There's Life In That Old Goat Yet

These pictures taken during the Sarkozy state visit to Britain made me smile. Old Philip, in his 87th year, is still as much of an oul rake as ever he was. And what of Sarkozy's sleekit sideways glance? He fully approves of his missus flirting with the Prince, doesn't he?

And then there's Her Maj - she just keeps on doing that stoic Queen thing. Bless her.

A Bunch of Flowers

On Friday evening I received a surprise visit (and a bunch of flowers) from a young woman I'd last seen in a courthouse nearly fifteen years ago. I'd known her since her babyhood but we'd fallen out of touch as people often do.

Her story is not mine to tell but this I'll share. She had a very difficult and troubled start in life but she also had spirit, awareness, charm and a great deal of intelligence. All that was evident even when she was a little child.

And I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gave me on Friday to see that all those qualities she had as a child are still with her - and that despite all the hardships she suffered as a little girl she has built on her gifts and grown to be a good woman and a loving mother.

Thanks for the flowers.

The News From Cully

We are harbouring a dangerous dog who ought to be included in the list of banned dogs. So far she has attacked Bonnie, Willie Drennan and Holly de Cat. Only Holly gave a good account of herself. Yes. Gracie's back in Cully as her other grandpeople have got dog-fearing visitors this weekend.

Other news. Pearlie's test results have not revealed anything too sinister so we're all feeling a lot happier about that.

Then as soon as Bert allowed himself to relax he got man-flu which necessitated cowering under a woolly blanket, emerging only occasionally to play the clarinet. That wretch young Rooney has given him another clarinet which has fired up his enthusiasm for the honking hatefulness of it.

Rosie is also on the mend and still sporting the pink bandage. She lost her bark for a week but it returned this morning when Gracie rocked up. Bert got the gate up. It is hideous looking but I suppose it will do till we get one.

And apart from that I'm up to my eyes in overdue assignments so... really must dash!

A Scary Looking Man

I had business at Tinkerton today and while I was there I bumped into the Scary Looking Man. The SLM is about my own age and has spent the last three decades in some institution or another, from prison to psychiatric units to hostels. He still suffers from psychiatric problems but mainly he would have what is described as 'behavioural issues' which, roughly translated, means he is very hard to work with. He's his own worst enemy etc. etc.

He is the kindest person and lives to help people out. It is a form of attention seeking and can be quite exhausting for the person or persons he wants to help. He's repetitive and obsessive and his language is appalling - and he gives it all out in a thick Glasgow accent.

So I took him for a walk to the Ecos park. For his pleasure, my own and to give the staff on duty some respite. He had his task which was to manage Bonnie on her lead. We all had a lovely time, took plenty of bread to feed the swans and ducks and of course the SLM had to engage everyone we met in conversation. This chat mostly went the way of him reassuring them that Bonnie 'wouldn't touch them' but if anything I'd say his appearance unnerved our fellow walkers more than the big shaggy dog.

I wish I'd had my camera with me when he was feeding the swans for his grizzled old face was a picture of pleasure and concentration. The swans were hissing and beating their wings warning Bonnie and me not to get too near but they were tolerant enough with the SLM who was dishing out the bread and stale cake.

On our way back to the car he said,

"I enjoyed that - giving bread to the ducks. But they fucking swans are fucking, scary cunts."