A couple of days a go, we were walking through the village when Sid paused, sniffed the grasses and flowers at the side of the road, then shuffled his bottom as far into them as he could and did … well, what dogs do.

Now, as you probably know, the law says we have to ‘pick up’ after our dogs and we have no problem with that – after all, nobody likes to step in what someone else’s dog has left on the path, do they? I know I complained bitterly enough about it when my boys were young.

What you probably don’t know, is that Sid has been suffering from an antibiotic-induced case of what, in greyhound circles, is known as ‘the Big D’. He’s being treated for that, of course, but it’s a tad slow to clear up, and meanwhile his offerings are … shall we say .. a little ‘soft serve‘. Less than cohesive. Nuff said?

So both OH and I gaze down at what Sid has managed to deposit so far into the vegetation that someone is going to have to practically get down on their hands and knees, and then, after a thoughtful pause, OH spoke.

OH: ‘I’ll do anything you want if you pick that up’.

Me (cynically): ‘Oh yeah?’

OH: ‘Yes! Yes! Anyth … ‘

His voice trailed off and there was another thoughtful pause, during which I simply looked at him.

OH: ‘You know, the trouble is, you sometimes don’t want the right things!’

*Sigh*

Silly me. I was quite hopeful there, for a minute!

“Funny,” thought I …

I think I might just about be in time for this week’s Face of the Week – I hope so, because OH found this little fellow in the conservatory last night and called me.

OH: Sweetheart – come quick! There’s a big moth. BIG moth.

Me: Mmmm?

OH: It’s huge!! It’s knocking the leaves off the plants!

Me: Really? OK …

I got out of my comfy place on the sofa and toddled into the conservatory to see.

Me: Doesn’t sound like a moth. Sounds like a beetle.

OH (waving his hands about): It’s on the light. Inside the shade! Yes, I think you’re right – it’s a beetle. BIG beetle!

Me: Yup. It’s a May Bug.

OH: A what?

Me: You remember – we had one in last year.

OH (suspiciously): You said that was a Cockchafer.

There you are. I had to remind him all over again about Cockchafers and how they are also called May Bugs on account of that’s when you see them on the wing .. although ‘on the wing’ is really a bit optimistic for these big, clumsy beetles. They kind of throw themselves up into the air, then plummet and buzz around a bit.

Anyway. I rather thought this one looked as if he was saying -

“I thought there was a door around here somewhere. I thought I flew in it. Now there’s an Invisible Wall!’

And so, of course, there was – one made of glass. But you’ll all be happy to hear I did release him when I was done half-blinding him with the camera flash. He seemed fine, if a little bemused, as I released him among the tulips and periwinkle.

We were walking Sid through the village the other day when I spotted something lying in the grass.

Of course, this isn’t unusual, since we have two schools here. Hordes of children aged from four to eighteen years old hop, skip, trudge and shuffle their way from one end of the village to the other several times a day during term time, and where there are kids there is litter. Sadly, this includes many and varied food remnants – various examples of which I’ve had to remove from my dogs’ mouths with unpleasant regularity over the years. Sometimes in the dark.

Anyway, this clearly was not a food item, it was a tiny ziplock bag – that one up there, in fact. I can’t tell you why it caught my eye among the usual detritus, but caught my eye it did, and I bent closer to have a better look.

‘Well, well. What have we here?’ I thought to myself.

I asked OH.

Me: ‘What have we here?’

OH: What?

Me: This little baggie – look! What is it?

OH (peering at it): Mmm. I don’t know! Interesting!

Me: I would suspect drugs, but .. look, it’s a tailor-made, with a filter tip and everything!

At this point, OH gave it as his opinion that this didn’t mean a thing, and mentioned cannabis oil and things you could do with it which I will not repeat here, for fear of putting Impure Thoughts into the Heads of the Young (and yes, I know they have plenty of Impure Thoughts of their own, as, indeed, do many of the Not So Young).

Me: But what is that twiggy thing?

OH: I have no idea! Intriguing … !

So, over to you, dear readers. What the heck is it? Who would put a bent ciggie into a tiny plastic bag with a piece of grey twig, and a fragment of paper, and why? For, yes, that grey twig is inside the bag. Now, call me innocent if you wish (it would be a novelty these days, trust me) but I cannot fathom a reason or use for this very curious collection of objects. Unless, of course, that grey twig is a new, and hitherto unsuspected new Substance to Abuse.

Oh well. Whatever it is, it’s a little more interesting than half-eaten sandwiches, empty wrappers and broken biros, eh? But I liked it better when they had that thing about throwing money away. I collected nearly twelve pounds in pennies and tuppences over a four month period one year, and donated it to charity.

While I was ill with the first phase of this bug, which has sinced become bronchitis, Son No. 2 came to visit me with his girlfriend, the lovely B. It was a visit which had been arranged for a while, but since OH and I were both suffering, we let them know so they had a chance to duck out if they didn’t want to risk catching it. They came anyway, bless them, and they cooked dinner for us, too!  I have such nice kids.

That picture up there? That was my first sight of him. He knocked on the door like that, wearing a genuine (borrowed) HazMat mask, which I thought made a rather good Face of the Week – but you’ll be glad to know that he did take it of before he cooked the toad in the hole. He said he couldn’t breathe and he’d rather risk the bugs.

Anyway, while they were here, I was looking through a most wonderful collection of beads they’d brought, sent to me by a lovely lady from the Blogosphere, and it went something like this:

Me (picking up a box of bright orange plastic beads): Oooh, look at these ones!

Son No. 2: They remind me of the sixties!

OH: I’m always surprised at the things you know.

Son No. 2: (in tones of wounded pride): Really?

OH: Yes, I mean … like music, or people, or stuff from my youth. The sixties were before you were even born!

Son. No. 2: Well.. I like history. I pick things up …

Me: We taught you a lot of it.

Son No. 2: You did?

Me: Yes. I used to tell you about it all while you were going to sleep.

Son. No. 2: What? Like … ‘The sixties were round, and orange. Remember it!‘?

And he wonders why we keep telling him he should go into stand-up comedy.

Give in, Son No. 2 – Resistance is futile!

And also, Billy Connolly is rich!