What have the Romans ever done for us?

Another day out at the Open Air Museum

Well, they gave us a pat, although there didn't seem to be any food forthcoming: mind you, they looked a bit short on pockets to keep any treats in. They looked a bit short on hemlines too - it wasn't the warmest day and those skirts definitely looked a bit draughty to us.
But they rattled and clanked around in their armour and obligingly explained about Roman stuff to the Madwoman while we checked out the bits of naked feet we could see through their sandals ... and no, we didn't look up their skirts - we are polite and well-brought up young wippitts!

Thanks for asking ...

Can't say we've exactly been swamped with get well cards, let along get well treats, since Angel's report on her bee-bite ... the blank space above reflects the response - or rather, the total absence of one. Not even so much as an email enquiring how she is ...

The Madwoman seemed to think that taking us for an outing to see the Tudors at the Open Air Museum might cheer us up, so along we went, bright and early. Not much sign of any Tudors initially, then we stumbled across four of them hovering hopefully round a pot suspended over a smoky fire. The only ones we spotted, but then we suppose that after 400 odd years, Tudors are a bit thin on the ground these days. They had a black Labrador with them which was bumbling around loose: not very Tudorish - a brace or two of mastiffs or a couple of handfuls of pocket Beagles would have been more authentic - the Labrador didn't even exist at that time. Unlike visitors, Tudors obviously also have a problem reading the signs at the entrance asking everyone to please keep dogs on a short lead: evidently literacy must have been even worse then than now, although we find it hard to believe ...

Ow

Doing my own first aid

I was running around this morning, chasing after my squeaky stuffed bunny and generally minding my own business when a bee jumped up from the grass and bit me on the leg. I ran back to the Madwoman, shaking my leg and she removed the sting, but it still hurts. She has given me some Apis and bathed it with a cold compress, neither of which are what I want. It hurts! I'm suffering! I need treats!
All expressions of sympathy are welcome, but more importantly, please remember that get-well-soon treats are more crucial to making a speedy recovery.

Bean there, done that

Good ... but not as good as Kongs

Once again the Madwoman has been hogging the computer all week, so we have had no chance to post: the only reason we're on now is because she's otherwise distracted for a few minutes in the kitchen. Baking treats for us? No. Blanching beans or some such nonsense. Apparently the next glut of produce from the allotment is about to be damsons - equally useless as far as we're concerned. In between the jam-making, blanching, preserving and chutneying she's complaining about people who never return jars and as we said before, hogging the computer. But we don't care - we know how to entertain ourselves. We've just played tag round the dining room table and in a minute we're planning to stare at the Madwoman until, overcome with guilt, she gets out a stuffed Kong for us. We know there are a couple of frozen ones in the freezer, so we won't be fobbed off with anything less. Those blue pyramids which you have to bat around to get the treats out of them are alright, but a bit like hard work for what you get out of them. Kongs are much better.

If wippitts could fly ...

Yeah? Come down here and say that!

Have you missed us? The Madwoman has been hogging the computer recently so we haven't had a chance to post a blog for ages ... although we haven't wasted the time either. As well as the usual vole watching (less strenuous in this hot weather than vole hunting, about as productive and just as satisfying) and napping, we have been diligent in keeping the garden free of pigeons. They seem to be particularly brazen and loutish this year; they have been pinching the birdseed the Madwoman puts out for the little brown ones, and have overcome all fear of the things that normally scare them off the allotment. They now have a healthy respect for us though, after a couple of close shaves when they had the nerve to invite themselves into the garden while we were out on cat patrol. Notice how this particularly cowardly one stays out of reach on the roof, taunting Archie from a safe distance.
One day wippitts will learn how to fly, and then they'll be really, really sorry ...