For the first time in years I’ve lost weight to the point it shows – to others and to the waistline of my stretch jeans. Sure it’s only 10lbs/4.5 kg so far, but I’m impressed. I don’t care how long it’s taken.
The only negative for this Brit, I’ve one less thing to moan about – that I can’t lose weight no matter what I try. 🙂
A prepackaged, microwave/oven-cookable veggie burrito. Beans, cheese & roasted peppers.
So how?
More frequent and longer dog walks, and I’ve started jogging with Pumpkin dog (1 year old now) during them. The jogs are only a few hundred yards/metres at a time though, mainly because she needs to stop to sniff things. It’s honestly worth the aching muscles.
Although I’ve eaten more healthily for a couple of years now (health scare) this time around there’s been no measurable change in diet.
At the start of 2025 I’d intended to blog more frequently. And here we are, 2 months since my last post and back to being a content consumer.
I’m not disengaged but yet again there’s too much happening in the world for me to offer up my opinions without offending someone/everyone, so I’ll…
We’re 2-1/2 weeks into a garage conversion – having a garage too small for our cars and previously full of 18 years of stored crap turned into a room suitable for our girls to entertain in. Or maybe one to escape to and shut the world out.
A partially cleared garage prior to conversion into a second reception room.
Apart from the tradesmen breaking our hot and cold water and central heating system (after they’d moved the boiler out of the room for a reason I still cannot fathom) it’s gone well so far, but we’re now at the snagging stage. It’s not a small list.
We also had new flooring laid for 50% of the downstairs area, and apart from being unable to shut the kitchen door that’s oh so nearly done.
The house is dusty throughout and strewn with stuff we can’t really put back yet, not until we’ve had the job completed and we’ve signed it off – and yeah, paid what’s left.
Today I’ve got a bad back, the worst pain in years, so everything is making me grumpy – especially today’s New York Times ‘Spelling Bee’ puzzle and its inability to allow ‘eutectic’ – which is somehow not in its word list. Bah!
On Thursday I signed up to the Butternut Box dog food delivery service and was pleasantly surprised to see they’d deliver an introductory pack of 2 weeks of food the very next day.
The sign up and variety selection process was pleasant enough I suppose, and I looked forward to getting, er… told Pumpkin to look forward to some lovely new food.
She’s been a very fussy eater of late, probably because she’s started the transition from puppy to lady dog. So we’ve tried introducing her to new varieties of biscuits, wet food…
Anyway, as soon as their delivery partner’s email dropped in my inbox my heart sank. dpd have a well-deserved negative reputation. But hey, how difficult is it to deliver a box within a 1-hour window?
Bear in mind I’d instructed Butternut Box that our safe space is to the right of the house behind the bins. In the shade. Bear in mind I’d already informed dpd too. Easy.
I arrived home just after my wife had returned with daughter1, to a box dropped upside-down at the front door in the heat of mid-afternoon sun. The contents had started to defrost but at least Butternut Box said they could be refrozen if still cold to the touch…
So I complained.
I tried to complain.
The reply-to email address is a ‘no-reply’. The from email address was returned to me with AI instructions to try another one, which elicited an AI response letting me know that I could save a safe space location in my Butternut Box account and with dpd.
Sigh.
Right, let’s close the account.
That’s not possible without a message to either an AI or via a telephone call. So I asked the AI to delete my account. Nope, had to wait for a human to contact me to do it.
So I waited.
Just tried signing into the account in the app and on the web site. Nope, it’s now an invalid email or password.
Er…
They shut the account without a request for feedback. To be fair it’s what I asked for, but it all seems just so impersonal.
No, I cannot recommend Butternut box and I emphatically cannot recommend their delivery partner dpd.
But hey, at least Pumpkin has a new branded bandana. It’s too small to fit her, but hey we can’t have everything.
A Butternut Box branded bandana in a table with, in the background Pumpkin, a female black cavapoo dog. She’s waiting to be let out to chase a neighbourhood black cat invading her back garden.
The advice I was given was it was over-watered. Or under-watered. Or needed more light. Or had contracted a plant disease (despite not being close to any others for a couple of years).
So this is what I’m left with.
A sad and utterly bedraggled peace lily plant.
After cutting all the dead stems off I teased the dead half of the root structure away and threw it out, worked some compost in and around the roots, gave it a light watering and will leave it a week before its next feed.
Oh, the pot liner had drain holes in the base, and I’d simply not thought to empty the stagnant water out again – which is why I got a big mug full last time. Yes, of course I sniffed it this time!
The worst that’s going to happen is it dies and I buy a fourth. Or a cactus. But after seeing a couple of recent new leaves I’m hopeful I can assist in resurrecting itself.
Or, maybe I’ll do a search for “un-killable house or office plants”!
Pumpkin puppy had her first major haircut a few weeks ago, going from this delightfully shaggy dog:
Pumpkin puppy, a cavapoo dog in need of a haircut.
To this somewhat severe poodle-styled cut:
Pumpkin looking surprised after a rather over-zealous haircut. It’d be fair to say none of us are happy with the cut – making her look more like a poodle than a poodle-Cavalier King Charles spaniel hybrid.
Though we’ve used the grooming place for 10 years (with Ruby dog), and though Pumpkin’s first trim was fine we probably won’t be going back again. They completely ignored my wife’s instructions to give Pumpkin an overall trim, just clearing her eyes and arse of the longest hair…
To be fair, she can see now. And her hair will grow to look more like her ‘breed’ should.
My wife bought me a CD (Compact Disc) for Valentine’s Day, for my car, to be played when she’s not in it. Though she respects the influence the band had on the music recording industry she’s not a fan of Talking Heads. She’ll listen to other people’s cover versions though, and is especially fond of Simply Red’s ‘Heaven’. Weird.
But I have a shiny new CD.
Talking Heads ‘The Best Of Talking Heads’ compilation album. Pumpkin puppy wonders if she can chew the case. No Pumpkin, over my dead body.
It took way longer than I wanted to fight my way through the plastic wrapper, the pull tab on the strip running around it was completely hidden. Fingernails scrabbling at the wrapper overlap at the top edge of the case used to be the way I got in, and today was no exception.
Extracted it, placed it in the DVD player under the TV, closed the tray and pressed ▶️.
And this is what I see.
A useless CD track listing in a TV, indicating only Track 1, Track 2, etc., though it does show track durations.
What century are we living in?
Well, right now I am living in the nineteen-seventies and eighties – matching the dates of the tracks (from 1977 to 1988). And do you know, it wasn’t a bad time to grow up after all.
Anyway, for me there’s just one track missing from this 18 track album – and it’s ‘Making Flippy Floppy’.
My favourites on this disc though?
All. They made enough to leave a tremendous legacy, but not enough to get tired of. And while I like to think after all these years I’ve heard all of their stuff I know I haven’t.
Ok, ok.
‘This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)’. It’s on right now.
I wanted it to be played on the last App.net social network’s Monday Night Dance Party, but making the request spelled the DJ’s @ name incorrectly.
A conversation with my wife, the evening before Valentine’s Day 2025:
Me, “How much cock do you think is in there?”
She, “12%?”
Me, “No, it’s only 2%.”
She, disappointed, “…”.
Me, “How about leekie?”
She, “3%?”
Me, “No, it’s 11%!”
She, “…” again.
She’d bought me a 400g tin of Baxters ‘Cock-A-Leekie” soup. Its blurb:
“The finest leeks, succulent chicken, tender rice and freshly grated juicy carrots – that’s what makes our Cock-a-Leekie soup the very best. No wonder this traditional Scottish recipe is loved by so many.”
– Audrey Baxter.
From the Baxters shop site, a photo of a typical tin of Baxters Cock-A-Leekie soup.
The area of Mollie cat’s back immediately ahead of her tail has always been sensitive. I recently noticed it had become ‘crusty’ under her fur – as-if she had a bad case of lumpy dandruff, and what I’d term hyper-sensitive (I am not a nurse/doctor).
We got home from the vet earlier. It’s fleas. The vet ran a fine-toothed comb through the fur, rolled the flakes/flecks, whatever they were, in a paper towel and found leftover blood. Flea poo.
So Mollie got a flea and worming treatment, a steroid injection for the sensitivity to touch (she licks and bites when it happens), and I signed her up to the vet’s health plan to reduce ongoing bills.
She’s 15 and I’m, er… a few multiples of that. It’s my very first experience of fleas, aside from the amateur nit nurse in primary school mistaking my dandruff for tiny organisms. My mum resented the implication and marched down to school to confront the errant lady, despite what we now know about the link between nits and good cleanliness. (Anyone, at any time, with clean or dirty hair it matters not, can get head lice and nits, and it’s not difficult to get rid of them).
Anyway, Pumpkin puppy already had her treatment on plan so I just need to get Stella cat’s done, and get her signed up to the plan.
And some flea spray for the house. And wash yet more bedding and…
…maybe get the girls to mention it to their friends, some of whom might be mature enough to not judge…
And only now, as I write this, has my skin started to…
Last night was Burns Night, when Scots worldwide traditionally celebrate the life of poet Robert Burns by reciting poetry, eating haggis, tatties & neeps. Or something like that.
We couldn’t find a veggie haggis this year so my wife bought a steak for my youngest daughter and me, to go with the veggies. I cooked it medium rare and cut a small slice as it was resting. I’m nurturing a cough started the day before and unfortunately coughed, accidentally swallowing the meat, which stuck in my throat.
Uncomfortable? Hell yes! I started to retch so went to the smallest room, hoping the meat went either down or out. It eventually went down.
Returning to the kitchen hoping to just relax and feel less miserable, Stella, the cat we’ve had since October and adopted in December, jumped off the counter with my steak. It fell on the floor as I shouted and as I reached for it she re-acquired it and ran between my legs, dragging the steak under her.
I finally caught her in the living room, shouted again and grabbed the steak off her. Straight back on the plate, a dollop of tomato ketchup squeezed beside the veg, and I sat down to eat. Finally.
