A rosé is a rosé is a rosé

Or at least it is by this stage of the festive season!

Not all snow is static

or pride (and a cold bottom in an unheated loo) comes before a fall!

Snow falling on Vélibs

and on secret Parisian gardens...

and on other vegetation...

...but remember folks: keep off the grass!

Anarchy in the Helvetian Confederation

Well, the humans have been doing their best to butter me up with chocolate and appenzeller cheese, though as usual they've been busily talking about the deer sausage they enjoyed for a post-concert bed-picnic rather than actually saving me any. The ukulele concert -- as they never seem to tire of reminding me -- was excellent fun, with old favourites and a couple of new numbers washed down with quite respectable Italian champagne. I'm told the sight of an eminently respectable Swiss audience being warmed up to sing the chorus to a Simon and Garfunkel arrangement of a Sid Vicious classic is really quite something!
Meanwhile the city's other marvels included mulled wine aplenty, hospitable and moderately-priced model-train-themed hostelries, and a ferryboat powered by nothing other than the current of the Rhine. The boat is attached to a pulley running on a cable running across the river, much in the manner of an aqueous flying fox, and crosses sideways facing into the current, its movement regulated by the position of its rudder. Culture, other than that offered by ukuleles, was not forgotten: the humans had much to say about the excellent Kunstmuseum and were even kind enough to bring me a photograph of a friendly-looking creature overlooking the courtyard ice rink.
Perhaps we can become penpals.

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.