Mulled whine

The humans have once more seen fit go go away for the weekend without me. I'm not impressed -- especially since they returned boasting of a high-speed train trip complete wirth gluhwein service and (so I'm informed by one of the party) a very civilised thigh-level blow heater in the lavatory.

More to come just as soon as I stop sulking!

Of hippo-solidarity and human hypocrisy

(brought to you by market forces and mass transit in the 16th arrondissement)
I find it pays to be sceptical when it comes to humans -- you know where you are when they're deliberately screwing the place over, but things get rather murkier when they claim to be doing universal good.
I'm all for saving the planet -- not to mention the non-potamical hippos, perfectly fine creatures -- but surely putting up posters to denounce the fact that horses who spend their lives in suburban equestrian centres sometimes get eaten is beyond silly. How about altering the supply end of the equation? Or is it just that humans out there are squeamish about serving to guests something their little brats have sat on?
Can't say I really blame them...

Of extraordinary derailleurs, and seals caught drinking champagne from sheepskin slippers...

I'm sure there's a link somewhere!

'Pataphysics

'Pataphysics is to metaphysics what metaphysics is to physics. A physical statement would be along the lines of "I have a brother and he likes cheese." A metaphysical statement would be "If I had a brother he would like cheese." A 'pataphysical statement would be "I don't have a brother and he likes cheese." And so forth. As you can see, 'pataphysics makes far more sense than most human behaviour.
Observe the following image, taken during a 'pataphysical demonstration of the precautions to be taken against zombification -- instead of making bad films about the whole sorry business, it would suffice to tie one's jaw shut when unattended to prevent one's soul from escaping.
A strip consisting of nine sheets of toilet paper -- what the French artfully term "P.Q.," managing to be both polite and vulgar and to deploy a bad pun in the course of two letters -- should suffice when tied correctly. Tourists, small children, the elderly and the infirm are allowed up to twelve to make for easier knots without the attendant danger of rupturing delicate perforations.
Yours in Faustroll!

Of velocipedes and boopotamy

I have been much neglecting my writings lately, sadly, as there has been much to do keeping the human on the straight and narrow. This became urgent three weeks ago when he decided to embark with an intrepid colleague on an autumn jaunt along the Canal du Nivernais, braving rain and pinot noir in pursuit of the Burgundinian sublime.

Sweet showers rightly belong in April -- it must have been the humans' decision to put up for the night in a pilgrims' residence that led both rain and gravitation to make the experience as authentic as possible. Complain they might, but Romanesque basilicae are designed to be built on top of hills that are intended to be walked up, in the dark and if possible on one's knees.

Sunday lunch of wild boar stew and complimentary pâté sounds tempting -- sorry Fidel! -- but it was quite a relief to have a weekend to myself in a nice warm kitchen. Greetings from canalside cows notwithstanding, I think I got the better end of the deal.

Mushrooms!

The secret to successful risotto while entertaining people, the human assures me, is cutting everything up before they arrive so the rice is only cooked at the last minute."Trompettes de mort" -- my favourite -- at right!

All creatures great and small

The human is unquestionably a dog person at heart, although good manners -- or is it simply laziness? -- prevents him actively from encouraging the chasing of cats. (His position on split infinitives is unorthodox to say the least, though we do find common ground on the spiny topic of gerunds -- medium-rare please.) But I digress.
I, on the other hand, am a far more reasonable creature -- I put up with humans, I enjoy the company (if not always the over-inquisitive molars) of distinguished hounds, and some of my best friends are fugitive porcine socialists. I can provide documentary evidence of my correspondence with fluffy cats:

While I'm all for inter-species cooperation, I can't help noticing who's doing most of the work in this picture, and who's simply sitting there looking smug. I certainly hope these three faithful hounds haven't been tricked into strikebreaking.