuff here. We're having a hardcore traditional Scottish Halloween.

I did suggest having a scary film fest but Madame burst into tears when I suggested the first title. I know she's had nightmares about it and a lot of people do think it is the most horrifying film ever made but we couldn't have a scary film fest without "Love, Actually". It would be like a walnut whip without the walnut.

Instead we'll huddle round the turnip lantern and tell ghost stories. Madame is threatening to play "Twinkle, twinkle, little star" on her recorder - she claims that party piece used to go down a storm when she was 5.

Mr Sharp presents ...

2007-10-24T18:08:00.000+01:00

I hope that Mr Sharp doesn't mind us including his excellent Youtube presentation here, but even Madame, who would usually rather lick Marmite off John Prescott than have anything to do with the Beautiful Game, was impressed by the gentle mix of visuals and music.

Sunday of the Bewildered Beast

2007-10-21T20:13:00.000+01:00

Suddenly it's Sunday again and I am bewildered. Humph. Autumn. Fine on crisp, bright days but on gloomy, grey days a small bear can become lethargic. Mooching around in jammies and grumping.

Things I have learned this week -

1. Do NOT mock Mr R. Wainwright in Madame's presence. She saw both of his Glasgow shows. Wonderful. Very wonderful. Singing. Dancing. Lederhosen. Played "Poses" so beautifully that it fair broke her flinty little heart. Energy and humour and confidence. She wanted to come home, pack a bag, and run away to Paris.

I wouldn't have minded that part. Unfortunately we only have enough money between us to get to Cumbernauld. And we're not doing that again.

2. Bear favourite to win Turner Prize. Woo hoo! Did get a bit over excited when I first read this. Finally recognised for my Art! I work mostly in crayon and used envelopes. But, no, it's an artist called Mark Wallinger - dressed as a bear and videoed wandering round a Berlin art gallery. Sounds like Big Serious Art to me. None of that messing about with paint malarky.

3. The Time Bandits map made real! I want one. I can't have one. Humpf.

4. Kylie Minogue is a tiny, little person. Have to take Madame's word on this one. She pottered along to Kelvingrove Museum for a nice, quiet afternoon. Kylie exhibition is on. Wanted to see the pretty costumes. Maybe have a nice sit down, cup of tea and a bit of cake with all the other old folk. Oops. Paws up who knew it was the school holidays? Doh. She did manage to wade through a sea of screaming spogs to see the Australian pixie's hot pants and was impressed by the feathers and glitter of the Showgirl costumes.

5. Eddie Izzard looks pretty in a fairy costume and it's fun to play with his fridge when you're bored. Or have things to do but can't be bothered.

I'm sure there were other things but it's Sunday evening and it's all rather hazy. New week ahead.

Cosy crime travel to Wainwright while dangerous blondes lurk

2007-10-14T14:49:00.000+01:00

A quiet day. Madame has Wainwright tonight. She has been curled up reading some Evelyn Waugh. A selection of his travel writing.

I'm not that keen on travel books. I would rather be out and doing for myself. But Madame is fond of the quirkier, chattier books. One bloke's trip around the shipping forecast. That kind of thing.

She is also on a cosy crime spree. Working her way through a pile of pretty green and white Penguins. Full of frustrated maiden aunts poisioning curates and housemaids with arsenic filled muffins.

I prefer my crime hardboiled. Chandler. Hammett. Noir. Flickering neon. Neat bourbon. Dangerous blondes.

Bears know all about dangerous blondes.

It's true. No bowl of porridge, no shuggly chair, no freshly made bed is safe while blondes roam free.

Happy Birthday. Snuggly fruit. Gardening in the dark.

2007-10-12T20:58:00.000+01:00

It could be argued that it doesn't take much to distract me from my sulky strop. But this is marvelous. Wondrous. I am going to authorise the use of a "squeeeeeeee!" here. This is also completely silly, frivolous, and probably totally unnecessary. I could be wrong. There are possibly good reasons for keeping your apples and pears all snuggly and warm and wrapped up in pretty colours. Ta da! Woolly jumpers for fruit!

Another fine recommendation from Fabulist!

Hope this makes up for the earlier gloom. Madame says I can play with her new black feather fan while she learns more about In The Night Garden. Hum. All aboard the Ninky Nonk. Quite.

Oh, and ... Unkle S ...

Big boy bully. Fizzy knees. Sulky bear.

2007-10-12T19:01:00.000+01:00

It serves her right. She says she feels like she has been mugged by effalumps. Ha! She got to play with the nice toy cars yesterday and I didn't. There was the big car and the little truck and the tricycle - all just the right size for a small bear but Nasty Jack wouldn't let me play with any of them. It's not fair and I was very upset. He might be only 1 but I've got feelings too. And now Madame has fizzy knees and I don't care. *stomps paw and pouts*

Sorry. Silly, grumpy, ranty bear. Going to sit in a my shoebox and pretend it's a 1932 Bugatti Type 55 Supersport sports car. Brum brum. Beep beep!

Bell, book, and tealight

2007-10-09T18:59:00.000+01:00

I'm not totally convinced by this Fatigue stuff. It would explain the tired and achy. But? A sudden desire to knit socks while listening to The Navy Lark. It's either a cry for help or she's possessed. Possessed by an 85 year old woman. That's my guess.

I'm keeping a close eye. I've put all my own work to one side. The first hint of a spam fritter or an interest in Arthur Askey and I'll spring into action.

Puir wee lamb

2007-10-03T21:20:00.000+01:00

She's a sad sight. She had a ticket to see Ed Harcourt at Oran Mor tonight but the poor little sad sack is too knackered for stand up, crowded, noisy fun.

And.

Insult to injury. Vashti Bunyan is on Radcliffe & Maconie. She - Ms. Bunyan - sounds like a lovely woman - but the look on Madame's wan wee face would crack a granite heart. Good job that I'm heartless. She's trying to get me to join her in a game of Mousetrap.

It's board games or knitting. She's been having a look at some of her craft books today and is thinking about attempting some Big Knitting. Something smallish and simple on biggish needles. By coincidence Althea Merback's beautiful wee pieces of miniature knitting got a mention on BoingBoing today. Lovely stuff.

Ah. She's just perked up a bit. The Scaremongers are making her happy. Yes, it is that Simon Armitage.

Just time for some Coulter's Candy before bed. Remember and brush your teeth after! Night night.

Candie is my darling

2007-10-02T20:16:00.000+01:00

So, I'm going to have Madame mooching about for the next couple of weeks. Apparently she may be suffering from something called Post Viral Fatigue.

I don't know. She is a lazy sausage. I will be supervising her rehabilitation.

Any trouble and I'm going to replace her with Candie Payne. I like Candie Payne. I like Candie Payne a lot. Possibly even more than Regina Spektor. I'm going to have to go and think about this. Madame is getting a bit old and tatty. Might be time to trade her in for a new model. And a shiny red sports car.

Bear on a bridge. Bear in a cave. Horse on drugs. Socialist squirrels.

2007-10-01T20:00:00.000+01:00

I'm not buying this bear on a bridge story. He panicked. Humph. I think we all know that this was an Extreme Ironing stunt that went wrong. Just out of shot in that first photo there's a polar bear legging it with a can of spray starch and a pile of freshly pressed pillow cases.

Elsewhere on the Interknit I've learned that drugs is bad.

And why ~~Mummy~~ Mommy Squirrel is a democrat.

I haven't thought about it too much but I'd say that the squirrels about here looked more like Socialist Workers. I'll try humming The Red Flag next time one lands in the window box.

Had a bit of old fashioned fun last weekend thanks to a challenge from top bear Jasper - pillow fort building.

I built me a Cushion Cave. Snuggly. A certain person was rather sniffy.

"Stop messing up the bed. Why are you building a Neolithic burial chamber out of cushions?"

Just jealous. And there weren't enough pillows for a Great Pyramid.

Wandering mind

2007-09-28T21:49:00.001+01:00

It's been a bit of a week. Tired out. A lot of trauma sponging done. Am awash with angst and tears.

Toy bears - the forgotten emergency service. Because Raj Persaud won't always be there.

I did have some help. A big shout out to Mr Devandra Bernhart. We take back everything we said about you.

*cough - scary folk muppet - cough*

We take it all back. We bow down before you. First there was that photograph. And we've heard a couple of songs from the new album and they're ok. Quite good actually. No one's going to be injured in the stampede to turn the radio off if they get played.

(J'accuse Vashti Bunyan - my paw hasn't been right since the Great Turn-That-Off-Now! Disaster of 2006 - I don't care if you do have star children in your hair - keep it to yourself in future. Yours, a small crushed bear)

Sorry, where was I? Oh, yes. Drum roll, please! Ta da! Dress Up Devendra!

Is it just us? Are we just easily amused? Well, yes, but ...

More fun than the dress-up dolls in Twinkle .

Actually I quite liked "Twinkle". It was Madame who had spoil things and tell the lovely Grandma that She was a big, grown up girl now and "Twinkle" was for babies and big, grown up girls read "Smash Hits". Not "Bunty". "Bunty" was for stupid girly girls who played with, yuk, dolls.

Oooooooo. That's odd. I started out with a bloke in a spangly bra and here I am having a Proustian tea and cake moment.

I'm sorry. I am going to have to retire to my cork lined shoe box now. To contemplate my past.

Read NemuNemu!

Balloons and elephants!

2007-09-23T18:23:00.000+01:00

Happy Birthday, Nomi!

Wavy paw from Madame and Bear. Hope you're having a good time!

Hornpipe ban

2007-09-19T10:11:00.000+01:00

Be alert. Be vigilant. If you go out on the wild and lawless high seas of the Interknit today, you may come across hideous scenes involving blood curdling torture (of the Queen's English) and reckless bandana wearing.

I, however, am preparing to hold firm and maintain a dignified and proper course of naval discipline. I will be celebrating the memory of Lieutenant Robert Maynard - best known for defeating the dastardly Blackbeard - by keelhauling one of the smaller toys.

If you would all like to stand to attention and salute the flag. Ladies and gentlemen, the National Anthem ...

Adding insult to injury, or, I'm ready for my close-up.

2007-09-17T14:31:00.000+01:00

Maybe I'm just grumpy. I did have to dig my way out of a landslide of ironing to get here. And I didn't get to go to any of the Doors Open stuff on Saturday or Sunday. And guess who was left at home when Madame went to see Richard Hawley last night?

And now this - Paddington : the movie. I suppose it could be interesting. Hum. What are the chances? Are we talking "Frida" or "Miss Potter"? Are we going to get a deep and searching portrait of a Bear for Our Times or some lightweight family froth? I'm wanting to see the truth behind the duffle coat. What lurks beneath the hat?

"The production will combine live-action and computer generated imagery in the manner of family features like Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little" - not sounding good. Paws up who saw "Garfield". Surely they could find a talented young bear to step into those wellies? A young, handsome, and supremely talented young bear who has been a fan of Big Paddie since cubhood.

"It is understood the story will be based on an original screenplay inspired by the various characters and episodes in Paddington's life as told through Bond's books" - based on. Another phrase guaranteed to raise a shudder. Are we going to see the reality of Darkest Peru? The misery of his life as an illegal immigrant on the streets of London?

Or will the whole thing be transferred to Des Moine? Paddington the chirpy all-American chipmunk in his trademark Nike trainers and Gap hoodie?

Wow. I really am grumpy. Ok. At least they can tell us if they are finally going to be giving him a Peruvian accent? Just in case I a young, handsome, and supremely talented young bear needs to practice.

The shame

2007-09-13T21:47:00.000+01:00

Marmite.

Yuk.

Do I need to say more? First Zippy and now this.

That is all.

Sob.

Tig! You're it!

2007-09-10T21:53:00.000+01:00

A couple of weeks ago we were feeling a bit stir crazy. Too many gloomy days. Not enough fresh air. Faffing about on the computer. Usually this leads to more madness. Crazed eBay bids. Myspace pages.

But this time we were lucky. We found Puddock's Two And A Half Acres - a wonderful blog to find when you are stuck in the middle of a city with no garden and the last bit of wildlife you spotted was a bin-raking squirrel or a couple of shifty looking pigeons.

Puddock also has the exsistential View From The Pond and has issued the following challenge from there -

1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
3. Tag eight people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them). 4. Let them know they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs.

I can do random. No problem with random. All about random here.

But I'm feeling rather shy. It has been a long time since I played Tig. And Madame was always rubbish at playground games.

We would like to play. In our own pathetic way. And a couple of days late. So - 2 for the price of 1 - 8 random facts about Bear and Madame. And if anyone would like to pick up the baton ...

Bear

1. Favourite colour is blue.
2. Winner of "Best loved bear" at the 1977 Lomond Venture Scouts' Teddies' Tea Party.
3. Hates creme eggs.
4. Spent most of the 90s wanting to be Huey Morgan, lead singer of the "Fun Lovin' Criminals".
5. Loves snowy winter days.
6. Doesn't like using his first name.
7. Has a bell in one ear.
8. Worries and wonders.

Madame

1. Favourite "Half Man Half Biscuit" song is "Vatican Broadside".
2. Has never eaten in McDonalds.
3. Loves warm baths and freshly made beds.
4. Wishes she could speak German.
5. Started dyeing her hair when she was 18.
6. She likes spiders.
7. Her favourite actresses are Myrna Loy and Louise Brooks.
8. Please don't ask her to pick her favourite book. How could there be just one?

Ta da.

Must go. Will try and report back later in the week. Tales to tell of Madame's film festival adventure. Licorice pandas. Memories of John Peel. Or maybe other things. We're easily distracted.

Busy with book

2007-09-04T22:50:00.000+01:00

Things not to say to someone who's reading The God Delusion -

1. Cool! I just loved the film with Tom Hanks and that French girl.

2. So you won't be wanting a Christmas present this year?

3. Ha ha! NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! (accompanied by attack with cushion)

Culture

2007-09-02T20:40:00.000+01:00

She had Warhol on Thursday and The Bacchae on Saturday. We both watched Haxan. I am making a start on The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins.

Get us. By this time next week I expect I'll have produced a slim volume of verse, an existentialist novel on the dark misery of the modern bear, and kippered myself with Gauloises. She will have several disastrous love affairs and end the week in a puddle of absinthe and regret.

She came back from the Warhol exhibition wanting to fill the flat with helium balloons and raving about the pictures he did for a children's art exhibition - bright, lively little paintings of tin toys and their packaging. She hadn't expected the exhibition to be so joyful or funny.

She also went to the Naked Portrait exhibition. Unfortunately that turned out to be pants. Not wearing any and yet still being a big bloomer of a show. I did warn her. I'm a big fan of clothes. She is now a big fan of not leaving bored artists alone in a room with access to a camera because they will try to photograph their bottom and then pass it off as Art. Big Important Art.

When I said I had made a start on The God Delusion ... I've tap danced across it a couple of times and flicked through it to see if there were any pictures I could colour in. I do intend to read it. Just want to wait until I can give it my full attention. Or they bring out a manga version. Or a musical. No. Will read it. Or be squashed flat in the attempt.

I did give Haxan my full attention. Unlike some people who dozed off half way through. No reflection on the film - long day, warm bath, just resting her eyes for a second. Next thing I know I'm sitting in the dark on my own watching strange scenes of devilment and witchcraft.

She's a bit trusting. Who knows what kind of stuff I could have picked up. Using her as a satanic sacrifice. Offering her up to Boo Boo - the god of small bears. I've got some nice feathers and a fetching little robe somewhere. And The God Delusion - it's a good hefty hardback - would make a fine black magic altar.

Cough. Bad bear. Naughty bear. It was, of course, an interesting and curious piece of early cinema. Not a primer to the supernatural and the superstitious - the enemies of all right thinking rational thought. Sigh. I'll just have to wear me feathers and robe while I read Dawkins. He won't mind if I have to stop every now and then to dance about a bit and chant?

Bottoms and magic in The Bacchae. Madame took her mother to see it. They were both curious to see it because they met Alan Cummings many years ago. Ta da. Here is Madame's "I met Alan Cummings" theatrical anecdote. Be prepared. It's like living with Perez Hilton.

Madame remembers that he might have been wearing a stripy jumper. Or someone else was wearing a stripy jumper. The room was kind of dark but it was sunny outside. And she was told off for kicking the table leg because she was so bored. Grown up talk. Yawn. Yawn. Yawn. The 9 year old Madame setting the pattern that continues to this day.

Someday, if you're ~~not careful~~ nice, she'll tell us her Robert Carlyle stories.

The Bacchae was impressive. A relatively straight retelling of the Greek tragedy by Euripides. A fine performance by Cummings and his Bacchae. Simple but spectacular.

So stunning that she left the theatre and, forgetting that she wasn't a Greek god or goddess, she managed to spent £15 on shampoo and conditioner in Lush. For that kind of money I'm expecting dryads and nymphs to pop up the plug hole and help her with her plaits. Will watch with interest.

Put the mouse down and step away from the blog

2007-08-28T21:19:00.000+01:00

Deary me. What do we think of the new blog design? Hum. I wouldn't mind but she should be getting on with the ironing. And the hoovering. And paying bills. Any one of several hundred items on her To Do list. Hum.

She's off to Edinburgh on Thursday to see the Warhol exhibition and the Naughty people with no clothes on exhibition. Tsk. It's safe for her to go through now that all that nasty Festival fun has finished.

I'll be staying in bed. I'm enjoying my lazy week. I've been slobbing around in my jammies. Only moving to have the pillow plumped up or to remove a stray Fimble. Still on her way home from NotBearFest.

Only one thing could improve the week. Someone could buy me a copy of Freeze! Armed farm animals! by Gary James. Wouldn't that improve any week?

Escape from BearFest

2007-08-26T21:08:00.000+01:00

I've run away from my own festival. It was mobbed. Crazy. Scary. Not fun.
They all claimed they were "on the guest list". And they all have VIP backstage passes. I don't remember any guest list. And how can they all have a VIP pass. That's just P. Not V. Not I.

Ok. I did miss the week they did loveliness and sharing on Sesame Street. And wasn't Oscar the Grouch the coolest anyway?

But - I was expecting the world's most exciting and exclusive festival.

Instead I found all the usual suspects - dodgy old friends, various exes, that bunch of weird knitted rabbits who run a poker school on the top of the bookcase. Don't be fooled - they might look all cute and woolly but they know the cards.

I did try to have fun but it was impossible.

Impossible to move. Small animals kept getting trodden on. Everyone fell off the stage at some point. And the queues. Queues for everything. Queuing at my own festival.

Impossible to hear anything. I swear that some people were trying to dance to the sound of Madame heating up her lunch in the microwave.

An overexcited penguin kept squawking "Hardcore. Feel the fluff." in my ear. And when I asked him to stop he tried to sell me a little bag of white sparkly powder. He claimed it was the proper Lush stuff but it looked like some cheap puff out of Lidl.

Cough. Not that I know about that kind of thing, officer. Honestly. Ok. So I like a little sniff of bath bomb sometimes - they smell so good. And if you tuck one of the small ones into your hoodie (while the hoodie hood is down obviously) then you smell good too. Ok. Can we just change the subject?

Kids - messing about with talcum powder is wrong and naughty. It might seem like fun to cover yourself in the stuff, especially the posh sparkly sort, and pretend to be a wild, crazy iceberg botherer but it leads to trouble - mess, shouting, hoovering. It's not worth it. The same goes for sherbert fountains, tubes of glitter, and icing sugar.

I'm leaving them to it. Just as I left someone had found some jelly and Larry Lamb was going to do his 2-for-the-price-of-1 tribute act - Shakin' Sufjan Stevens. Jomas was telling a silly young pig that he was really Pete Docherty and "would she like to hear some of his poetry?" And, I'm not positive about this, but I think I saw the small one out the Manics lurking by the Comedy Cushion.

I found a comatosed womble and used him to help me climb up over the security fence. I didn't feel too bad. He had had me pinned up against a wall earlier while he explained, with flip chart, flow diagrams, and a powerpoint presentation, exactly why Arcade Fire are the Best Band Ever. Of All Time. Never To Be Bettered. Ever.

I am running away from it all. I'm going to have a quiet couple of days camping in the Wardrobe. Just enough space for me. Got my snuggle bag. Wind-up torch. Good book - anyone else read Kling Klang Klatch?

Provisions? Well, I've got a bowl of Smarties that I lifted from the festival rider. A Chinese bowl of just the red, orange and yellow Smarties. Classy. Shame they don't do black Smarties. Then I could get rid of the orange ones and have red, yellow and black Partick Thistle Supporter Smarties. But that would be too much excitement.

Madame is going to lend me her 3rd-cheapest-from-Argos-and-a-bit-rubbish-really mp3 player. She tells me that I'd probably like Arctic Monkeys. If I could get over all the hype and stuff. I'll give them a go. And the big question is - are the little buttons going to be too fiddly for me to skip all the Rufus tracks? Snork. Only kidding. I just can't hear Poses too many times. Apparently.

Was that the week? was it?

2007-08-24T22:33:00.000+01:00

The week's just flown by. Like a lead elephant in concrete tap shoes.

I'm off to BearFest this weekend. BearFest - the world's most exciting and exclusive music festival. By Bear. For Bear. Have got a thrilling new venue - the Big Cardboard Box Stage - thanks to Madame's new toy.

Go on. Ask her about her new hoover. It's black and silver and shiny and appears to work as a vacuum cleaner should. Her previous bit of kit was popular with dust bunnies. It blew the loose fluff round the flat so that it settled in more artistic patterns and left behind the scent of scorched rubber. An excellent Turner Prize possibility but rubbish for housework.

Hopefully this will keep her occupied so she won't find out that shhh Quentin Tarantino is in town shhhh. She loathes, despises, and deplores Mr QT and his work. Him and "his evil little sockpuppet, Eli Roth". I couldn't possibly comment as I haven't seen examples of either gentleman's oeuvre. I want to be Werner Herzog's bear.

I haven't seen all of his films yet. My favourite so far? No. Not the obvious one. Instead - Stroszek. Top film. German angst. American gloom. And then - bring on the dancing chicken! Pretty much something for everyone there.

Nearly time to set off. Not sure if I'll have time to pop back over the weekend. Might be having too much fun. Or jammed inside a shiny new hoover.

Hang on. Wondermark has been to ComicCon. Looks like fun. Comics. Costumes. Action figures. More comics. Oh, no. Disaster. I want to have BearCon. I don't want to go to a stupid festival. I'll just end up wearing a rotten jingly jester's hat, stuck in mud up to my paw pits, with only a tofu and mung bean smoothie to drink while I'm forced to listen to Arcade Fire.

Passing thought - who'd win in a fight? Arcade Fire vs Arctic Monkeys? Or would they merge to form a frightening hybrid - Arctic Arcade Monkeys on Fire?

Meh. Have a good weekend.

Best Sunday Ever!

2007-08-19T22:12:00.001+01:00

Have had the best Sunday. Have been to visit Mr Beaver and Flynn and Theo. I was a bit frightened at first. It's been a while since I was carried around by my ears and drooled on. But. Woo hoo! I feel like a young cub again.

Unfortunately I didn't have my swimming costume so I wasn't able to join young Mr Theo in the bath. But I did enjoy watching the adverts with big brother Flynn. He has a brilliant chair that is just the right size for a small bear.

While I was busy they fed and ~~watered~~ wined Madame.

And. Yes, AND! PRESENT! A "Mister Beaver and Bear are pals - brothers in fluff" mug. Painted by Flynn and Theo's mummy, Kim. It's BRILLIANT!

We had a nice walk home. Not raining (for once). The sun was just going down. Lights going on.

Best Sunday. Happy Bear.

Also kept Madame away from the GFT and the chance to heckle Alex Kapranos - him out of Franz Ferdinand - he was supposed to be there to talk about some film. She's had nothing against Franz Ferdinand - "Better than poking yourself in the ear with a pencil, I suppose. Or Oasis."

But she had been reading his book about food - Sound Bites. She wants more. More books. Less music.

And could they reprint this one on edible paper? Or ice it on to a series of donuts? Drizzle it in olive oil and balsamic vinegar on a fresh baguette?

Please, Mr Kapranos, write more about food. Or she will come after you with a pinch of saffron, a bunch of basil leaves, and a meat tenderizer.

Rain clouds, festive fun, and Belgian bears

2007-08-18T17:44:00.000+01:00

Outside - wet and grey and miserable. Brilliant! Perfect weather for staying in bed and doing Thinking. BearFest is set for next weekend and I'm right behind schedule. Too much moping and lethargy last week.

I've checked with Madame and it's all sorted. As long as I don't make a mess and keep the noise down. Because she is planning to spend next weekend "contemplating her emotional and financial fecklessness". Hum. Quite. I think that is code for "reading comics and playing with Last FM when she should be paying bills and checking bank statements". Well. Whatever.

She is off to a film festival in a couple of weeks. Can you call spending a Sunday afternoon on Glasgow Green a film festival? I suppose it might not rain. Anyway, the BBC used the magic work "free" so she'll be there. At the Weird and Wonderful Stage if the weather is good. Otherwise the beer tent is a safe bet.

The reason I bring this up - I'm not just aimlessly wittering here - is the list of terms and conditions for festival goers. The one that interests me - something I just hadn't thought about for BearFest - is rule no. 12.

"In the interest of safety please do not bring glass items, barbecues or flaming torches."

Wow. I could have flaming torches at BearFest. I'll have to do some Big Thinking about this.

Before I go I have to introduce you to Mr Bearsac. Interesting sounding chap.

Originally from Belgium - top place is Belgium - beer, chocolate, and comics ... hum, some of Madame's distant ancestors were probably Flemish. Back to Mr Bearsac.

He now lives in England. He has a rather spiffy web site.

Must go. Madame is off out to dinner tonight. She might have to swim there. Hasn't stopped raining. I'm going to stay in and curl up in a nice, fresh pile of laundry. Ah. The joy of tumbly dried socks ...

Still celebrating

2007-08-17T22:51:00.000+01:00

Damn those paparazzi. It's a sad day when a small bear can't dance around his own home with pants on his head. I don't care if they did think I was Lindsay Lohan.

Yay! Do the happy dance!

2007-08-16T22:06:00.000+01:00

My little blog has reappeared on ~~BurntWombat~~ ~~QuagmirePlatypus~~ FireFox. If I knew where my pants were I'd be dancing round with them on my head. I have a nice black lacy pair that I like to affect in moments of celebration. Hum. Forget I said that. Any way ...

We think we might have a lovely Blogger person to thank because Madame has been banned from pressing any buttons until she can prove that she can be trusted again.

She hasn't been too sulky because her copy of Wormwood: Gentleman Corpse arrived. And she went to see The Diary of a Lost Girl. Louise Brooks did her thing on the big screen and Mr Neil Brand played the piano. It was a magical experience. Madame already has her ticket for Pandora's Box next week.

I had a moment of revelation. Previously on Bear ...

Tom Waits = the sound of fear and loathing. Making a grown animal cry and tremble in the dark. Probably a lovely man. Kind to kittens and always helping the old folk. And yet. Make it stop. Make the gravelly weirdness stop. Please make it stop. Please. Whimper. *exit sobbing bear*

That was previously. I was sulking away quite happily behind a copy of A Liar's Autobiography Vol. VI by Graham Chapman (him out of Monty Python's Flying Circus) when I heard this noise. It was a beautiful noise. It was this noise.

World War B : a crayoned history of the Bear War

2007-08-12T22:17:00.000+01:00

I've spent the weekend sulking in my corner. She has been reading World War Z : an oral history of the Zombie War. Appropriate since she decided to brainlessly mess with my little blog and has got it all jammed up on HotHen. DampSquirrel? AirHamster? No. FireFox. That's it. FireFox.

No blog in FireFox. Luckily it's still here in Interknit Exploder. Or there would have been extreme unhappiness. Extreme bear-shaped unhappiness. Berserk type unhappiness.

Virtual distress flares have been sent out to see if "we" can get some help to sort it out. No joy so far but "we" have agreed not to mess with things that "we" don't really understand. Until next time.

Oh, well. I've been thinking about Tony Wilson. Another person who made life fun has gone. Too soon. John Peel. Linda Smith. Douglas Adams. All too soon.

I guess we'll have to pull together and make more fun to fill in the gaps. If you haven't seen the film Twenty Four Hour Party People yet - don't waste any time - it's a good place to start. Raise a glass of something nice to Mr Wilson. Listen to good music. Have fun.

I'm going to go and give Idiot Girl a hug.

A bear called It. And another bear called Pemberthy

2007-08-11T00:03:00.000+01:00

Another blogging bear. Yay! Pemberthy. He looks rather charming and civilised. I'm feeling a bit shy about saying "hello".

Civilised. Sigh.

Madame has had the day off work. To "do stuff".

Eating chocolate buttons for breakfast. Sitting around in her jammies, drinking beer, and reading naughty comics. Sticking feathers in her hair and pretending she's a showgirl.

She has finally managed to get us connect up to ... oh, dear ... Godzilla Watervole.

- Would you be meaning Mozilla Firefox?
- 'ullo, little animal. pat. pat. pat. haven't wu got shiny ickle peepers. pat. pat. pat. dance for me!

Let's have some nice, soothing music. Jane by Stephen Duffy. And a little lie down in a darkened room.

the road to BearFest

2007-08-09T10:13:00.000+01:00

The ticket for BearFest sold the minute it was released. To me. Yay me!

Lots to do. Who knew that this festival lark was so complicated?

Just one example. The rider for the main act. I thought that all I had to do was to demand a crate of booze and a big bowl of Smarties with the green ones removed. Or is it the brown ones? Not according to Mr Pop. Hum. That's a whole lot of complicated.

And Big Zip thinks he's spotted one of the Manic Street Preachers lurking outside. Or it could have been the postman. Either way Madame will be unhappy. Apparently that Nicky Wire said something rude about the Divine Rufus. She doesn't care if he does look lovely in a frock and eyeliner. That's fighting talk. And the post office have "lost" several items of her mail recently. When they've not been on strike. She could snap at any moment.

Must go. Have to organise a stall selling jesters' hats, dream catchers and Hopi ear candles.

BearFest 2007

2007-08-07T12:18:00.000+01:00

We're not going through to Edinburgh. No Fringe frolics. Not my decision. Don't live in a democracy.

Not that I care anyway. Pah. Edinburgh. Glastonbury. Their time has passed. Everyone and their mad auntie is putting on a festival. Why not me? Got the rules here - thanks to nice Mr Marshall at Guardian Unlimited.

They must be aimed at a unique audience. - BearFest will be the world's most exclusive festival. By Bear. For Bear.

They must have unique headliners. - Bear. I think I'm quite unique. I've certainly never met another me. And this will be my only festival appearance this year. Probably.

They must involve camping. - Hum. More difficult. The festival site is probably going to be the pillow end of the bed. She tends to discourage me from camping on the grounds that "She's got to sleep in that bed" and tent pegs leave holes in the mattress. I might manage a cushion cover bivouac.

They must allow moshing and crowd-surfing. - Like I need an excuse. I'm moshing right now.

In the spirit of rock 'n' roll, they must be "socialist". - I am an oppressed minority and I was purchased from a branch of the Co-op. I'm more socialist than a working men's club full of Tommy Sheridans.

They cannot have the Manic Street Preachers playing. - What if they try to force their way in?

Result! I'm all tingly and excited. What if I can't get a ticket? Should I take my ukulele? Will I need my wellies?

I don't think I own a ukulele or a pair of wellies. Disaster.

Right. Must go and practice my juggling. And then see if I can hire Big Zippy and Clanger to do the site security. So much to do.

time for a snooze

2007-08-05T19:59:00.000+01:00

I've said sorry. I was a right grump yesterday. Not enough sleep in this house. Not enough hours in the day.

So I've had a quiet day today. She's been busy. Lots of laundry and then off to see the Terence Davies Trilogy. Deary me. It gave her a headache. She doesn't recommend it. Three dull, flat, fuzzy films about repressed misery and stifled lives. See the Bill Douglas Trilogy instead.

I've still got time for a small nap before bedtime. She has to do some messing about with sticky and paper. I usually like to stay out of the way when that kind of thing is happening.

I did sort of offer to help out with my nice new highlighters pens - they were a present from lovely person Angi - but unfortunately they were confiscated following the "Wouldn't Mr Wainwright look better with a pink fluorescent moustache?" incident. And I have agreed that I am jealous of him. Him and his thrilling sideburns.

Ah. Yes. Nap time.

the sound of madness

2007-08-04T23:03:00.000+01:00

Much busy. But clever Bear. I am using the sound of Madness to block out the sound of madness.

Madness are a funny old band. It may be unfair but they have had a strange image. Chirpy songs about baggy trousers. Crazy dances. Wacky videos. A touch of the novelty act? Not "serious" musicians like, bless him, Weller or (small bear runs screaming from the room) Waits ?

She brings home Madness - The heavy heavy hits. It was going cheap in Avalanche Records.

We all know the deal with "Greatest Hits" selections? They're for lazy, indecisive people (so we have a lot of them) who can't deal with that scary downloading lark.

There will be the couple of songs that you buy it for - the Greatest Hits. Maybe four or five if you're lucky. Then the OK/Skippable Hits. Bit of filler - dodgy 12" remix of the Greatest Hit? Then something "special" for the fans - obscure B side or quirky little cover - because they have everything three times over already and need an excuse to shell out more dosh (*cough* Elvis Costello reissues *cough*).

Naughty cynical bear ...

Back to Madness. Twenty three songs. And not a single duff one. A big surprise to be honest. There is the big upbeat noise. But there is also sweetness and light. Darkness and disappointment. Worth revisiting if you only remember nutty boys and the heavy, heavy sound.

Or if you need to block out the sound of a deranged and demented woman.

That Wainwright, in what I can only consider a personal vendetta against me, has announced an extra gig. Here. Not somewhere nice and far away. Here. In this city.

Yes. She is going to both nights. No man or small bear can stop her.

I just happened to make a passing query about the cost of the ticket. Sniffle. Some things should never be said. Even in jest. And "I could sell a much loved old friend on Ebay so that I can afford to see some boyish fop and his stupid floppy hair poncing about for two nights in a row in October" is one of them.

She may have phrased it a little differently but I knew what she was saying. Sniffle.

So I've been singing "It must be love" to myself while she reads out highlights from Uncut's audience with RW.

Hang on.

Oh.

She'll have to repeat that last one - hum - Wainwright reckons that Gordon Brown is considerably more sexy than Tiny Blur. To quote the Rufus person - "I think Gordon Brown's really sexy. I think most most women I know feel the same."

Hum. Indeed. Well, that's a thought ...

That's something that will take a bit of pondering. Unfortunately.

Madness. It's all madness.

Bear with a sore head

2007-07-30T20:38:00.000+01:00

In a bad mood. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. In a really, really bad mood. STOMP.

Look. It's young Flynn and Mr Beaver. They had lunch with Madame at Theo's Cafe yesterday. I wasn't invited. Not bitter. Sniff.
I expect I was busy anyway. Doing stuff. Important stuff. Sniff.

Important stuff? Some interesting things maybe.

Oliver Postgate - one of the men behind Bagpuss and The Clangers - has a website. But it's not what you'd expect if you only have memories of that voice telling stories of Noggin the Nog or Ivor the Engine. He was on Desert Island Discs recently. A fascinating man. And Madame has just finished reading a book by his father. She picked it up in a pile of old Penguin paperbacks. Hadn't realised the connection until she was part of the way through it. A good read.

And listening to Marcus Brigstocke's inspired rant from The Now Show. I'm an atheist and She would probably describe herself as humanist/agnostic if you prod her enough. So he was, um, preaching to the converted.

Have just checked with Madame. We're going with humanist/agnostic. Because the Church of the Divine Rufus only exists in her head. Whatever she thinks.

And Ingmar Bergman. Deary me. I have happy memories of watching Hour of the Wolf. It's one of those experiences that have to happen at the right time. Another day, in another mood ... But for some reason it worked. A twisting tale of strange events. I couldn't tell you what it all meant. Or if it meant anything. But the sight of Max von Sydow in drag ...

Time for bed. Think we have a tough week ahead so have some Half Man Half Biscuit before I go. Good night!

Billy Pumpkin and the Wet Hen

2007-07-26T21:28:00.000+01:00

Spoke too soon. She's still poorly. Moping about like a wet hen.

The things I do to amuse and entertain ...

Apparently. Allegedly. With my ears pinned back. With actual pins. I look like that Billy Corgan out of those Smashing Pumpkins.

Not sure what I am supposed to do with this new found talent. Children's party entertainer? All toy tribute band? The Plushie Pumpkins?

If her boss would like her back then I can arrange to have the door left unlock. Bring a big enough sack and she's all yours.

back, after this message from our sponsor ...

2007-07-24T20:26:00.000+01:00

Madame has been unwell and hanging about the house. I had stuff to do. Work on my moustache. Manic Street Preachers' lyrics to deconstruct. More holiday tales to blog.

Instead. Sit about being supportive and sympathetic.

Oh. The. Joy.

And yet. Old time radio fun! Yay!!

I think I've mentioned before that we are big vintage radio fans. Sometimes we get lucky and there will be something good on BBC Radio 7. Maybe some episodes of Paul Temple. And it's always bona to catch a bit of Round the Horne.

But Madame not well. Big comfy Radio Noir marathon required.

The Saint. Vincent Price as Simon Templar - sounding strangely gothic while blondes and gangsters shoot it out around him. Some of the episodes end with a sweet little lecture from Mr Price on love and peace and tolerance. Jolly decent chap.

Only seem to be a few surviving episodes of Dr Morelle but they are worth listening to for the sheer breathtaking grumpiness. Imagine The Man Who Came To Dinner fighting crime on the mean streets of Kensington and Chelsea. Makes that Morse bloke look like "Rebecca of Sunnybrooke Farm". Wonder as his dippy assistant Miss Frayle refuses to brain him with a paperweight. Gasp as she fails to fill a misogynistic taxi driver full of lead. A classic grouchy afternoon comfort.

We've just made a start on The Falcon ... "brought to you by Gem Blades - the blades that help you avoid five o'clock shadow ... the Falcon ... always ready with a hand for oppressed men and an eye for repressed women!" Quite. Oooooooooo, it's all so butch. Cough. Yeah, dollface. Real manly.

Meh. But she's feeling a bit better. Thinks she'll be back at work tomorrow. So back to the grind for me.

Sigh. So - The Manic Street Preachers. "Autumn Song". Is it their attempt to get in touch with their inner Trinny & Suzanna? Shudder. Are lyrics - which appear to be saying "What have you done to your hair, woman? Look, just stick it in some bunches, slap on some make up, and go out and ... er ... jump in a pile of leaves/play conkers/do something autumnal" - really going to be enjoyed by women up and down the land? Or are the Manics going to be responsible for a rash of door slamming and face slapping? Or is it a very clever comment on the October Revolution and the lessons that can still be learned from a study of Socialist economic theory?

Yup. Back to the grind.

Argyll adventure.

2007-07-22T20:11:00.000+01:00

We went to Argyll. On the bus.

It's a nice bus trip. Once you get out of the city, and assuming you are not stuffed at the bottom of a rucksack, there's a lot to see out of the window. Lochs. Hills. Sheep.

There's a stop in Inverary so you can admire the rain. Very pretty in the rain. I imagine I wouldn't want to leave if I saw Inverary in sunshine. There is a coffee shop on a boat. Or is it a ship.

Back to the bus. And on to Lochgilphead.

Lochgilphead isn't, to be honest, the most attractive place on Earth. It's a typical little Scottish town. A few shops. Couple of pubs. Stuff like that.

But it's a good place to stay if you are planning to travel about the area. And you have to stay in the Empire Travel Lodge. It used to be a Glasgow cinema. How brilliant is that? And the owners are the nicest people. They didn't even get annoyed when Madame managed to dye one of their lovely posh white pillow cases pink with her mad hair.

You can go for a walk in the grounds of Kilmory Castle. I did. There were photographs. Which someone accidentally deleted. Fiddling with the camera. In the pub. I'm not bitter. Oh, no.

Or there is Kilmartin Glen. It's just full of ancient piles of rocks. And big old ancient standing up rocks. And other rocks. Ok. That was the day that I stayed in bed and read "Bear". But I'm sure that it was all very moving and spiritual and probably full of echos of ancient pagan rituals and all that stuff. Didn't they worship bears? Maybe I should have gone after all. Doh!

She did have a bear with her. The mysterious Humph.

Humph the Bear. We met him in Lochgilphead. We rescued him from a certain gift shop. He agreed to look after Madame while I relaxed. He doesn't say much. He is never seen without his shiny white mac and his shiny brown boots. He's not that tall - about 5 or 6 cms - but I am rather intimidated.

Back to the travels.

He does look like he has been trained to kill with his bare paws, doesn't he? Sorry. Argyll ...

And the best bit. The Crinan Canal.

Very beautiful and peaceful.

We want a boat. We really want a boat. And a crew who'll see to all the twiddly stuff with ropes and locks and bridges. While we sit in the sunshine. Enjoying champagne and strawberries. And waving regally to passing horse riders and cyclists and that limping girl with the broken rucksack and the funny looking toy bear. Funny looking. Pah.

And we'll maybe stay at the Crinan Hotel. She had a drink there. It looked like it would be a nice place to stay. If we become millionaires.

And then it was time to get back on the bus.

holiday reading

2007-07-21T20:29:00.000+01:00

You need a good book when you're travelling. I'm always up for a interesting read but it's essential when you are on the move. For passing the time when you are stuck in traffic. For pondering in the sun. Sitting in a deck chair on a busy beach or a lazy afternoon of tea and cake with a city buzzing about you.

Hide in a good book when the crazy stranger on the train tries to tell you about his dodgy prostate. Or when an over-excited travelling companion, who really should get out more, starts to squeal "oooooo, look at the pritty ickle baby lambies ..."

Fan yourself on a hot day or shade your sun burnt snout from the midday sun. Not so useful in the rain perhaps. Swat annoying bug things. Fend off the pritty ickle baby lambies when they try to trample you to death and steal your picnic. They are not always as lovely and polite as the delightful Callie and Jerome.

If you're that kind of person, you can squiggle things in the margins and on the blank pages. There are *cough* other things you can use the paper for. Things I wouldn't know about. But I understand that the works of Mr Jeffrey Archer can be soft and absorbent. If not exactly a good read.

"Bear" by Jamie Smart would be a wonderful, twisted read wherever you are. I got the first volume - "Bear : Immortal" for my birthday and took it on our trip up to Argyll. To be honest I didn't do much holiday stuff because "Bear" was so brilliant and the Empire Travel Lodge was so comfy.

While She limped about the countryside, scowling at small children, and failing to attract a yacht owning multimillionaire, I caught up with the comic adventures of the dashing Bear. We have so much in common.

"He fights dastardly sorts! He drives fast cars!! He schmoozes the honeys!!"

Like me, he shares his life with a *cough, loser, cough* human companion. Unlike me, he has to battle the ultimate evil cat - called Looshkin. And when anyone presses his nose - eek - his head puffs up like a scary balloon. That never happens to me. Occasionally certain people will prod my snout and squeak "ding dong". It's not funny. Back to Bear.

Jamie Smart's witty, bobbly drawings can camouflage the dark and disturbing world of these stories. Bear is sent to fight in the First World War, is held captive with Dave Grohl, and forced to appear in - oh, the horror - a Jane Austen style costume drama.

(oh, and today is Jamie Smart's birthday - HAPPY BIRTHDAY!)

For the next part of the holiday - Fife, where the scary tiggers and the crazy people live - I had a copy of "The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse" by Robert Rankin. Hum. Now, Robert Rankin isn't, in my humble opinion, a great writer. He's no James Joyce. He's not even much of a Terry Pratchett. I found his writing style to be clunky and stumbling.

Yes, I know. I'm one to talk. But I've not had much education. Story for another day. Back to the Chocolate Bunnies ...

Or, more importantly, to the hero of the book - Toy City private detective Eddie Bear. The novel is an attempt to blend classic Chandleresque noir with nursery rhymes and fairy tales. Eddie's boss - Bill Winkie (Little Willie Winkie) - has gone missing. Young lad - Jack - comes to town to seek his fortune and drags Eddie into the hunt for a serial killer. Hum.

Eddie Bear is a well written, convincing character. Unfortunately he is the only one and the story drags whenever he is out of action. I'm not just saying this because he is a bear. A toy bear. Eddie's distress at the loss of his "bestest friend" is genuinely touching. He drinks, he has fun (but not with dollies), and struggles with paws. The things you can't do when you don't have thumbs ...

I won't be rushing to read the sequel but I'd have a look if it came my way. The second volume of Bear is on my Must Have book list.

Not said much about the actual holiday yet. Or the mystery bear. That will have to wait for another day.

Before I go. Have just been "approved" by the lovely people at Blog Catalog. So wavy paw to all my new friends and neighbours. Haven't had time to have a proper look about yet but I'll do my best to be a good blog animal. Thank you!