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Tag Archives: France

Driving cats, Shingy goes X-rated, whatever next?

S in bag (1)
Shingy or Shingalana as a kitten 1997, Theale. Bet you can’t see me!

S in bag (2)
Here I am! I know, I know, corny as heck captions. Sorry about that but my creativity (such as it is) appears to be on extended leave hence my current “cheating” by posting excerpts from one of my books. What! So shoot me!

My car is fast approaching what is politely termed as a classic car. Shame they can’t do the same with people. “Ooh, she’s getting on a bit” is done away with. You simply become classic.

And on that note, I’m turning classic.

I know this because I find myself searching for songs on the radio years ago I’d have gone to any lengths to avoid. The type of song my mum would listen to given half the chance but for the Battle of the Knobs. It was a constant friendly war twiddling back and forth from Radio One to Radio Two and back again. Nowadays not even Radio Two is classic enough for me. Shut up do! I’m depressing myself. I think it’s too poppy, although, Shingy and Ninja appear to like the songs. Squeaking with delight when one of their favourites gets airplay. From some artiste I’ve never even heard of.

Let’s get back to the car.

The other day, Tom and I had some urgent business to attend to. Special offers on 3 ply recycled loo roll don’t come along every day. About twice a year if memory serves. As do the rude remarks the previous time when I purchased the toilet roll. I don’t believe ten packs justifies asking personal questions about my proposed bowel movements. Informing me their strawberry air freshener was selling for half price.

I opened the door, hopped in and promptly strangled myself as I always do when I buckle up. Would crashing through a windscreen head first be so unbearable compared to being strangulated and having your oxygen supply cut off? And that’s when I saw it. It was sitting there looking at me. Can cat hairs look? This one seemed to be. Right there on the polished walnut area that surrounds the gearstick, all right, all right, the area in need of polishing that surrounds the gearstick but I do know for a fact that it had been hair-free.

“Look at that!” I hissed.
“Look at what?” Tom replied.
“That,” I said, pointing with my index finger before getting back to wrestling with the snake in a valiant attempt to prevent it from crushing me as it always manages to do.
“What?”
“What? What? That hair. It’s Shingy’s hair. I mean, how did it get there?”
“Floated off one of us?”
“That did not float. That was already there when we got into the car. You know what this means?”
“Rex cats in future?”
“No, he’s been sneaking out and cruising about in the car again.”

That would be it. Absolutely. A cat sneaking out in the middle of the night to go cruising in a car in which he can’t even reach the pedals let alone see anything considering he would be on eye level with the steering column.

Had I finally lost it? Not to mention he doesn’t even hold a current driving licence.

Had those feline reprobates finally driven me insane? This is highly possible but not in this instance. I know what you’re thinking. How would he manage to unlock the car door? By using Ninja’s abseiling equipment it would be possible unless he’s borrowing Ninja’s trampoline of which she has no further use thanks to her organic wonder medicine.

Take a sip and become rejuvenated. (And that’s a tale in itself).

I still think I should take some.

Jumping up and down with the car key in his paw only to hang on for dear life when he makes contact with the lock. Swinging there like a commuter on the London underground. No, that’s not what happens. You’re forgetting one thing. You’re forgetting who his mother is. Not me, his real one.

That’s right! Ninja, the super feline spy who taught James Bond everything he knows. Except for the intermittent smug mode, drinking Martinis, and the fact he’s permanently randy… actually cut that last bit. Yes, Ninja had to have her paw in this somewhere. Shingy couldn’t have done this alone. Not having to dust off and recruit Lieutenant Columbo for his professional opinion because I know full well what happens.

Actually, I don’t. It grieves me to say so. I’m gutted. I’m crying all over my Prada handbag and I call myself a writer?

Creative imagination? Huh! I can’t even work out how Ninja and Shingy manage to open the front door, scoot across to the car and open it, jump in, and prowl about in the middle of the night through the country lanes like Burke and Hare. Shingy propped up on a pile of cushions or my large exercise ball whilst doing his best not to puncture it. Ninja crouched on the floor operating the foot pedals.

Is that what I’m saying? Really?

Yes!

Well, my instincts do tell me that Ninja along with her special cache of MI6 tools has to be playing a part in all this. I only have to dredge up memories of Ninja lobbing furry mice that emit poisonous gases whilst escaping out of a second-storey window to realise as much. She does it all. I admit I joked about Shingy having to use the trampoline but Ninja’s participation in all this is highly probable. The bit that has me stumped is – how did it all begin?

Or, it did, until today.

I jumped in the car. Wrestled with the anaconda. Needed a tissue. I went to open the glove compartment when it fell open by itself, the catch is a bit temperamental, and that’s when I saw it. Inside the compartment I keep a bag of hard-boiled sweets should we ever break down in the middle of nowhere and have nothing to survive on apart from tree bark and assorted pear drops. I pulled the bag towards me and peered at it more closely. Yes! Teeth marks! And unless the interior of the car had sprung a leak that was cat spit on the bag.

Cat spit on the plastic bag. I should have known. What does Shingy do? Double up as a bloodhound? That cat will go to any lengths to chew on plastic. His preference is clear plastic bags. I mean, how could he smell plastic that’s inside a car twenty feet from the house? He could have seen me putting the sweets in there, I suppose. I mean, the way he creeps about the house and suddenly pops up can be more than a little disconcerting.

Suddenly you’ll find a pair of unblinking ginger eyes watching you from the top of the stairs, the bottom of the stairs, underneath the stairs. Swinging from the chandelier if we had one… in fact they’d both be swinging what with their non-aversion to perversion.

What do I mean? Huh! Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?

I feel compelled to warn you it is X-rated. I know. I know! What does X-rated have to do with cats? Normally, not much but when it comes to Cynthia Ninja Payne and her son – anything is possible.

To be continued…

Ninja Theale circa 1995-6
Theale, mid 1990s. Ninja caught in the act of ejecting my video. A few times on coming home from work I didn’t get to see “Neighbours” and had to catch up on Sunday with the omnibus version.

Orb in France (5)
And here she is, my classic, and looking a dirty one too but then she’d recently motored all the way from the UK to France. For all you ghostly adventurers out there what do you make of that orb-like thing floating to the rear left wheel of the vehicle?

 
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Posted by on March 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Snow Go

Christmas in Carnyorth

Christmas 2000 at home in Carnyorth, Cornwall, UK. Wouldn’t you agree the ladder is a nice touch?! Put out for Father Christmas? A helping hand down the chimney? Or is it strategically placed as modern art? Seriously.

Here we are a couple of days before Christmas and the birds are singing away, chirping their little hearts out they are. I refer to the bird sound emanating from my computer and not the real thing which are noticeable by their absence. On the other hand the fridge has been totally silent with not even a whisper of a seasonal groan along the lines of “Frosty the Snowman” which would have been somewhat apt.

It is cold but not cold enough for snow but perhaps it’s waiting to unleash itself during the midst of winter. It has been known.

When your knickers are straining at the elastic following your feast of turkey or soya nut roast and your nose is as red as Rudolph’s thanks to the copious amount of alcohol you have guzzled down your gullet, you should be in the right frame of silly mind to relax and snuggle down for a laugh and a titter with “Cat Tales”. It’s free and if that doesn’t grab you the two reviews on Nook might!

Happy Christmas to one and all. Until next week.

Rx

Cat Tales by Rosemary Bach-Holzer

http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Additional blogs and websites:
http://rbachholzer.wix.com/rbachholzer
http://rosemarybachholzer.weebly.com
http://rosemarybach-holzer.yolasite.com

Wolf Black:
http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/
http://rosibaho.wix.com/wolfblack
http://wolfblackwriter.yolasite.com
http://enigmawolfblack.weebly.com

 
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Posted by on December 23, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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More of a bleurgh than a boing.

Shingy France 2004

Shingalana, France, 2004. Either he can’t get on with the French language and he’s given up or else he’s wishing he’d purchased those sunglasses after all. That French sun can be vicious.

… continuing on from last week’s technology chat let’s include electronic goods in that, shall we? Why not indeed.

Okay! I have four computers currently using two and this is not anything grand it’s only because I buy a laptop, don’t get on with it, buy another, ditto and eventually end up by purchasing a hard disk and monitor purely so I can use my older-style keyboard which is what I should have done in the first place.

And what is this new type of keyboard anyway? No bounce to the keys whatsoever. When you hit a key it’s supposed to give a bit of a boing but not so with these new keypads you get more of a bleurgh than a boing. Plus the keys are off-centre which means when I want to write for example, “typing blogs” it comes out as “roingd vilog”. Who’s clever idea was that? Someone who either dictates a lot or uses pen and paper as no self-respecting typist would have re-arranged a perfectly good keyboard by shunting everything upon it to one side like last week’s fish.

And my point? The laptop makes noises like a chirping bird. Confuses the cat. Confuses me. It’s chirping away right now. I can hear it on the other side of the room. And that’s another thing. My fridge groans. It’s 0200 in the morning. It’s dark, I’m sleepy, just awoken and feeling the need to feed my ulcer, it’s between a yoghurt rice cake and a fruity bar when all of a sudden the fridge lets out this ghostlike groan which makes my blood gelid. I read somewhere of fridges producing noises or else they are picking up radio waves as it’s been said they sound just like Elvis Presley singing. Seriously. Rather Elvis then this withering groan. Most disconcerting.

Be well and keep warm. I will do my best to achieve this. Bye for now.

http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Additional blogs and websites:
http://rbachholzer.wix.com/rbachholzer
http://rosemarybachholzer.weebly.com
http://rosemarybach-holzer.yolasite.com

Wolf Black:
http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/
http://rosibaho.wix.com/wolfblack
http://wolfblackwriter.yolasite.com
http://enigmawolfblack.weebly.com

 
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Posted by on December 16, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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A Charging Bull

Image

And as usual my picture has nothing to do with the week’s blog entry whatsoever although it could be depicted as on a rampage. Yes, it is I underneath the protection mask in France getting handy with a hammer. Ooh, look at all those orbs… or are they dust particles hmm… and did I ever pay for working like a brickie. My body capitulated and I was good for nothing. Serves me right.

A charging bull? That’s me as I am a Taurus and as for the charging bit, well, not so much I don’t have the energy to get mad and charge. At least not at the same time. So, why is there smoke escaping from my nostrils and not because I am inhaling on a cigarette? It’s because of technology. Again. Technology and I do not get along. I do take some of the blame when things blow up or break down but not all of it. What was I attempting to do I hear you ask? All right, let me pretend. I was attempting something really hard. I was trying to open a document. Yes! That’s it. Did it open? No. Instead I was presented with a whirry circle that looks like a plumber’s washer going round and round with a message saying “Gerrof you daft bag you have no business being here in the first place” or something along the lines of “Word not responding”.

Tell me about it.

Puts me in mind of another time of DVD players suddenly freezing and totally unresponsive to a person not a million miles away from here, repeatedly bashing the remote upon their knee and swearing at the DVD player whilst lobbying it with threats of going back to watching videos.

None of which works.

To end on a somewhat familiar note. What! So shoot me.

If this struck a chord first of all I’d love to hear from you and secondly, why not download “Musings Amusing” where real-life anecdotes and stories including my escapades with DVD players, hair dye disasters and pawnographic cats are encapsulated in this FREE eBook. Grab a coffee, definitely decaf if you have an ulcer, snuggle down and click on the link below to find a download to suit you.

http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Additional blogs and websites:

http://rbachholzer.wix.com/rbachholzer

http://rosemarybachholzer.weebly.com

http://rosemarybach-holzer.yolasite.com

Wolf Black:

http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/

http://rosibaho.wix.com/wolfblack

http://wolfblackwriter.yolasite.com

http://enigmawolfblack.weebly.com

 
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Posted by on December 9, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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