Trixie 28/08/2017

My big, bold, beautiful Trixie died today. Killed by what looks to have been some brain dead Mick in a tractor. At least someone had the decency to place her body by the side of the road. Trixie unwillingly posing for a picture. I'm the one hiding behind her.

Trixie was twelve years old. Pippakin is her sister.

I can't do this.

In twelve years there has never been a time when Trixie didn't come home for meals. If she was home when meals were being prepared she would jump onto the work top to see exactly what and how much was going into her dish.

Whoever killed her took a beautiful, contented, happy life. May the murderer never know good health, happiness or good luck. May he know the pain and death of loved ones, that's if he loves anyone more than himself.

I don't want to know who he is.

Trixie loved to play and she could be a wee bit of a bully, lately she started to play a game she would sit behind a half open door and refuse to allow Maggie to go through. My beautiful Trixie is all cat and poor little Maggie a small dog is only about half her size.

You couldn't hear Trixie purr she was so quiet, but if you held her you could feel her happy purring. She would run to strangers, always happy for new adventure and meeting new people. My Trixie would follow me wherever I went it happened so often I had to make sure she was locked in before I went out of the garden.

Understand this I never write for sympathy, empathy or applause. I know who reads my blog. I write for me I don't care what other readers think of me, my dogs or Pippa and Trixie.

If there are civilized Irish people you won't find them outside Dublin and even there you'll have to look carefully.

One Irish murderer, Ireland is full of murderers, murdered Trixie, but what do you think the rest are saying? 'Just a cat' absolutely they are because they don't care about or for animals.

On Monday I prepared her meal and called her most unusually she didn't come. I put it in the fridge and throughout the morning I kept calling, finally I went out to look, dreading what I might find, and there she was left by the side of the road. I took her to what passes in Ireland for our home.

Today I emptied her dish into the rubbish bag.

My beautiful girl is gone.

All that's left are her clean dishes and my memories

My beautiful girl spent a lot of her time in the kitchen after all you never know what delicious tidbit might be about to stroll out of the door, particularly out of the fridge door, and anyway the kitchen window catches what passes for sunlight in Ireland and so the draining board is a good warm place to lurk.

My Trixie loved mayonnaise, cheese, butter and sometimes milk. She would watch each dish carefully to make sure no one got more than her. Food was her big weakness and there was never a time when she didn't have plenty. For her I cooked chicken again of course Jezzie, Maggie and Pippa loved it too but Trixie was the addict and the reason I went back to cooking chicken.

Trixie died on the 28th August 2017, Some evil bastard mowed her down as if her life meant nothing. Oh, well, maybe if you have someone who killed a person living on your street the murder of a cat is a small thing.

I came to Ireland with three cats and one dog In less than ten years two of the cats and the dog have died. To say Ireland has diminished me is putting it mildly.

Pippakin 

Is the only one left of the four I brought with me from England. Tax, Ollie and now Trixie all dead, all buried in what once was going to be the garden and is now a graveyard.

My poor Pippa, loves Ollie, she never seemed bothered by Tax or Trixie even though she and Trixie are sisters Ollie was obviously the one she loved and the one she bullied but this week has shown a difference.

Maybe Pippa is missing Trixie today Trixie's grave was pulled apart it would be very rare for Jezzie or Maggie to hear a strange animal in the garden and not create a huge fuss or to be in the garden unsupervised for long enough to pull the grave apart themselves.

Pippa is off her food, staying outside and refusing to join in anything including meals, but she doesn't seem to be ill, maybe she is lonely and missing the link with the past and our real home. I know how she feels...

Pippa went out yesterday morning (04/09/17) and has not returned. She has never done that before...Its dark outside on 05/09/17 and Pippa is not yet home.

Pippa is a strong, neutered cat she can survive outside but she has never stayed out for so long. Did she eat something that poisoned her? Is she lying somewhere in pain? Pippa is missing and I am lost.

Pippakin IS HOME!  This morning 06/09/17 I again walked down the road calling for her and up she came! She can be a talkative girl and she was telling me off all the way home! I'm so relieved. She is still not eating so I think she may have found a kind stranger or knowing her she may have been killing small creatures.

Not to worry! I have added chicken to my shopping list and even though we don't have Cats Club I have ordered packets of Felix fish cat food, which she does or did like. I'm so relieved!

Pippakin is STILL not eating, she hasn't been out all day and she hasn't eaten even though she usually likes trout, tuna and chicken and she is hungry.  I changed the time of the next delivery hopefully Pippa can hang on until then.

I wonder if these problems began with the advent of the beautiful ginger tom? Female cats are territorial and both Trixie and Pippa started going out more as soon as they saw him. Maybe stalking him and protecting their territory made Trixie careless of vehicles and maybe the loss of Trixie has given Pippa more to patrol and protect. We are not home Pippa is all I have left of home.

In the last two years Pippa and I have lost three of the corners of our world. I hadn't realised how much an animal can grieve. Its definitely not a quick sniff and forgotten it seems to be a weight Pippa carries. Now that she seems to have grown accustomed to the loss of Trixie she stays close to me, she is right behind me right now when I go to bed she will be on my shoulder.  If I have a hope left its that she dies before me. I hate the thought of her having to endure another blow.

Pippa is eating a bit, not as much as when Trixie was here but more than the last week or so. I went to Tesco, a relative was here and drove me there and back, and bought some Cats Club. Pippa is a bit better. Problem now is she won't go out. I have to put her outside and when I do she waits close by the door to get back in.

There is no doubt Pippa has had a dreadful shock.

Good News!

Pippa has reclaimed her chair.

This is Pippa's chair she didn't mind sharing it with Ollie and after he died she seemed to lose interest in it to the extent that Jezzie and Maggie took it, that has changed. Pippa is home and she has returned to the fusspot girl who would only, and grudgingly share her chair with Ollie.

I hope its a sign she has come to terms with her great losses

I made a mistake coming here. I should have sold this hovel and I would have if Irish property prices hadn't dropped through the floor, the ground and middle earth. No sooner had I arrived than Ireland had to admit its politicians, bankers, property developers and their own what's in it for me attitude had bankrupted the country. 

Always

He? courageously crawls out of his sick bed, presumably drags or wheels himself to his computer and there posts half a dozen or so utterly meaningless pictures.

He might force himself to heroically expend all his reserves of strength and consciousness typing as much as a whole paragraph telling us he has not been well.

And always he signs Namaste as though it conveys something mystical and magical...

Its been turning up, depending of course on his health...every month or so.

Few Things

I can think of few things more hurtful, heartbreaking than for someone, anyone to write a book, all the hundreds of pages and chapters of it, and have it declined by publishers, sometimes over and over again.

It doesn't matter what the story is or the subject, in each and every case a book is the outpouring of the author, published or not, bestseller or not is irrelevant. Someone put everything they had into their writing, their book! And then had to endure publishers refusal.

Thank goodness self publishing has grown to be very successful because I suspect the number of publishers who know what they're talking about is minus something.

I wish all, well most, writers luck in their efforts may they be successful and live happily ever after.

It says chapter thirty. I haven't read it so I don't have an opinion on good or bad and I don't know if it was published or if it was if it was a success. All I know is it has a feel in my mind at least of failure about it.

It seems to continue as this post is beginning to in a section from time to time I ask myself is it me, am I depressed and transferring my depression onto something completely removed from both me and depression, and does it matter.

Part of me thinks it should matter all who write alone for love of writing should matter because the world recognises only successful writers and authors and that matters. many writers confine their efforts to what they think, hope will be attractive to publishers, what that means is many books are clones of the last big hit, that means there is a lack of individuality, a lack of adventurism 

Flowery Poems

I don't write them I don't think I can. The idea of them intrigues me and I think I've tried to write such a poem once or twice. Eh, but my hearts not in it and my head is probably miles away.

I used to and from time to time do still enjoy writing, generally if I like the result I leave it alone, if I don't I'll play with it for hours. Some think that means I'm trying to correct punctuation or suchlike. As if! What in every case I actually do try to find is the rhythm. Its probably or almost certainly something each reader feels differently but its the difference in every case between success and failure.

Barbara Cartland wrote prolifically, well she had to she needed to finance her larger than life lifestyle, and she was utter, total crap. I read one book and it was enough. Even novels of historical romance need rhythm and if there was any rhythm in Barbara Cartland she kept it hidden from her books.

Georgette Heyer also wrote, not quite as prolifically but often, and I have read most if not all her books. She too wrote historical romances. The difference between Cartland and Heyer could be described as talent and rhythm, and a good sense of humour.

I'm not, don't even think it! comparing myself to either of them I'm saying that if you aint got rhythm in your words you aint got nuffin

It Seems

As if all my life I have avoided anything, everything I dislike and distrust, I don't know when I began I only know its been a part of me for as long as I can remember.

I don't obsessively clean, polish and sweep I equally obsessively won't touch anything or place I dislike. At work the hated task was always the last thing on my to do list and it could stay there days, weeks before I'd even look at it. At home, well, it never happened at home until I moved to Ireland but since a couple of years after my arrival it has been full on. Don't touch, don't clean, like the rest of the country let it rot around me.

I don't write flowery poems or reams of adventures there's actually not that much adventure in a bog and there are relatively few flowers particularly in my garden which is something else I stopped working on within a few years of moving here.

I can't see the point and I can't stand the feel. Almost the only things I do are feed cats, dogs and me. maybe its a breakdown but if it is the tendency was always there or perhaps the breakdown settles on the weakest point and strengthens it? I don't know and I don't care. I don't touch.

Its so Long

Since I cooked a roast dinner and I think its longer since I cooked cabbage (I'm in Ireland...) but today I did it and it is as they say like falling off a log How comes back to you as you peel and chop and shred.

Naturally I cooked chicken which I hasten to add is not for me the Chicken is for cats and dogs I'm having the vegetarian option. I had forgotten how much I like hot cabbage water I expect most people know what it tastes like but if you haven't tried it do its one of the best things about cabbage and when we were children we were told its good for us, so how can you go wrong.....

As far as I'm concerned its impossible to cook a roast dinner for one person and the good thing about that is I have plenty for bubble tomorrow and there is also plenty of chicken for cats and dogs.

Funny how a trip down memory lane improves your mood, provided its the right lane, and no I haven't forgotten Terry Pratchett I will return to the evil little runt in due course...

At First

I thought author and to some a demi God Terry Pratchett, a man whose work I had admired for years, couldn't possibly have been responsible. I like his work too much to easily believe that in real life he was just a nasty vindictive little squirt in dire need of a kick up the backside preferably before he shuffled off this mortal coil...

Good ole Terry was born in Beaconsfield said to be the richest town in England so I think its safe to say his relationship with the east end of London and specifically the cockney accent and phraseology was more 'borrowed' than born, of course he began his career as a journalist and that certainly should have warned everyone that a little light whoring on the back streets of authordom would not in anyway sense or form be beyond him.

I still find it hard to believe, more I find it incredible, add that to his totally arrogant false impression of me and its almost unbelievable. How could anyone supposedly clever and sympathetic to others be so wrong and so cowardly? Did he even expect I would be grateful? Of course he did I should be flattered to find myself alluded to in the ugliest most unflattering terms in his last book. I wish he were still alive I'd kill him.

The whole thing is a hideous criminal mess and I have had enough.

Public people like Terry Pratchett surrender some of their privacy its part of the price of fame, fans and fortune and is usually covered by carefully selected photo shoots and interviews when was the last time someone filmed Terry Pratchett while he was lisping incoherently or dribbling his dinner? Because that's what illegal filming does its nothing if it doesn't capture an indiscretion or an embarrassing moment. Protecting him from unfavourable publicity is why rich arrogant bastards who do Gods know what in private employ personal assistants and PR agencies.

Private individuals who have no desire to be famous and no money to finance PR spinners and tech experts are entitled to real, full privacy.  If someone famous has something to say derogatory or otherwise they should also have the courage to say it to the person concerned.

I said I loved his books, didn't hesitate, didn't say one, two or a dozen. I included all of them. Terry Pratchett did not live up to his own creations...He epitomizes the opposite of the socially caring equal society he invented.

Somewhere at the foot of every new book is a small paragraph declaring everything is fiction and does not relate to any living person. Its a fig leaf meant to allow a certain amount of licence.  Fucking hard luck when you are so arrogant and so consumed with dislike of your victim you effectively name them. What did he think she would be so flattered and so stupid she would do nothing?

Someone asked me, anonymously of course, if I had read any of the books he wrote in collaboration with others. I had not and still have not. Guess who is going to read those books now starting with the last one...

Write a review it said so I did...

I too have read all Terry Pratchett books and I find myself wondering how many people he abused in each of them. Is there a list somewhere? I'd like to see it.

Is it some kind of right authors or any old bloggers and journalists think they are entitled to? Whatever else I do I draw attention and you can't buy that you certainly can't lisp it through dementia.

I don't believe Terry Pratchett slavishly followed my every post, comment or tweet I think a 'fan' sent him the juiciest tidbits, possibly the same person who illegally filmed me and then equally illegally distributed the film

And, to add certainty to suspicion today 30/8/17 we are informed that in accordance with his 'wishes', Terry Pratchett several years into dementia was well enough to wish? Terry Pratchetts computers were destroyed obliterating any and all uncompleted books he'd started to write...And, sheer coincidence... his entire browsing history was also steamed naturally under a 1950s steam roller. I think 1950s was about the end of the steam roller era...

However I do feel fairly sure that if the evil pervert went anywhere online he left a trail, everyone does all he wrecked was his end and one day soon his for want of a better word, adventures will be found and fully broadcast

One other question bothers me a teensy bit: was Terry Pratchett straight? He couldn't write a husband and wife conversation. He couldn't write romance unless he stole from old films and books, and he was as vain as a page three model. Most odd. Most writers whatever their orientation can write romance they'd be unemployed if they couldn't.

However that's neither here nor there, what I care about is Terry Pratchett wrote about me which means he knew about me which means half written books were not the only things he wanted to remain hidden in his computer...

Which other author, poet or even lowest of the low journalist ordered that all his half finished writings be destroyed? As far as I can recall everyone of them want their writings preserved and permanently displayed in libraries and book shops.

Most if not all of his earlier Discworld books were built on metaphor after metaphor and colloquial phrase after colloquial phrase. No one resented it because the metaphors and phrases padded a good story and anyway almost every colloquial phrase was Cockney and who has ever cared about them, right? Thing about Cockney is you have to be, er, really up close and personal to get to know Cockney romantic phraseology...

Terry Pratchett couldn't do a Yorkshire accent. Its one of the reasons Raising Steam doesn't work as a book. The other reason of course is his continual abuse of someone he didn't know...

Terry Pratchett died on 12/03/2015 I first published this post on 13/08/2017 Today 30/08/2017 is the first time I've heard that Terry Pratchett asked that his computer/s including their browsing history be destroyed. No publicity? No coincidence? Someone is afraid and rightly so...

Terry Pratchett had something to hide and some of his criminal activity included watching illegal films.

28/12/17

I've mentioned this elsewhere before but it maybe more relevant here. I think some if not all of the criminal gang who took at least one illegal video of me maybe the kind of middle class, journalistic scum who believe everyone want's to be famous and I in particular 'borrowed' phrases from Terry Pratchetts books.

The ignorance of the Irish knows no depths. Terry Pratchett didn't invent cockney phrases he stole them from a world he never lived in but like all journalists thought he had the right to abuse, there are no new, original cockney sayings in any book written by Terry Pratchett he stole them all and whilst that in itself is not a crime assuming ownership is beyond arrogant. He didn't sue me or anyone for using cockney language - he'd have been laughed out of court if he'd tried

Some say and Terry Pratchett must have loved it and breathed a huge sigh of relief that the Discworld stories are based between New York and the East End of London. Not true. The location, style and all the phraseology are Cockney.

Pratchett couldn’t write without Cockney characters and language. His attempt, put it no higher, to copy Dickens was a total failure, and the reason is obvious. He couldn’t do period phraseology. Dodger is one of the worst, most tedious, incorrect books I’ve ever had to force myself to read. He lost the real East End and couldn’t recreate it.

As far as I know Pratchett wrote Dodger when he was bedeviled by dementia, it was no good asking any of his hangers on to help if they could write anything worth reading they’d have done that instead of hanging around a lisping, demented, vicious plagiarist.

I’ve not finished with Pratchett not by any manner or means.

TO BE CONTINUED - I MEAN THIS

When did Charity

Become a right, when did the weak, sick, disabled or just plain bone idle become entitled? I'm not trying (its not hard) to offend anyone I'm asking the question because it needs serious thought and a real answer.

As far as I can see the only people fully entitled to state or any aid are the tax payers, the contributors, those nondescript people who do nothing more offensive than work for decades and pay all their state and/or national taxes.

Tax evasion is a major problem so obviously anyone evading paying tax is not entitled to a damn thing, same applies to the so called 'legal' tax avoiders. Most of these creatures proclaim the right of people to receive benefits whilst simultaneously never contributing to the tax revenue required to give anyone anything.

Of course the same applies to any and all royalty they head as many charities as they can whilst never donating a thing. Nor do royals usually start a charity what they do is crawl on the back of the successful ones and proceed to smother it with establishment 'costs'.

Human Rights and charity are very close. I saw a video of a mother of FIFTEEN children demanding 'someone' pay her rent and feed, clothe and educate her kids. Amazing because it clearly hadn't occurred to this 'mother' that most people don't have FIFTEEN children because they can't afford to look after them.

And there is so much more, teachers and professors indoctrinating young children and college students into believing they are owed an education, a home and full healthcare, when in fact no one is, none of us are entitled to anything not a thing, and we need to recognise that because it seems to me the current generation of tax payers maybe the last one capable or willing to allow their money to be used to keep unemployed people and civil servants of whatever description in a luxury the people themselves can't afford.

We really need to look at the whole benefits and 'entitled' system its generosity is only possible by using the money other people worked hard for and using other peoples money to keep those who can't or won't work is the main reason for mass immigration. The effect of such 'generosity' is to endanger the European culture and the European race. Sometime soon someone is going to have to take a long hard look at what they've been doing and stop it.

And, before the usual suspects bleat about race, colour and religion. Its nothing to do with any of them, all of them are looking for the same thing and none are entitled to anything.