It is the 200th anniversary of a human called King Charles Dickens (or something like that). Ian has lent me some of his books and I woz quite taken with; Doberman & Puppy, a Tale of Two Shih Tzus and The Pickwick Papillons. Therefore, this week I have decided to write my blog in the style of King Charles Dickens:
Happenstance, this week I was transported, if not in body, in mind, to a time ruled over by another female monarch, the wise, albeit taciturn Queen Victoria. It is the year of our Lord 1860 and I am a poor orphaned dog called Tiny Ozy.
I live, if living is a bare existence of slavery and abject poverty, for I have no independent means of my own, in a Village to the south west of England which goes by the name of Nether Stowey in the County of Somersetshire. I reside with my so called benefactors, Master Ian and Mistress Lynne, in a boarding house of some repute in the environs of the Quantock Hills.
Not only am I an orphaned dog, I am also a cripple, having injured myself by falling over a stile and pulling a muscle in my back. I am therefore somewhat indisposed and unable to undertake the customary range of activities that permit me to reside in the residence of my owners, for I am just a slave and forced to walk around with a sturdy rope around my neck. The Master and Mistress refer constantly to the possibility of me again visiting Mrs Anne L. Probity at the Veterinary Practice not fifty yards hence. I have no desire to step foot in that place again, with its quackish remedies and hokum pokem and, of course, the fifty guinea fee. However, if my good health does not return in the near futuretime, then I shall have no reasonable option but to ask the Master and Mistress to take me to that pit of hell for treatment.
By good fortune, indisposed that I am, I have also been taken by motor carriage to Kent whereby I was given the opportunity to revisit my good cousin, Barky Harvey. The Master and Mistress took the electric railway to London, there to see a play – Rock of Ages – a modern performance epitomising the musical style of a bygone age, the Eighties. I, myself, am not a devotee of the power ballad and was content to rest at Barky’s residence.
My attention has been drawn to the current cold snap that has gripped the imagination of the media in recent times. It appears that our capital city has been subject to a slight dusting of the white powder (I am assured that this is not Charlie, the Devil’s Dandruff), thereby rendering the whole Country paralysed by the inclement weather. Flying machines from Heathrow have been unable to do that for which they were designed and the newspaper of the populous, the Daily Mail, have hailed the event, ‘the new Ice Age’! I have therefore been expecting frost fairs on the Thames and the poor dogs of Londontown to be freezing to death with no gruel to eat. But no, the good folk of the South East have managed to survive and the purveyors of fine vitals, Ocado, have managed to dispatch their delivery boys out into the frozen villages of Mitcham and Bromley in the Counties of Surrey and Kent respectively.
So, I return full circle – for that is the nature of a circle, and, back in my home village of Nether Stowey, I have managed, with great fortitude, to visit Ye Olde Rose and Crown, with its rambunctious owners Charlie Titus Pintpuller and Barbara Gossipus Max. It was, without doubt, a misfortune that I was unable to jump up to the bar in order to partake of my favourite indulgence, morsels of crunchy wheat based baked nourishment. However, Master Ian appeared to enjoy his foaming pints of quaffing ale, to the extent that he was quite garrulous and crapulent. His intemperance has not gone without observation!
Dog bless you one and all.
With the greatest of felicitations, Ozy
And may I take this fortuitous opportunity of reminding my good readers that should they wish to partake of a sojourn in Somersetshire, then Mistress Lynne Arsrubenesqueous welcomes all at her quaint boarding house, Ye Olde Cider House, Nether Stowey, Somersetshire.
P.S. Since dictating I have recovered from my injury – so don’t worry!