Sticky February - or - fluff and marriage

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not much time in there for a husband.

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

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

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

Excited bear in an ill fitting hat

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

Just let me get me ill fitting hat ...

A pawful of dust

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

Ho hum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ho and hum. Very. Quite.

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

The greatest Christmas film ever made!

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

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

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

Cries for help and happy birthdays

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

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

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

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.