me by her

Doing her bidding

Everything's been on hold this evening while the seconds ticked by on Ebay. Sweep. As an axe-wielding rock god. On a t-shirt. She won.

I've been passing the time by thinking about Window Box Squirrel. He's gone missing again. She doesn't care. She's getting ready to set up the netting and gun turrets again. Spring has sprung and plants are growing. Pah.

Would I like one of these? Would it be better in jelly babies?

Home fun

She's out at a gig or something. I have to make my own entertainment. The best fun a bear can have, without dancing girls, a bouncy castle or a trebuchet, is a tube of glow sticks and a dark room. Be your own rave. Suddenly it's 1988. Second summer of love. Bear is in the house, giving it paw. Acieed!


She's back early. Lights on and sopping wet cagoul right down on top of me. The evening ends with herbal tea and old time radio for her and damp ears for me.

For all the damp bears ...

Hum for a Sunday afternoon

I can't believe that I'm the only creature to read a Winnie the Pooh story and think "Piglet + jar of honey = honey roast ham".

Holiday in my head

Yay! She went out today. An end to the death bed scenes. And I spent the day doing nothing. Nothing at all. And I did it lying down. I could have spent some time pondering the Japanese Army's campaign of cuteness (as seen in Tokyo Mango). I could have thought big poetic thoughts. Could have thought more about the Oasis problem. Didn't. Did nothing. It was brilliant. I wonder if it's too late to become a sloth.

She's come back with 2 new alarm clocks. Yes, mornings are fun in this house. And more clothes. Tsk. She's brought me a copy of Lenore. Thought it was a bit babyish at first but then I got to the bit where the Easter Bunny got squished. Big fun. And Samurai Sloth. I could be Ninja Sloth. That's my plan for tomorrow. Indolence by stealth.

Idzigs

Another image from Uncle S. - she's had this on her LibraryThing profile and is allowing me to use it in return for not having her put down.

I think she's starting to recover from her cold - the death bed scenes are getting to be less Little Women and more Norma Desmond. My head is still loose but I'm not complaining.

Nearly forgot - idzigs = like a bear with a sore head - in Latvian, allegedly. See also: dusmigs ka velns (cross as a bear) and laca saplosits (mauled by a bear). Latvia. It's going to be fun, fun, fun.

Pierre the Naughty Pirate Bear

This is beyond brilliant. Uncle S. did it. He's in the Starry Wisdom Cult.

In other news, she is still has a cold.

would she lie?

She went off to some book festival thing. And she comes back with a denim skirt, 2 t-shirts and a bright red cagoul. Apparently masonic raccoons forced her into Handbags & Gladrags and made her buy things. She lost the evil rodents by running into Iceland where armed penguins made her buy microwave pizzas and ice cream. The world is clearly a more dangerous place than I had realised.

I was planning to spend the afternoon trying to work out why Oasis are so popular. But Liam Gallagher frightens me. Spent a while cowering under a cushion. Had to be lured out with a copy of Transmetropolitan. Read it while she caught up with Y:The Last Man. No housework has been done.

One more from Planet Ham - Pug on a ball. I love this picture. I love Planet Ham. I think she saw it mentioned on Neil Gaiman's blog. So I'll forgive her. Raccoons are nocturnal.

the waiting list

I'm trying not to move about too much. I've been a bit fragile. I've been on the waiting list for surgery for months now. And then I was dancing. To the Sugababes. "Bet you look good on the dance floor". And some of my stitching popped. I didn't panic. It has happened before. They can rebuild me. But I'm feeling a bit tatty and old and unloved. And if she doesn't sort me out soon I'm going private. Ooooooooo, and look at the tartan bunnets.

Sveiki

Sveiki. That's Latvian for "please don't eat me, I'm not a doughnut". Or something. Maybe it's "hello". Humpf. We're going to Riga. That's in Latvia. Probably.

Last year we were definately going to Berlin. Berlin - city of bears! We own it. It belongs to the bears. They don't give out a best film Oscar - they give out a Golden Bear! How cool is that. And there's Steiff. And Cabaret - divine decadence, burlesque, and Liza Minnelli, when she was still young and sexy.

"The World Cup's on". "Yes, the World Cup is on." "In Berlin." "Yes, in Berlin."

I like a bit of footie. I wear my Partick Thistle scarf with pride. I enjoy a bit of a kickabout. Or I would do if my footieball hadn't "disappeared".

She would rather lick marmite off John Prescott than have anything to do with the Beautiful Game. We weren't going to Berlin until it was all safely over. Humpf.

So this year we are definately, definately going to Berlin. We have the map. I've been practising. "Mein Name ist Bear und ich bin ein Bär. Sie sind ein sehr schönes Steiff."

But we're not going to Berlin now. We are going to Riga now. Because.

I expect that they toast bears over an open fire for fun there. In fact, here we are, the Bear Slayer. I'm going to die - my head pulled off by some big, fuzzy eared Baltic maniac.

I might just go to Berlin without her. Or Vienna.