Cyclists

I would like to have a rant. If this will put you off your cornflakes, maybe read it later (or not at all) but really, I need to moan. My problem is cyclists on the road. Let me explain.

Now, before I begin, I should admit that I also cycle on the road. In fact, after my surgery cycling was my only form of transport for many months because I wasn’t allowed to drive. I feel this gives me some rights with regard to cyclists, because I am one of them. I know what it means to slog up a hill, to be overtaken at speed by a careless driver, to be squashed into the pavement when they misjudge an overtake, to risk being thrown by dangerous potholes. However, without being overly harsh, some cyclists should have their bikes forcibly removed and put into a crusher.

Cyclists have every right to be on the road and not be killed by careless drivers. They do not, however, have the right to cycle selfishly, to ignore all the rules of the road, to flip between road and pathway, to inconvenience and cause trouble to everyone else on the road. I find it intensely irritating when someone is selfish, and most cyclists I encounter seem to be exceptionally selfish (especially those wearing lycra, but that’s another issue).

When I am driving, I will do my best to make the road safe for cyclists. I will not overtake them when I can’t see round the corner, or when the road is too narrow, or when someone is approaching towards me. I wait, patiently driving at snail-pace, until I can overtake safely, giving them a wide berth, ready for unexpected wobbles due to potholes. However, when there is a traffic queue, I do not expect them to overtake me on the inside (which is a traffic violation) so that I have to repeatedly overtake them. Nor do I expect them to selfishly move to the front of the line at traffic lights, so that when the light turns green not only do we all have to overtake them again but if there are roadworks we also have to drive extra slowly behind them until the road is clear. To do this is just plain selfish. Why do they think they have more rights than anyone else? Why can they break the law by overtaking on the inside, and then expect the law to protect them?

Now, when I am in charge of the world, I shall make it a legal requirement for all cyclists to wear a high-visibility jacket, with a number–like a car number plate. Then these lycra-wearing road-hogging obstacles will be easy to identify, people can record their number, report them to the police (who can then either crush their bike, or fine them–whichever is deemed most appropriate). They also, before being allowed on the road, should be forced to read the Highway Code, and to sign it, acknowledging that there are laws around road-use, and if they use the road, they should obey the laws.

I’m sure I am not alone in feeling exasperated by cyclists. When I have slowed my journey to overtake them safely, I do not feel inclined to do this repeatedly. My feeling is that I have kept them safe once, if they repeatedly under-take me, must I protect them again and again when I overtake them a second and third time. They can only steal so much of my time. It takes incredible self-control to continue to protect them. They should know this–not every driver has incredible self-control. They make the road dangerous, especially for other cyclists, because we all get lumped into the same ‘selfish cyclist’ group. There are some cyclists who do behave properly, who do deserve to be protected, who have every right to being protected. But please, do let’s stop selfish cyclists abusing their position. Let’s make road use fair.

Thanks for reading. Drive safely, and take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
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Meg’s Diary

Posted by anneethompson

28/5/2025

We had another Bank Holiday weekend, and this one had nothing planned so we chilled at home. On the Sunday I was feeling lazy, and the view from upstairs showed the field next to the house was freshly mown, with no animals, and the sun was shining—so we thought, why not walk Meg there for a change? What could possibly go wrong?

Of course, lots could go wrong before we even left the driveway, so I was careful to ensure that Husband was happy to hold the lead the entire way—so if a car passed us Meg wouldn’t break my arm in her quest to chase it. Husband decided to also bring the extending lead, which I have now deemed as too dangerous given the speed that Meg reaches before the lock clicks in, and I am pulled after her at 45 mph. But he was convinced it would be fine, and off we set.

There is a large oak tree in the corner of the field, so when we passed I collected lots of fallen sticks, and Husband and Meg collected the largest logs they could carry, and off we went. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, Meg was happily walking round the field with us, chasing sticks. At one point a car went down the lane, and Meg raced the length of the field trying to catch it, but she was safely behind the hedge, so I viewed it as good exercise.

But then it all went wrong (of course it did!) Husband threw his log, which bounced, and Meg zoomed after it, and as she caught it, she yelped. I wasn’t sure what had happened, and she looked unhurt as she ran back to us. But then I realised she had blood dripping from her mouth. I called her to me, and made her sit, and opened her mouth (she’s very good at letting me poke my fingers in her mouth, and the only times she has ever bitten me is when she’s snatching at a stick). But she wouldn’t let me look properly, so we took her home, trailing drips of blood behind us.

At home, I put some cider vinegar into her water bowl as a way to try and clean whatever was cut, but Meg sniffed it and walked to her bed, refusing to drink. We checked her a few times, and I decided that if she was no better the following day we would take her to the vet. In my experience, animals have a very fast metabolism, and most times (unless there is something obvious, like a cut or a splinter) they get better on their own.

Meg didn’t eat anything that night, but the next morning I wet her dried food so it was soft, and she ate it all. I tried to look in her mouth, but all I could see was that under her tongue was swollen. She didn’t let me move her tongue to see if there was a splinter. I decided to wait another couple of days, because I couldn’t see that the vet would be able to do anything without a general anaesthetic and I am unkeen to allow those unless strictly necessary. Gradually, Meg improved, she stopped being subdued (that didn’t last more than a few hours) and began to use her mouth normally.

***

On the Monday, we decided to walk to the pub for lunch, and as it was nice having Meg in the field for a change, we decided to take her. We last took her to the pub about a year ago, and she was very annoying, so I was hoping for an improvement.

Walking to the pub was mostly okay. We could do most of it in fields. Meg clearly remembered the route, even after all this time, and was often in the lead. We had to cross a stile, and Meg remembered where it was, and squeezed through the central gap without a problem. A few cars passed us on the lane, and Meg was terrible, and leapt at them—but we knew that she would, and Husband had her on a tight lead, and no one was injured.

In the pub I tied Meg to a wall, and pulled a ball from my pocket. At home she will concentrate on a ball for a long time, waiting until she is allowed to have it. It worked less well in the pub. Initially she lay down, with her paws either side, and her head above the ball—not touching (which was not allowed) but only millimetres away. When she thought I wasn’t looking, she nudged it forward. I then tried giving her the ball, thinking that the treat of being allowed the ball might keep her quiet for a while. But Meg wanted me to throw it, and when I didn’t, she did. She was fairly near some steps, and she managed to toss the ball towards them, and then lurched forward to get it, nearly pulling the hook out of the wall she was attached to. At one point a woman passed, and Meg barked her ‘big dog’ bark and I realised the woman was carrying a small dog. Everyone in the pub jumped, and then stared. I apologised, tried to get her to refocus on the ball. It was not a relaxing lunch. However, it was not completely terrible, so I might try it again.

The walk home was relaxed. Meg ran free most of the time, and we ignored her and enjoyed being in the sunshine. I love to watch her run around, and she probably made the walk more fun (if you don’t include the lurching at cars thing—I certainly could never take her on my own). It takes us about an hour to walk to the pub, and when I leave Meg at home, I then have to take her for a walk, so it’s much easier if she comes with us. We decided that taking Meg with us made it less relaxing, but it was not a complete failure. In Meg-world, that’s about as good as it gets.

I hope you have something relaxing this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
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Dogs in the Bible

Posted by anneethompson

Hello, I hope you and your family have had a great weekend. When I say ‘your family,’ I do of course include any pets that you might own. They are definitely part of the family. Especially dogs.

As you know, I am studying animals as part of my PhD research—looking at animals in the Old Testament. This week I read an interesting chapter about dogs in the book of Exodus.[1] It always surprises me, when I study the Bible, how much I have missed in the past. I certainly missed the dogs in Exodus, even though they appear a couple of times. We can understand something of how ancient people regarded dogs.

Archaeologists find evidence of dogs and humans living together since the earliest times. Whether humans domesticated dogs to help them hunt, or whether dogs trained humans to feed them in return for protection, is unknown. The ancient Israelites certainly interacted with dogs, and they were listed as ‘unclean’ in the law, meaning they could not be eaten. (Which I have always thought made the animal disliked, but actually, it protected the animal’s freedom to some extent.)

The first mention in Exodus is near the beginning of the book, in chapter 11 (I am giving the English Bible references, the Hebrew Bible has different verse numbers). We have a description of the last plague in Egypt, when God’s angel of death was going to pass over the land, killing all the first-born people (and all the first-born animals, interestingly).[2] As children died, the people would wail and cry. But not the dogs. The dogs would remain silent. (In the Hebrew, it has something complicated, about not deciding to ‘tongue’ and tongue tends to be used for ‘speech’ and dog-speech is barking or growling, so that is how it tends to be translated.) Think about that for a minute. What does it mean? Dogs—which were kept to help with hunting and guarding—would not bark. Why? Did the dogs somehow know? Did the dogs recognise that this terrible happening was from God? Did the dogs understand something that the people did not recognise? I think they did.

Another mention of dogs is in Exodus 22:31. This has been linked by Jewish scholars to the verse in Exodus 11. It talks about when the Israelites find dead animals in the wild (road-kill of the ancient world), and they are told not to eat them, but to give them to the dogs. Jewish scholars suggest this meat is given as a reward to the dogs for keeping silent. It is owed to the dogs. I have never understood it this way before, but it is logical. God looks after people, and he looks after animals. Therefore animals have certain rights to certain food.

The book mentioned another scholar, a Jewish man who talks about his own experience with a dog.[3] He was a Jewish prisoner during the war, and forced to work in a work camp, where he describes being treated as if he was an animal. He says that Jews were viewed as animals by the guards—which in turn made the guards behave like animals. All very sad and dehumanising and wrong. But a stray dog wandered into the camp, and he managed to live there. When the prisoners returned from a day of hard labour, the dog would bounce around, joyfully greeting them. The dog made them feel human again. I can imagine the scene—I know what it is to be greeted enthusiastically by a dog. I can imagine how affirming that would be for prisoners who were hated.

In his book, Levinas suggests the dog viewed the prisoners as human (whereas the guards did not). Personally, I think the dog regarded them as dogs—one of the pack. We often ascribe human traits to animals. However, even if the dog was simply behaving like a dog, treating the men as one of the pack, it is still good. I think animals have much to teach us. We need to learn how to notice.

There are lots of animals in the Bible. Too often we don’t notice them, or assume they are simply metaphors and not an intrinsic part of the teaching. Yet the ancient world did not view animals as a mere commodity, and we should notice how they are used in the sacred texts. We might learn something.

Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Thank you for reading.
anneethompson.com
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[1] Ken Stone, Reading the Hebrew Bible with Animal Studies (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2018).

[2] Stone suggests this shows the people/animal groups were divided by God according to whether they were Egyptian or Hebrew, not according to species.

[3] Emmanual Levinas, Difficult Freedom, trans. Sean Hand, (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1997), 151.

Meg’s Diary

Posted by anneethompson

6/5/2025

I have had a fun week with Meg—perhaps because it has been a ‘normal’ week, with nothing to make her over-excited. The only unusual event was that Meg chased a deer. We were walking in the woods, and I was throwing sticks (but a little apathetically—it was hot) when I heard the trees rustling. I guessed it was probably a deer, but I took no notice because we have encountered deer many times in the woods, and Meg is always more interested in the sticks I throw. But not this time. This time Meg went off to investigate. I watched her walk into the trees, sniffing, then she stopped, ears alert. She paused for a second and then was off, zooming through the trees and out of sight. I never saw a deer, but I assume that’s what she saw. I waited. I waited for quite a long time. Husband started to call her, but I suggested it was better to wait. I thought that if Meg could hear us, she would confidently continue to run away, knowing we were waiting. If we were silent, perhaps she would notice that she was alone and decide to return before she got too far away. I have no idea if this is a thing, but most of my dog-training techniques are based on ignorance, so it was worth a try. After a few minutes I spotted Meg returning, so we quickly resumed our walk, trying to look as if we didn’t care whether she was with us or not, and we (the pack) were leaving without her. Again, no idea if this is a thing, but it made me feel in control.

Another change is that this week (and maybe only this week) Meg has been jumping into the boot without a fuss. The turning point came one day when I was frustrated by our regular stand-off: me staring at Meg trying to coax her into the boot with treats and commands, her staring back and trying to coax me on a longer walk by refusing to get into the car. I clipped a long lead onto a restraining point in the car, the other onto her collar, and removed her lead. Then I just ignored her, and changed into my shoes ready to drive away. Meg jumped into the boot. The following day, as soon as she saw me reach for the long lead, she jumped into the boot. I no longer have to reach for the long lead—we get to the car, I open the boot, Meg jumps inside (just like all the other dogs I see, who are less awkward than my treasure). The only reason that I can think of, is that Meg was only awkward because I cared, and if I am not even going to try then she can’t be bothered to make a stand. Is this a dog thing? It’s certainly a teenaged boy thing, and Meg definitely has other similar behaviour traits to teenaged boys, so maybe it is. I will let you know if it continues. Perhaps ‘not caring’ is a way to make her obedient. That would be easy. (I cannot describe how different this is to Kia, my lovely ‘normal’ GSD, who would have walked through fire to please me and was upset if I was unhappy. Meg just sees me as competition!)

***

23/5/2025

Last weekend we went to Cambridge. It’s when we want to go away that having a dog feels like a hassle. Usually we pay vast amounts of money to put her in kennels, but this time My daughter kindly agreed to have her. I knew Meg would be happy (I was slightly more worried about Daughter!)

I walked Meg in the woods on the way to my daughter’s and then while Husband unloaded her crate from the car, I walked with Meg along the road. I wanted to see whether, now she is older, she will walk without leaping at cars when she is somewhere unfamiliar. For the first half of the walk (about 5 minutes) Meg was fine, although was clearly ‘noticing’ the cars. But I had a stick, and when a car came I managed to refocus her attention to the stick (which was snapped into pieces by the end of the 5 minutes—so she was tense). It all went wrong when we were nearly back at Daughter’s house. A car could be heard, approaching at speed, and I saw Meg click into ‘fully alert’ mode. I tried to make her focus on me, and told her to sit, and tried to calm her—but it was too late. As the car whizzed round the corner, Meg hurled herself towards it (and nearly broke my arm). Shame. Husband came came and rescued me, and I told Daughter that it definitely is not safe to walk Meg near a road, and she should just play with her in the garden while we were away.

When we collected Meg at the end of the weekend, she was happy and excited, and Daughter was okay and unharmed, so I feel it was successful.

***

Yesterday I made a mistake, and let Meg into the garden when cockerel was out. He had been annoying when I shut up the birds for the night, and he ran off when he saw me trying to herd them all inside, so I was feeling cross with him and decided that he would have to cope with Meg. This was a bad mistake. I thought she would bark at him (as she does when on the lead) and that he would posture aggressively, and after facing-off, I would be able to herd him inside. It didn’t go like that.

Meg came up the garden with me, and I made sure she had a stick in her mouth. She saw the cockerel, and in an instant had dropped the stick and was on him. I called her, shouted to ‘Stop!’ and ‘Leave!’ Meg was deaf, zero response. She leapt onto the cockerel, and pinned him down. He made all sorts of attempts to get free and tried to jump at her with his spurs ready to attack, but she had him, trapped between her feet, long feathers drifting round them. I heaved her off him, and Husband took her inside while I sorted cockerel. I thought he was dead, but he wasn’t, he was just squashed. I lifted him into the cage, and watched to see whether he was likely to recover. He stood up, looked a bit dazed, and then started to walk around. Other than loosing some feathers, I think he is unharmed.

This was a learning experience for me—do not let Meg near my birds. It all happened in a second. But to be fair, Meg did not seem to be trying to kill him, I don’t think her teeth went near him, she just wanted to restrain him. Obviously my birds are too small, and she could easily kill one by mistake, but I guess she was only following her instinct to dominate and capture a herd (just happened to be a bird, not a flock of sheep). I’m not sure I will ever be able to train her to be safe around my other animals, though at least she has absolutely no aggression towards them.

I hope you have a safe week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
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A Country Wedding

Posted by anneethompson

A Country Wedding

My son was married in August. It was a beautiful wedding, and the day was perfect. Being mother of the groom is somewhat different to being mother of the bride. This is slightly strange, as obviously as a mother you have invested the same amount of love, time, energy, into raising a son as a daughter—but the relationship is slightly different when they’re adults. Plus, usually the wedding is the bride’s vision, so as a helper of the groom, the role is less clear.

The wedding was in Norfolk, and we rented a nearby house the week before so we could help wherever we were able. They had decided to book a ‘dry venue’—which does not mean that it has a roof (although it did) nor that it doesn’t allow alcohol (because it did) but rather that it is just a space. No furniture no decorations. The bride’s family are very artistic, and they wanted to create a very personal space for the reception.

My main role was making cupcakes. They had asked me ages ago if I would, and I could not think of a way to transport them safely and freshly to Norfolk, so initially I said no. But then I realised I could bake them in the rented house, if she could find me space in someone’s freezer. I don’t enjoy cooking in a foreign kitchen, and I took absolutely all the equipment I would need (even my little cup that has a good rim for cracking eggs). When we arrived at the house, the cooker was exactly the same as my one at home, which was brilliant. I tested it with my oven thermometer, adjusted the cooking time for a slightly hotter oven, and all was good. I spent several hours baking and decorating cupcakes, and they were all finished by the Tuesday before the wedding.

We helped with other jobs where we could, although mostly the bride’s family wanted to do everything. This was an adjustment for me (my family is usually the ones organising things) but I could see they were working hard, and producing beautiful things, so I tried to not get in the way.

The bride’s mother had grown most of the flowers in her garden. We had all collected jam jars for the year before the wedding, and they twisted wire loops around them so they could hang on the end of each pew. They also had milk churns—no country wedding would be complete without milk churns.

On the Thursday we had a rehearsal and met the vicar. She was very jolly, and told us all what to do, where to sit and stand. The ‘bridesmaids’ (the bride’s three brothers) and the ‘groomsmen’ (the groom’s siblings) practised walking into the church, and the bride made decisions about who would walk in first.

On the Friday we could help decorate the venue. They had rented round tables, and cloths, and chairs. We assembled everything, adding decorations like fairy lights and candles. Most people left to help with the flowers (including my younger son, which bemused me—I don’t really think of him as good with flowers). We continued to arrange things according to the bride’s plan, as best as we could. We needed batteries for the lights, so set off for the supermarket (things like that take ages). Son 2 sent an urgent message saying he was starving (obviously ignored the advice to eat an early lunch) so we bought food too. I then went home with Son 2, Husband went with the bride and groom to collect the flowers (and a lot of jam jar water, I believe) for the reception venue.

The wedding day was lovely. We arrived at the church, which was beautiful with candles and flowers. The bride walked across the field from her home, with her father and ‘bridesmaids’ and her face, smiling at my son as she walked down the aisle, is a memory to treasure. The ceremony was perfect. My daughter had written a poem, and that made everyone cry, and my youngest son had dressed as a chauffer for the ride to the reception, which made everyone laugh.

The reception began with the speeches—because Son knew he wouldn’t relax until he had given his speech and he wanted to enjoy the party. Then we had curry, which I have never before eaten at a wedding but actually went down rather well. There was dancing, and laughter, and lots of chance to chat to family and just enjoy being together.

I hope you have something lovely this week too. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Some of the photographs taken from abimckennaphotography.

Thanks for reading.
anneethompson.com
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Disappointing Downton Abbey

Posted by anneethompson

Disappointing Downton Abbey

My sister Ruth is staying, and we bought tickets for Highclere Castle, the film location for Downton Abbey. The tickets were bought online, and there was lots of information about Downton Abbey, with photos of the actors in the house. We wanted to visit the house because we have watched Downton Abbey, we wanted to see the filmset, to take a selfie in the library, to enjoy seeing in real life what we had enjoyed watching. We were not especially interested in the Earl of Carnarvon (who owns Highclere House) nor in seeing another stately home. I felt the website reflected this, it was aimed at fans of Downton. We therefore paid our £22 for tickets to the house and garden. We decided not to pay £75 for a picnic (no surprise there!) although we wondered about taking our own picnic, if the weather was nice.

The day arrived, and off we set. We had booked lunch in a nearby pub instead of taking a picnic. This turned out to be a lucky decision. The reality of Highclere Castle is rather different to the enthusiasm of the website.

Now, to be fair, the grounds are beautiful, and we had fun posing for the iconic view in front of the house. Everything was clean, there were washrooms and a giftshop and a tearoom. However, it was very much geared up to be Highclere House — not Downton.

My main complaint, and I feel it’s valid, is that no photographs could be taken in the house. I can forgive the rather rude women standing at the door who insisted (as if we were 12 years old) that we kept our phones in our bags. I can forgive the long queue even though we had timed tickets (the time made no difference) and the rather ‘herded’ method that we were trooped through the house. I understand why most rooms were cordoned off, and we could only peer from the doorway. The number of photos of the family was a little odd, because I assume very few people were there to see Highclere, we all wanted to visit Downton—that is what we paid our £22 for, that is what the website sold us. I understand that it is the Earl’s family home, but visiting his house is not worth £22 to me (or I suspect most other visitors). He had sold us a visit to a film set. He gave us a visit to his house.

But we wanted a selfie, standing in Downton Abbey, and I feel that to deny us that was almost false advertising. It was mean. I checked online, and after all the Downton hype, after clicking on the page to buy tickets, I managed to find a tab that stated no photographs were allowed. It was definitely nowhere near as obvious as the numerous signs (and strict ‘guides’ who basically seemed concerned only with policing the policy). It felt like a trick. I was also somewhat bemused to find that they also do not allow picnics (despite selling them) though they do allow them to be eaten in the car! Again, it felt the website was misleading.

I am sure it costs a vast amount of money to maintain a stately home. But Highclere Castle seemed to be presenting a false image to encourage visitors. If you enjoy visiting stately homes, I expect you will enjoy it. If you want to take a selfie in Downton Abbey, or picnic in the park—then I suggest you save your money.

We spent a happy journey home downloading photos of the interior of the house from their website and adding photos of various family members. I hope you enjoy them.

Thanks for reading.

Take care,

Love, Anne x

These were the photos we were allowed to take:

Very long queue–the timed tickets were not checked.

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The photos we were not allowed to take:

I added the family members using clever phone. Therefore I have the photos of us in Downton Abbey–but not taken during the visit, which was a shame.

Thanks for reading.
anneethompson.com
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Meg’s Diary

Posted by anneethompson

We took Meg to Camber Sands. At the beach we had a hiccup in the car park. Meg got a whiff of sea air, spotted another dog, started to whirl in circles and leap all over me. No control at all. Husband had walked on, but he noticed (eventually) and came to rescue me before I dislocated something essential. Once on the beach, I removed the lead (wasn’t too sure about this) showed Meg the stick I had brought (which she leapt at, in a very uncontrolled manner) and then started to walk. Like magic, Meg settled into ‘walking mode.’ I walked along the beach, throwing things for her to chase, she followed, absorbed in the game, ignoring everything else.

After a while we stopped and rested on a sand dune. Meg sat on the sand, where she was, and didn’t move. She was not especially near us, but she was watching. I think she was worried I might put on the lead again. She lay on the sand, just watching. Various people walked past her, various dogs walked past her (one brown curly spaniel even bounded up to her barking). Meg just sat, waiting for the game to resume, ignoring everything else. (Husband asked what I would do if she reacted badly to the spaniel. I replied that the spaniel had approached Meg, aggressively barking, and the owner had not stopped it. Therefore if Meg chose to eat it, that was not my concern. Not sure this was the answer he was expecting.)

It was a sunny day, the wind was gentle, the waves were lapping onto the shore. All very lovely. I wanted an ice cream before we went home, but they were deemed too expensive, so we drove home for a cup of tea instead. Well done Meg, a good day out.

Today I took Meg to the supermarket, and tied her up outside. I like doing this—it gives her something interesting to do, she often gets petted by other shoppers, and she waits very patiently. But today someone warned me that ‘the gypsies’ might steal her. This is the second time someone has warned me that she might get stolen. I don’t know whether this is a real risk or not. But she does wag her tail in a very non-threatening manner, so I don’t think anyone would be fooled into thinking she might bite them. And she is a very attractive dog. Bit of a quandary. Not sure what to do in the future.

6/7/2025

The little pony is back in the field next to the house. There are rams in the field too. Meg spends hours at the top of the garden, and refuses to come inside when called. Her and the pony run up and down the fence together, the rams just stand there, looking confused. Meg now smells of horse, so I think the pony must be putting her head through the fence, and is possibly licking Meg. It’s an unusual friendship, but kind of cute.

10/4/25

Today Meg emptied a plant pot and ate the avocado seed I was trying to grow. I found it in pieces all over the carpet. Meg didn’t seem ill (which is lucky, as I know the seeds and skins of avocado are poisonous—maybe she didn’t actually swallow any). I don’t think it will grow now.

I water my houseplants every Friday, and Meg follows me round the house, watching. In the kitchen I have a fern, which is sitting on a tray of gravel so the water can evaporate and keep the leaves humid. (I’m not sure if this actually works, but it’s what the instructions told me to do, and the fern is growing despite being repeatedly bashed by enthusiastic dog’s tail.) The only problem is that Meg prefers to drink the water from the gravel tray than from her bowl. Maybe it’s salty, I don’t know. Without fail, I water the plant every Friday, and as soon as she thinks I am not watching, Meg goes and drinks all the water. I worry that she also drinks some of the gravel, but it’s hard to stop her. She has a full bowl of fresh water always available, plus a bucket of water in the garden (because she is super-messy with water and sort of bites it when drinking instead of lapping it like other dogs). But nothing, it seems, compares to the water in the gravel tray. Except perhaps the extremely germ-filled muddy puddles that we pass when walking in the woods—she will sneak off to drink from those too if she has the chance.

24/4/2025

Yesterday was another low-point in our relationship. I checked the nest in the aviary, and saw the ducklings were hatching, so I needed to prepare a brooder and move mother and ducklings there (because ducks are usually pretty terrible mothers, and if I release them all on the pond, all the ducklings die/are eaten within a week or two). This involved lots of moving around the garden, so I let Meg come with me for the first part, knowing I would need to lock her inside when I moved the ducks or she would bark and cause all sorts of chaos. (Not yet the helpful farm dog I was hoping for.) I decided to throw some sticks for her first, so she could have a run around before being confined again. Bad decision.

I was only half concentrating on Meg, as I was thinking about the best way to move the ducks. There was a moment, when Meg was on the middle lawn holding a fairly big log, and I was on the narrow footpath between the lawns, and I (stupidly) picked up a decent stick to throw, called her, threw it behind me. I had not considered the size of the log in her mouth in relation to the size of the path I was standing on. Meg, as always, hurtled towards the thrown stick, her entire focus on reaching where it fell, all 34kg of her charging at about 20 mph, straight through me. Except of course, she did not go through me, she simply tried to go through me and instead bashed my leg with the log at great force. The log made contact with the side of my leg about 6 inches above the knee, then thudded to the ground when Meg dropped it to continue her charge.

The pain was immense. I cried out in agony, then found I couldn’t stop, and stood there, like a wild animal, howling. Meg took absolutely no notice at all. She ran to the thrown stick, picked it up, danced round the garden with it. When I managed to stop howling, I realised I needed to get to a seat because I felt very sick and dizzy and had pins and needles in both hands (was probably hyper-ventilating). I knew that if I sat/lay on the ground, Meg would bounce on me, and possibly kill me by bashing my head with the log. I hobbled to a garden seat, and sat there, trying to breathe, wondering if my thigh bone was broken, wondering how I was going to get into the house. Meg continued to dance around the garden, coming up to me a few times to entice me to try to get the stick. Her empathy level was nil, zero, zilch. Absolutely no awareness, whatsoever, that I was in agony. None. I have no idea how this compares to ‘normal’ dogs, but I know that Kia was fully aware of my mood at all times, and very attune to my emotions. Not Meg. I genuinely believe that if I dropped down dead she would not notice.

Luckily, Husband noticed my rather strange position on the bench and came into the garden to investigate. (Full empathy points there.) He helped me inside, put Meg somewhere safe, and we tried to sort out whether my leg needed any medical attention. It didn’t—nothing was broken, just incredibly painful. I think I probably bruised the bone, so just a matter of resting it for a few days and taking nurofen for the pain. (Which of course, is complicated by the fact that someone needs to sort out those ducklings, and to walk Meg.)

Thanks for reading. Take care.
Love, Anne x

PS. Leg healed after a few days. The ducklings survived and now live on the pond. Meg is still happily disrupting my life, and I am more careful about watching for bashings from big logs.

Who wrote Genesis?

Posted by anneethompson

Genesis is the first book of the Bible and I was taught that Moses wrote it (as part of the Pentateuch—the first five books of the Christian Bible). However, being taught something, even believing something, does not necessarily make it true. So what is the evidence?

There is some evidence within the Bible itself. In the Old Testament, the law is often referred to as ‘the law of Moses.’ (Eg: Dan 9:13, Mic. 6:4) plus we read that Moses wrote down all that God told him. This does not necessarily mean he wrote the book of Genesis—he perhaps only wrote down the laws, and then passed them to the people. In the New Testament people also refer to the law of Moses, which falls into the same category. Jesus refers to ‘the book of Moses’ (Mk 12:26) and there are several places when Moses is described as having written the law. Therefore it is clear that the early church believed that the law came from Moses—but not explicitly that he wrote Genesis.

If I use a modern analogy, I can say that I tell my children Hans Christian Anderson’s story of The Ugly Duckling. Now, I have never actually read his original story (I do not read Danish) nor have I ever read a translation. But I know the story from my own childhood, and I trust that it originated with him, therefore I consider it truthful to say it is his story. I might even write it down, centuries after he died, and it would still be ‘his’ story, even if I wrote it in modern English. Of course, someone looking at my book in the year 3000 might notice it is not written in Danish, or even in English of the 1800s, and they might question whether it was really a story by Hans Christian Anderson. But I think this is an accurate description of the book. (Today, we would write a colophon, saying that the story was retold by me, and the dates, but in the ancient world, this was not a thing.)

What then do we find if we look at the writing of Genesis? We do not have any original texts, so we need to use the manuscripts that we do have. The oldest manuscripts show it was written mostly in Hebrew (just two words in Aramaic, in Gen.31:47). Like all languages, Hebrew has evolved over time, and the language is not consistent throughout. There are texts written in Archaic Biblical Hebrew, Classical Biblical Hebrew, and Late Biblical Hebrew. However, most of the texts were written in Classical Biblical Hebrew. This was used from about 9th century BCE to the 6th century BCE. Within this time frame, Classical Hebrew continued to evolve and some words began to be written in different ways. It is likely therefore that Genesis 1 (the 7 days of creation) was written later than the Eden creation story, even though it is placed first in the book.

As well as the style of language, some of the terms used also help to date the texts. For example, ‘Ur of the Chaldeans (Gen.11:28) must have been written (or added) after 700 BCE, yet the city Calah in Gen.10:12 must have been written about 880 BCE, because after 704 BCE it was part of Ninevah, not a separate place.

So what do we make of all this? And does it matter?

My view is that the best way to read Genesis is as openly as you are able, making sense of what the texts say, and asking God to reveal something to you while you read. That, I think, is how biblical texts should be read. Genesis is a place where you might encounter God.

However, from an academic point of view (which generally reveals very little of God, but is extremely interesting if you like that sort of thing!) Genesis seems to be a composite text, added to over centuries by various authors or schools of thought. Whether it began with a single author is impossible to prove. Personally, I do not like to examine the various sections in isolation, taking strands from various time periods and looking at them separately. I think they were combined for a reason, and to study them properly you need to view them within the context of the whole. But others disagree. What do you think?

Thanks for reading. I hope your day is a good one.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

My main source for facts was Ronald Hendel, ‘Historical Context’ in The Book of Genesis (Leiden: Brill, 2012) 51-82.

A Covid Day

Posted by anneethompson

As I write this, I am ill (by the time it’s posted, I shall be better). No one enjoys being ill, and this virus is a particularly nasty one, possibly covid (which I have never had before, so I have nothing to compare it with). Anyway, I have had to cancel a lot of things in the diary (all fun things, which makes it worse) and poor Husband is back on animal duty and preparing his own food. (A lot of ready meals, I believe.)
However, while I do feel pretty sorry for myself, I am a great believer in making the best of a situation—even a rubbish one. Always live the best day possible. I tried to think about what I could do to make life less boring. Being ill is incredibly boring. I started optimistically, with a large volume on Genesis that I want to read. But my brain is too fuzzy to concentrate, so that was a fail. I moved on to a book Husband gave me, but that too required too much concentration. Then I decided to read the farm books that I wrote.
Now, writing a novel is great fun, and fully consuming, and you live inside your head for about a year, only properly emerging when it’s ready to be published. Publishing a book is absolutely AWFUL. Suddenly all those characters who you have loved and hated for months are released into the world, and other people will have opinions. Plus, although I have never read a book that didn’t have at least one typo, even expensive books by well known publishers, my own mistakes worry me. No matter how many people have checked and proofread, there are always some that are missed. Which is very embarrassing.
Therefore, when a book is published, I do not read it again for a long time. In fact, I am not sure that I have ever reread my farm books. Now was the perfect time.
To be honest, they are rather good! I worry that I perhaps introduced too many characters too quickly, but other than that, I really enjoyed them. They made me laugh (I guess it is my own humour after all) and in places, they even made me cry. (Though the virus might have had something to do with that!)
Anyway, if I might be so bold, I thoroughly recommend them. You can buy them from any Amazon.
I have been ill for 3 days now, so I’m bored again. I am quarantined in the bedroom so no one else catches it (very nasty germ) though Meg has decided this doesn’t include her. I’m too desperate for company to keep to the rules.
I am regularly gargling with the mouthwash that my virus-expert doctor friend recommended, and drinking lots of water. I realise afresh what a wonderful gift good health is. Hopefully I will be fully better in a couple of days. Now I need to find something else to do that’s worthwhile, because I’m currently watching back-to-back Instagram posts of puppies. (Some of these make me cry too—definitely due to the virus!)
Hope you stay well this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Sent from my iPhone

SOTS 2025

Posted by anneethompson

I went to the summer conference of SOTS (Society for Old Testament Study). As in previous years, I was one of the least qualified people in the room (which is actually rather a safe position to be in, there is nothing to lose in the way of status).

I set off from home on a dull Monday morning, and caught the early afternoon train from Kings Cross to Durham. It happened to be an Edinburgh train, and I was tempted to just stay on it, and have a sneaky few days in Edinburgh while Husband did all my duties at home. When I arrived in Durham it was sunny, and I decided to walk to Collingwood College. I had not factored-in the hills; Durham has a lot of them. Or the lack of signposts; Durham has very few road name signs. I arrived at the venue resembling a witch recently evicted from a sauna. Everyone else stepped from taxis looking very smart and intelligent.

Not a pretty campus. My room was in that block.

I went to the reception desk, received my name badge (kept it round the wrong way until I had managed to tidy up a bit) and collected my room key. I set off to find my room, returned a few minutes later and was issued with a map—the campus is like a rabbit warren, it all connects (great if it rains) and lack of signs seems to be a feature of university campuses. Maybe it’s like in Malta, and they plan to confuse any invaders. My room, when I finally found it, was clean and uncomfortable, with a tiny shower room and paper-thin walls. It was also extremely hot, which seems to be another feature of university campuses. But it was a nice private space to escape to when I needed a break from trying to look intelligent.

This was my fifth conference, so I now recognise most people and would include some of them as friends—even though I see them only at conferences. There was a drinks reception, so I changed into a dress, combed my hair, and negotiated the rabbit warren back to the dining area. I remember my first SOTS, when I hid in my too-hot room, too nervous to join the reception until I was sure the cohort from my college had arrived. I am less anxious now. I recognise several people by their names, because they have written the books in the libraries, and it’s fun to meet them, to tell them I have enjoyed their writing, to discover whether the person matches the style of words. (They often do not, some of the people who write very clear, easy to understand books are less comfortable in real life.)

Therefore, only a few minutes after arriving at the university, there I was, drink in hand, chatting with a group of clever people who I have never met before, trying to look intelligent—or at least, not too stupid. But as I stood there, drink in hand, I was aware that I could feel an unusual crease in my dress, and the awful thought loomed—was my dress inside-out? I tried to remember whether I had actually looked in a mirror after changing, and I realised that no, I had checked my face when I combed my hair, but I had not looked in a full-length mirror at any time, I wasn’t even sure if there was one. (There was, I later found one inside the wardrobe door.) It was therefore completely possible that my clothing was the wrong way round. I daren’t look down to check, because I sort of didn’t want to know until I was alone, and could rush off to change. So I held eye-contact with the person talking, but I probably looked distracted. When the main group moved away, I glanced down. All was well; dress properly positioned. But I did make a note that in future, this is the sort of thing I should check before I leave the room. Although, if I am honest, it is possible that the sort of people who attend SOTS might not notice inside-out clothing anyway.

The conference continued with dinner, and then a lecture. This was the format of the whole week: food, lecture, coffee, lecture, repeat. It was fairly intense, because even during the mealtimes people continued talking about academic things. Even at breakfast, the conversation was intelligent, which was bit of a struggle for me. The lectures were interesting, and even when I didn’t understand the whole thing (there was one lecture with a lot of Greek discussed) there was usually something that struck a chord, a little oh, I didn’t know that, moment, which is always fun.

By the end of the conference, I was exhausted. I found it impossible to ‘switch off’ my brain after the evening lectures, and this combined with the hot room and uncomfortable bed meant I slept very little. I also missed my home. I was therefore very happy on Thursday morning, when I could abandon my room, and walk through the beautiful city of Durham to the station. I am really pleased that I attended the conference, and I learnt a great deal. But going home was wonderful.

I hope you have something to look forward to this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

I will write about some of the papers in another post.

Anne E Thompson

Author

Author: anneethompson

Cyclists

Meg’s Diary

Dogs in the Bible

Meg’s Diary

A Country Wedding

Disappointing Downton Abbey

Meg’s Diary

Who wrote Genesis?

A Covid Day

SOTS 2025

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