Coco!

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

What happened to the September stuffie?

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

But - ooooooooooooooo! - what's that?

*tap. tap. tap*

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

*happy dance*

Unenchanted August

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

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

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

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

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

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

June Bugs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April in passing

Things I have not been doing this month -

- watching "Les Quatre Cents Coups"

- making microwave cupcakes

- walking through Glen Vale

- knitting

- ogling shoes on Etsy

- teeny tiny knitting

Things I have done this month -

- sat in the sunshine and watched me lettuces growing

- played in the park with Mr Flynn

- dozed, snoozed, and napped

- twittered

Sticky February - or - fluff and marriage

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not much time in there for a husband.

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

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

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

The Bear Identity - a secret life in pictures

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

Bell, book, and tealight

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.