How Debauched! How Decadent!

I am blogging from bed. It doesn't seem right. Perhaps I'm getting more liberal and bohemian (instinct tells me to give that a capital B - sleepiness is no excuse for slacking one's standards) as I approach my 40th birthday (another one for the Confessional).

Patch the Dog (PTD) gave me a sideways glance of real disdain as I climbed into bed (am I getting shorter so's I need to climb?) as if to say "yes? What do you want... Disturbing me thus?"

And there we have it. That's my lot in life. I am lower in the pecking order in this house than PTD who looks at me with such disdain when I interrupt his dreams of catching the biggest ever bone (yes in doggy dreams bones run away).

Today I found out the battery hen place we bought our last hens from has closed down, so my job this week is to locate a new place to get some new hens (if only to improve my standing in the pecking order...).

One last issue to get off my Cardiff City t-shirt (doubling as pyjim-jam top) clad-chest. Do goldfish in captivity breed? I ask because there is a revolutionary situation in our garden pond.

The water snails (yes they are above me in household importance) which we got for free from a local wild pond (just in case Old Pa Hurley is looking in) have had children. There are baby water snails in the pond. That's not debatable nor revolutionary. The government need not change the definition of marriage for our water snails!

No, the issue is our goldfish. Two tiny black fish have appeared, circa one inch long. There is debate as to whether they are the offspring of the goldfish (and will change colour) or got into the pond with plants, snails or tadpoles we've (ahem) borrowed from municipal ponds in our locale.

So if you know, or have an idea that will help our goldfish know they haven't fallen foul of inter-racial adoption rules of local councils, and help me settle down and get the sleep of the righteous (like PTD) which I might well deserve, contrary to what everyone above me in the social strata in this house (and garden) might have you believe, do tell.

Don't listen to the water snails (now there's a life lesson I'm happy to share for a small fee).

Let me know when you can. You can mark it in your diary as part of your Lenten almsgiving to the (intellectually) poor.

Good night, God bless.

Nos Da.