Snow and shadows

Snow seems to do extraordinary things to humans -- cause projectile fights, close airports, that sort of thing, but I rather like it. There are new friends to play with:

old friends just back from hotter climes:

a refreshing lack of Saturday afternoon riffraff:

and ample opportinuty for absurdist signage.

Unexpected late birthday presents, or why it's good to have larger friends with lights in their feet!

On getting older

Birthdays, as humans call them, are curious occasions. Getting measurably older seems to be both a source of existential angst and an occasion for frivolous merrymaking, and these effects are compounded when an unusually large number of humans celebrate such events within the same somewhat nebulous time period. No doubt there will be more on this very subject in the next few days, but I feel that a brief account of my experiences is likely to be of public edification.

Birthdays, then, seem to be about:

meeting new friends in civilised settings;

old friends - from the days of inadvertent acquesextian mammary imitations, no less - and their new hairstyles;

taking gracefully to being scolded, since humans are allowed to be as unreasonable as they like once a year;

and just occasionally getting hot under the collar before crawling home to bed.

Soon, my friends, soon!

A rosé is a rosé is a rosé

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

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.

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!

Of unexpected châteaux and the objects to be found on their doorsteps

When he wasn't excalming to all and sundry about how the country really was divided into three parts, the human's last Gallic expedition seemed to revolve largely around the search for a suitable château.

This time around, he seems to have found one -- conveniently linked to public transport, no less -- in the most unexpected of places. The châtelaine is expected.
The setting is most pleasant, the interior is most spacious and the furnishings most commodious. Administrative and financial bureaucrats of various stripes seem unexectedly eager to please. The bibliotheca quadriturricula subterraneana is closed for holidays, but there is a well-catalogued library of several thousand volumes on the premises. The natives who maintain it are more than friendly -- books are not the only object occasionally to be found on the doorstep when returning from an excursion by bisorbiculus liberalis:

I'm not complaining!

Return of the killer croissants!

Time passes, time passes -- it's been nearly a year since the last croissant experiment, and the humans made a much improved effort with proper bread flour to hold the butter in, and a cold day to help roll out smoothly. New and seasoned toureurs managed square corners and nicely twirled triangles; increased sobriety meant that there were no vegemite and nutella combinations to distinguish between as rivers of butter flowed out of the oven.

Voilà:

Strange but true

Proof that there's sometimes more to friendship than chasing each other around the garden -- that's if the photo can be believed!

Primus inter pares

I'm not sure about the appellation "First Dog," but I'm glad to see the ranks of well-behaved junior hounds swelling by the day! Do you approve, Pudding? Speaking of which, I really must remind the human to get on with the job of handling Steve's correspondence with the White House...

A house for a hound!

With thanks to the crew from Steve's World, and to the many openings afforded by the back shed!

It's best to consider things from every angle

...not to mention share the love.

And now for something fully sick...

First the human decided to become a dogfather, now everyone's doing it! There's a fluffy-tailed cat watching me from half way up the stairs as I type, and next thing I know another favourite human is talking of rescuing the following:
Sausage hound, 9 months old, black gloss with front flame job and white highlights, long wheelbase, lowered. Stock exhaust system with oscillating rear spoiler. Custom-made ramp recommended to protect rear end on large bumps. Will run on paprika blend but answers to Pudding.No promises, mind you!

A Hippo's Château is his, well, Château

DON'T MESS WITH HORACE!

For those who thought acceptance speeches were all style and no substance

meet Steve Obama Fletcher, newly arrived in the F-H household.
answers to Hussy!