the narcissism of small differences

Here is a Christmassy photo of M.Magpie taken this time last year. 

As he has now flown the nest with his love - beware the host of the air (the fairy folk)- I doubt there'll be any more recent photos of him but I shall remember him like this in all his glory. He left me a few things to remind me of him though. When my printer broke for the third time and I took it to the repair shop they looked at me curiously when I said I expect a bird had put a dog biscuit down it. When I collected it the man solemnly handed me a tiny dog biscuit and suggested perhaps I closed the printer up completely when not in use.  He still looked at me curiously.

When I returned home I unexpectedly decided to do some spring cleaning and turning down my wall mounted anglepoise light shade was showered with nine further dog biscuits he'd cached in the light. I'm still finding toast crusts in books and this morning found one tucked inside a card on the mantle piece. I do miss him.

However at the moment I am caring for a family of hedgehogs. They are too small to hibernate outside so they have the run of the stable. I weigh them every now and then - they must be 500gms to survive a hibernation and they are scoffing back the food. I feel like a waitress as I carry a tray of little bowls of cat food every morning to them across the mud. No one leaves me a tip.

I love this poem by the late Benjamin Zephaniah who has died tragically young - a wonderful poet.

I am in luv wid

a hedgehog

I've never felt this way

before

I have luv fe dis

hedgehog

an every day I luv her

more an more

She lives by de shed

where weeds and roses

bed

An I just want de world to know

she makes me glow.

I am in love wid a

hedgehog

she's making me hair

stand on edge

so in luv wid dis

hedgehog

an her friends

who all live in de hedge

she visits me late

and eats off Danny's plate

but Danny's a cool tabby

cat

he leaves it at dat.

I am in luv wid a

hedgehog

she's gone away so I

must wait

but I do miss my

hedgehog

everytime she goes to

hibernate.

Here is Pocket holding forth on the narcissism of small differences. I've told him if he doesn't stop going on about it I'd tell him about The Great Cat Massacre. I told him to google it when he didn't believe me that in the 1730s in Paris there was a big massacre of cats.

He told me he had more important things to do and sat waiting for his agent to ring him. He also asked me if I was aware that in the beginning was the word. "Have you been reading Genesis?" I said. He scowled and told me Genesis was a rock band and how could he read that. I've learnt to ignore these things. He thinks he's very superior.

I had to admit to him that the more our relationship shared commonalities the more likely we were to engage in interpersonal feuds and mutual ridicule because of hypersensitivity to minor differences. He then argued that the differences weren't remotely minor rather more major.

Here is Scout who ignores most things except when it's meal times. It's been so cold in this house that I've been sitting in two hats, a coat and a scarf as well as ordinary clothes and occasionally lie like Scout near the fire.

Nancy thinks that Pocket is just a plump numpty who mumbles too much.

And Rocket wouldn't dare say anything rude about Pocket incase Pocket took his other eye out. He certainly didn't want to engage in any interpersonal feuds.
 

So dear Readers I will end this year of blogs wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and  Happy New Year with few interpersonal differences.

THE HOST OF THE AIR

by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

'DRISCOLL drove with a song

The wild duck and the drake

From the tall and the tufted reeds

Of the drear Hart Lake.

 

And he saw how the reeds grew dark

At the coming of night-tide,

And dreamed of the long dim hair

Of Bridget his bride.

 

He heard while he sang and dreamed

A piper piping away,

And never was piping so sad,

And never was piping so gay.

 

And he saw young men and young girls

Who danced on a level place,

And Bridget his bride among them,

With a sad and a gay face.

 

The dancers crowded about him

And many a sweet thing said,

And a young man brought him red wine

And a young girl white bread.

 

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve

Away from the merry bands,

To old men playing at cards

With a twinkling of ancient hands.

 

The bread and the wine had a doom,

For these were the host of the air;

He sat and played in a dream

Of her long dim hair.

 

He played with the merry old men

And thought not of evil chance,

Until one bore Bridget his bride

Away from the merry dance.

 

He bore her away in his arms,

The handsomest young man there,

And his neck and his breast and his arms

Were drowned in her long dim hair.

 

O'Driscoll scattered the cards

And out of his dream awoke:

Old men and young men and young girls

Were gone like a drifting smoke;

 

But he heard high up in the air

A piper piping away,

And never was piping so sad,

And never was piping so gay.