Fluff in a time of grumpiness

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.

No country for small bears

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.