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Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"

Friday, November 19, 2004

A GREETING TIT 

Yesterday I wrapped up warm and slogged the twenty minutes uphill to the nearest bus stop and headed for Glasgow to continue the Christmas Shopping. So far it has been strung out over three weeks and is all Under Control.......aye, right.

I like the city at Christmas (which of course is already well under way.) I like the lights and crowds and bustle. What I don`t like is the impossiblilty of finding presents for difficult people - such as the cousin whom I delighted on Christmas morning two years ago with "Diseases of the Racing Pigeon". How do I top thst?

Having dealt with the children`s book problem, and tried on some festive outfits - those changing room mirrors should be outlawed - I wandered into a shop specialising in toys and other items designed to make us more eco-friendly. I stopped before a singularly unconvincing plastic model of a bluetit. When you waved a hand at it it warbled a few feeble cheeps.

A large woman was staring at it, and the assistant came over. She demonstrated it.

"But what`s it for?"

"It`s just a wee thing that chirps whenever you go near it. See, the box tells you."

She fetched the box. It bore the title - I kid you not - "A GREETING TIT."

The large woman shook her head.

"Naw, hen. I`ve been maried to wan of them for fifteen years."

Comments:
Haaaaa! I can hear it now. And I didn't know that my husband had been married to someone else for fifteen years ...
 
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