jackdaws with beards

                                                    Can you judge a book by its cover?

The other day a girl told me she'd Googled me and told me about some of the 'funny' images that had come up. Not surprisingly I have Googled myself but oddly enough I've never pressed the images icon. When she said funny I was imagining hysterical photos of me in fancy dress (I once went to a party on my horse, dressed as a Native American medicine woman )or embarrassing pictures taken on holiday - but what surprises lay in wait for me. This cover for instance of The Dog Ray in Czech which I didn't even know had been printed in Czechoslovakia and first thought might have been Russian or Polish (note to self check with publishers). I really love this cover and it made me think how different the covers of The Dog Ray are depending on which county has published it.

This for instance is in Taiwan

China - where the reading age is much younger. All written in Mandarin so I've no idea if it's the same story or not - it could be about a horse for all I know.

U.S.A.

 Another one in Taiwan and the cover for the British version which is still my favourite.

 As I trawled through the pictures I came across photographs of myself taken years ago for The Evening Standard which to my amazement someone was selling. I don't think I was worth much nor was I in for a cut on the profits. Also there were a lot of pictures of people who were not me even if it said they were. Fortunately none of them were of a woman dressed as a Native American on the back of a horse.

Meanwhile as the weather had warmed up I let the overwintering hedgehog go. At dusk I put him in the verge and stepped back waiting. I was longing to see him scurry off but he remained curled up in a large ball (he weighed a kilo) until it got too dark to see. Then like people who often wait for you to leave the room before they die I left to put the ducks away and when I returned he'd gone.

It makes a change that Pocket is not sleeping on my book or scratching out someone's eye. I asked him for his quote on this post and he said " Give me a small everyday event and I will make it a five act play."
And I said since when had he become a playwright? I didn't think he could even read and anyway Gogol said that. And he said Gogol? Did you Google that?

Rocket had his friend Becket (not the playwright Samuel - who would have written a five act play on a small everyday event) to stay for a couple of days. They rolled around and chased each other non stop until Pixie growled at them. Rocket is exhausted.


Now is the time of year for the horses to shed their coats and Harry has masses of white hair that has lined birds' nests the length and breadth of the county. The other day I gave him a groom and watched as a clattering of jackdaws gathered on the grass and busily tried to get as much of his hair into their beaks as possible before flying off to line their nests which were on top of every chimney in the village. They looked so funny - like old men with long white beards. Some of Harry's hair even fell down our chimney with some twigs and a plastic soldier from the 1950's.

I asked Pixie for her interesting fact for the post and she said"Bah! I am the Captain of My Soul"
What you and William Ernest Henley? I asked. She said she didn't know what I was talking about and should she Google it.

The Jackdaw

There is a bird who, by his coat
And by the hoarseness of his note,
Might be supposed a crow;
A great frequenter of the church,
Where, bishop-like, he finds a perch,
And dormitory too.

Above the steeple shines a plate,
That turns and turns, to indicate
From what point blows the weather.
Look up -- your brains begin to swim,
'Tis in the clouds -- that pleases him,
He chooses it the rather.

Fond of the speculative height,
Thither he wings his airy flight,
And thence securely sees
The bustle and the rareeshow,
That occupy mankind below,
Secure and at his ease.

You think, no doubt, he sits and muses
On future broken bones and bruises,
If he should chance to fall.
No; not a single thought like that
Employs his philosophic pate,
Or troubles it at all.

He sees that this great roundabout,
The world, with all its motley rout,
Church, army, physic, law,
Its customs and its businesses,
Is no concern at all of his,
And says -- what says he? -- Caw.

Thrice happy bird! I too have seen
Much of the vanities of men;
And, sick of having seen 'em,
Would cheerfully these limbs resign
For such a pair of wings as thine
And such a head between 'em. 

William Cowper