& you thought it was just a ridiculous, off the wall name, didn’t you? The kind that a slightly off-the-wall herself fantasy writer who has maybe had an unwise second glass of champagne & is sitting in a pleasant haze of bubbles might come up with? As suitable for her new blog? No. My piano really did fly. I’ll tell you the full story LATER.
The short form is, I think I’ve told you this house is on a steep hill? My front garden is (nearly) flat, but it’s a full flight of stairs, cut into the hillside, up from street level. &, that day, when All My Worldly Goods were arriving in Scotland from storage in Hampshire, I was standing at the top of those stairs, watching the flying-piano story as it were unfold, with my heart in my mouth, thinking, if I get the blog going again, I’m going to name it The Flying Piano.
Meanwhile, real live new permanent blog! Yes!!! Yaaaay! & assuming that poor noble Blogdad can beat me through the basics of using the dangerous snorting technological beast* the first thing I will do** will be to POST SOME PHOTOS OF GENGHIS. I mean, that’s why you’re reading this, right?
* * *
* Yes, true, I managed to learn to use the old one, but everything keeps getting more complicated, see: Microdirtbag 365, or how about banking details?? I nearly failed to become a supporter of the RNLI^ just this morning because we couldn’t figure out how to get enough of our respective bank details to talk to each other safely.
^Royal National Lifeboat Institution. I now live in a house with an ocean view, it seems rude not to contribute. The bottom line is that there are far too many honest upright doing-good charities out there & you could smother in the come ons, & if you want to keep eating, you & your dog, you have to harden your heart. Not surprisingly I tend to specialise in animals, but . . . #
# & then there’s the more-or-less-guaranteed-true story of the GWHP–not Genghis, but one of the same intake of GWHPs from a street-dog-rescue in eastern Europe who wound up in NE Scotland–who jumped into the ocean one afternoon & . . . just kept going. She had to be rescued, & while I think it was the Coast Guard rather than the RNLI, there’s a sort of wet-recovery principle here. The fellow who sponsored Genghis when he first arrived is one of the several people who have told me this story & apparently this is just something a GWHP may just do? Choose a direction & go, even if there’s several hundred miles of cold North Sea ahead of you? This is the same dog, by the way, who used to climb an 8 foot wall to go walkabout. The idea that I am in the shallow end of GWHP madness with Genghis is pretty horrifying.
** or maybe nearly the first thing, she says nervously