Cavorting hellhounds
Oisin and I wasted an hour and forty five minutes of our LIVES this afternoon TRYING TO GET FINALE TO TALK TO MYORGAN.
We failed.
So let’s have some photos of cavorting hellhounds to cheer ourselves up. Well, me up.* These are the ones I promised you, from Gloucestershire last weekend. Peter’s son and his family have this lovely loooong garden, dropping, in the sacred Gloucestershire way, like a plumb-line from the rear deck to the river. Hellhounds, I feel, could grow used to Gloucestershire, if it included regular rioting around that garden.**
* At least everybody at ringing practise tonight was VERY IMPRESSED that I’d rung a quarter peal on handbells last night. Arguably they were perhaps a little too impressed–the way you might say, NASA has invented a rocket that works? or, there is life beyond chocolate? or, Chaos has learnt to pick up his front paws sequentially to have his harness put on?–but still, the looks of stunned respect were rather pleasing.^
^ Even if they were followed by that wary look that says ‘is she dangerous?’ I’m going to have to learn how Niall does that mild-mannered harmless thing. Anybody who’s ever rung handbells with him knows better, but the world at large thinks he’s a nice guy. A little bent on the subject of bells, especially handbells, but still a nice guy.
** I don’t know if it was something about the quality of long golden afternoon light in late April in Gloucestershire or what, but photos of Chaos at speed come out clear while photos of Darkness at speed come out blurry. These are the best of the lot, but I am hampered by having more to choose from of Chaos–and even these, if you blow them up, Darkness goes blurry and Chaos doesn’t.
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