Small Mercies

Obama's somewhat shakey win was, if nothing else, the least worst result to be contemplated.

In fact, "nothing else," is probably exactly what sums it up. Still.

Goodness, didn't it get nasty on FaceBook these last few weeks!

It was so vicious that Toad, (that's me) at times, imagined he was back in Fleet Street, listening to people accusing one another of  modifing their (generally Northern) accents  in hope of advancement. Although the language on FB was consoderably more moderate.

It has to be admitted though, that Toad himself was one of the culprits.
He shamefully and mercilessly persecuted a relatively  innocent young lady on the slender grounds that she was (he suspected) racially antagonistic to Mr. President.

Still, the die is cast, the jig is up, the bitter harvest has been reeped.(Reeped Wrept? Wreaped? Can any of those be right?) the cup has been drained to the dregs, Democracy has been run up the flagpole and duly saluted. Not least the cliches have all been exhausted. We hope. Anyway...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYIC0eZYEtI

As a tonic counterblast to the general mindless cheerfulness, here is the blessed George, above. Telling it like it is.

Like it really is.

A Day at the Doc

The rest of this is very boring and personal. So...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QxsEYFYgkZo


Yesterday, Monday, was  spent almost exclusively on medical premises.

At 9 a.m. the missus and I presented ourselves at Villada Health Centre for blood tests, EKG's, Flu shots, and dispute about our current medical status in Spain. All went reasonably reasonably.

Back home then, with just time for a quick dogwalk, then at 11 a.m. me off to see Dr. Tomas in town about my hacking cough.
Apparently, it's my own fault for being a hack for 40 years. (Not!)  And my new health card might be wrong, being it seems, for one of the remaoining handful of Spain's gainfully employed, rather than for a crumbly jubilado.

Back home then, for lunch of left-overs, and a siesta.

Then, at 3.30 p.m. in the car with Reb and 28% of our cats and dogs - Mo to have his balls cut off, and Bella to have her stitches taken out - at the University of Leon Medical Faculty.

Cheque book at the ready as always.
"Don't look at the money as expense," I told her, (Reb, that is, not Bella) "Look at it this way: We give the department generous donations every month or so, and then they treat all the Furry Fools for free."

While all this "ambulancing" is going on, Murphy is very slowly recovering from his latest attempt at Trying Conclusions With The Maelstrom, which is a poncey way of saying being run over by a car for a second time.

Progresss is not as quick as we would like. He's sitting up but not moving around hardly at all. We are worried about his legs. So, off with him to the Vet in Sahagun again tomorrow.
Cheque book at the ready.
And, possibly later, back the 50-odd miles to Leon, where they do X-Rays.

Murph: Progress report

As of 6 a.m. Moratinos time, Murphy is still alive, conscious and showing small but encouraging, signs of recovery.
He has started eating small ammounts again, and has "been to the bathroom" in a modest way during the night.

Thought you should know that.

Better still, he has started to complain loudly - as is his custon - from time to time.
A plausible cause for guarded optimism.
And he is moving around a bit, not much, but some.

There may be further bulletins later. Stand by!

Something Nasty In The Woodshed

Murphy takes over Tim´s favourite place in the world

Yesterday, having drawn water for various mundane purposes, like washing the crap off dogs, I went up the yard to hew wood.

We do that kind of rurally whimsical stuff at The Peacable.

Murphy was curled up in the woodshed, just where any falling log I was sawing would bean him, so I suggested he move. He didn't, he couldn't, and he gave an agonised yowl when I tried to pick him up.

Yes, he'd managed to get himself run over again, making twice.

The first time was about two years back, resulting in three broken legs, extensive surgery by The Veterinary School of  Leon University, and ultimately a starring role in a movie entitled, "How To Mend A Cat's Three Broken Legs When No Expense Is Spared,"  produced and directed by Dr. Mateo, and financed by the Scott-O'Gara Non-Profit Foundation, and which, it seems, did boffo biz, playing to packed houses of student vets in Italy.

Murph has, of yet, received no residuals.

This time round, although expecting the worst - it seemed to us his back was broken - things are not quite so bad.
Murph's back is inded very badly knocked about, but our local vet thinks that he (Murph, that is, not the Vet)  might be back on his already battered feet within a week.
Not doing triple saltos, with tuck and twist, but at least tottering about and bullying the dogs.

He has already comandeered Tim's dog bed to recuperate in, beside the stove.

Tim made no complaint, just patiently shifted over onto the carpet to sleep.
He is an amazing, saintly dog, because he loves his bed second only to sausage.

It's high time Murphy considered giving up being run over by cars.

It's not doing him any good.

Inconsequential balderdash

Below is an entire answer to a comment on a blog called "joyfulpapist"
I run it here because - I dunno, it might throw some light on something.
But then, it might not.
The topic on Joyful's blog is, (sigh) gay marriage - the most sinister and civilisation-threatening setback to decency and morality to blight the planet in the last thousand years. Or, some seem to think.
Another contributor (Srdc by avatar) as you see, accused, (if that is le mot juste,) me (AKA Toad) of being: old, cynical and in despair.

“Old cynical and in despair eh?”

I assume you mean Toad, here, Srdc.
Well, let’s see. “Old,” certainly, “Cynical,” most probably, (though I’d say “skeptical” is nearer the mark) but “in despair”?
I had to think about that one.
If I can be content, cheerful, amused, absorbed, and keenly interested by life, and yet still “despair” of the perennial imbecility and folly of the human race, then, yes I’m in despair.
I think maybe “resigned,” is nearer the mark.

But you are young, at least I get that impression.
Some unasked for geezer advice: Try to hang on to your optimism, but be aware that it will gradually fade away over the years of its own account. And you won’t miss it. In fact, you’ll be glad to see the back of it.
People are very predicatable. You can always count on them to act in their own interests, as they see them, no matter what noble noises issue from their mouths.
It is well to be aware of this. By all means keep on trying to improve the human condition, but be aware that you won’t, and neither will you be thanked. Not that that matters.

(What a lot of pompous tripe, Toad. Shut up!) 
That bit is unanswerable.

Apres Sandy, le Deluge et le Moslim?

Something of unusual interest to report today.

Namely that a major hurricane named Sandy is headed for New Jersey, where  it threatens to make several million dollars worth of improvements.

Not only that, but its side effects may well wreak havoc in neighbouring states, such as Pennsylvania and Ohio, both of which are crucial to the outcome  of the upcoming presidential fiasco.

In fact, I suspect this is why The Lord is apparently chosing to wield His terrible swift sword Over There at this time.
He is clearly distressed at the less than dim prospect of a full-blooded Mormon seizing  the reins of power in The Land of the Free, even more so than by the prospect of another four tiresome years of The Nigerian Muslim.

It is salutary that He is energetic enough to go to these rather extreme lengths to avoid it, but He's a little too late for some voters, I fear.

I read an American on Facebook bemoaning that, in his own words, the only choice was between "A Morman and a Moslim," which was, he opined, no choice at all.
Voting for a decent, God fearing "Christion" was not even a option. Pretty shabby, it seemed to him. What is the world coming to, and all that.
He had a point.

Strange though, that the Avenging Metrological Angel, should rejoice in the rather anodyne name of "Sandy." I have known a few Sandys in my time, and not one of them would ever dream of trashing a trailer park in New Jersey.
Not even during an Election year.

THE REASON WHY

Now I remember why I quit blogging for over a year. Because apparently nobody was reading DOWNHILL.
Or, at least, was interested enough to comment on it.
Which also seems to be the case now I've started up again.
Can't say I blame people, either.