We always remember Daddy's birthday even though he died five years ago when we were only two. Up to now, we have spent the week in which his birthday falls at the Bolthole, and had a quiet day during the course of which a bottle of champagne has bitten the dust. We, of course, are not boozy boys, but apparently Mr. Sweep, one of our predecessors, was very partial to a nip or two and on one notable occasion helped himself to someone's pint of beer whilst out in the pub. Apparently he also used to do the rounds when parties were held, helping himself from people's glasses. But not us!
Some people say "Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits" on the first day of the month for good luck. Others say "White rabbits, brown foxes," whilst there are some who say "Pinch, punch first of the month." It will come as no surprise we are sure, when we tell you that at Teale Towers we say all three. However, it has to be the first thing a chap says after midnight and unfortunately, we missed it this time around. Well these things happen when a chap gets preoccupied.
I, Scamp, the Pawsome one am mightily offended. I am told that I am going grey around the gills. I thought it was only fish who had gills? Going grey is for old people and I am only seven. O.K. - and a half but that is nothing! Even she who thinks she should be obeyed at all times isn't grey and she is ancient. But apparently my brown patches on my face are nearly white. They used to match the patch around my tail piece which is still vibrant thankfully, but what has happened to my face patches I can't imagine; maybe they just faded in all that sunshine.
Well obviously I was not going to let my brother Pickle hog the limelight, so listen up! Scamp has seized the platform!
I have commandeered this post, which means my brother Scamp, known to me sometimes as the Squirt, will probably follow suit with the next one. Where Pickle leads Scamp invariably follows. I like to think that I am the leader of the three of us. Unfortunately, so does Scamp on occasion, whilst Herself insists that she should be obeyed at all times and is therefore our illustrious leader. This produces potential problematicals. (JRT speak technical term.)
Another agent rejected her novel this morning, which is obviously disappointing. However, it was a very encouraging message telling her not to give up as it is, after all, a very subjective industry. So she is determined to crack on. But first she has to get organised. Cleaning isn't easy because we don't like it—any of it —but some serious tidying up is called for. Apparently she has never been particularly tidy and was constantly nagged by her mother who told her as a child that a tidy room showed a tidy mind so she says she is on a mission to get organised. But obviously we need to get this blog together and she finds a glass of wine conducive to creativity...