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Meg’s Diary

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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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Meg’s Diary

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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

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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

Walking to church
This is what love looks like.

Some of the photographs taken from abimckennaphotography.

Thanks for reading.
anneethompson.com
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Disappointing Downton Abbey

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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.
The outside bar
The dustbins
The washrooms
The sign (all about Downton!)

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The photos we were not allowed to take:

Taken through a window
Copied from website
Copied from wensite
Copied from website
Copied from website

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

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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.

A Covid Day

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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

Gargle 3x per day
Not allowed in bedroom
Considering options
Technically, not actually ON bed…

Husband in Denial

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We have been married for a very long time, it has been mostly good, but undoubtedly I have changed during this time. If you are a long-term reader of my blog, you will notice that I have changed since I first began writing—for a start my hair is a different colour. I am aware that I have changed because when I meet people who I haven’t seen for a while, they do not recognise me, and I have to tell them to imagine I have black hair and am thinner—then they usually remember me. However, I am not sure that Husband always notices or remembers that I have changed. Often this is good. But when we go for walks, especially long walks in Italy, this can cause challenges. I don’t find adventures as relaxing as I once did.

Yesterday we went for a walk around a mountain lake. It was beautiful, not too far to walk, no danger of getting lost because we could see the whole perimeter. Lovely—but not without challenges. The first challenge was the lack of facilities—older bodies mean weaker bladders, and whilst this is not a problem for men, it makes for a slightly uncomfortable walk for women. 

Then there was the ground, which was boggy in places where the snow was melting on the slopes. It was very pretty, with steams of water flowing into the lake, but not so easy to navigate in my not-waterproof trainers. There was quite a bit of leaping over stepping-stones, which with my lack of co-ordination and balance is a challenge. (I blame this lack of co-ordination/balance on the brain surgery, but if I am honest, I was never exactly athletic. I did read somewhere that people should practise standing on one leg while cleaning their teeth, to improve their balance. This means I fall over a lot when cleaning my teeth). But it was fine, the stepping stones were not too far apart, they didn’t wobble, my feet stayed dry and I was quite impressed with how far I can still jump.

But then we encountered an area that was basically swamp, with no dry ground at all. It was caused by a large area of snow halfway up the scree slope which was melting fast. The ground above the snow was dry, and Husband suggested we should walk up the slope, along the line where the top of the snow met the scree, then down the other side. It was bound to be a disaster, but I decided it didn’t look too difficult, off I set.

I walked up the scree, next to the heap of snow. As we approached, marmots (groundhogs if you’re American) scampered off and dived into their burrows. How cute. The terrain grew steeper, and less easy to walk, but we were nearing the top of the snow. Husband is very good at offering his hand for the more difficult parts, and he usually goes first and suggests the best footing. But somehow I managed to be slightly higher than him, and I started to slip, and needed to use my hands to avoid falling. I just needed to climb slightly further. My face was now right next to a marmot burrow, and I felt I could hear them watching, just out of sight, gnashing their teeth inches from my cheek. Not so cute. I climbed higher, level with the top of the snow now, maybe we could walk along it? Husband tested the footing and slipped—no, snow is too slippery to walk on in trainers. I searched for hand/footholds in the scree. There was nowhere to secure myself, I started to slip whenever I paused, I needed to keep moving sideways. Husband told me to wait while he found a route. I told him (very calmly, no panic at all) that I could not. If I kept still I slipped. I started to make my way back to where we had started. Sharp thorns were sticking into my fingers, my feet were skidding, there was an Italian man below shouting ‘Allez!’ which might have been nothing to do with us, but it added to the stress of the situation. I crawled/slipped//skidded back down to the swampy land. Avoided being attacked by marmots (they were probably laughing). Found a big rock and sat on it, waiting for Rambo Husband to join me. He went off in search of an easier route. There wasn’t one. We were halfway round the lake, and decided that perhaps this was as far as we could get. Walked back to the car. More of an adventure than hoped, but it was very beautiful.

We drove up to the San Bernado Pass, into France. Stopped for coffee and crepe (and washroom—yaay!). This bit I enjoyed.

Today Husband suggested another walk in another valley. I said I did not want any scrabbling, off we went. We drove into the mountains, and walked into the valley. Gushing rivers with little bridges, meadows full of flowers, very beautiful. The path wound upwards. Not so good, but okay so far. Then the ground got boggy, more melting snow, more jumping across stepping stones. Then, while perched on stepping stones, we noticed cows—frisky ones—walking up the hillside towards us. Worried we might get trampled. Noticed a thin blue line of electric fence and felt safer. Under the fence dashed two large dogs, barking loudly, hackles raised—felt less safe. I kept my arms tucked in, and spoke sternly, telling them to stay down (hoped they understood English). They circled us, but didn’t approach. A farmer further up the hill heard the noise, called the dogs. Husband asked if we were okay to walk, he replied with a thumbs-up, we continued. The electric fence crossed the path. It was nearly too high, but managed to step over it (held onto Husband for support). Then a little further on there was another wire—this one was too high for stepping over, so we crawled under it, hands and knees on the gravel. Old back protested, took some nurofen. 

The rest of the walk was very beautiful, with stone bridges over bubbling water, and flowers and mountains, and all boisterous cows secured behind wires. But I felt a bit worn out. I do like walks in beautiful places, but I prefer less adventure. And definitely less scrabbling up scree or under fences. Being upright is very nice at my age. I don’t mind being older—I actually do not want to do the things that I did in my forties, I don’t want more children or to be worried about a career or to be planning to move house. Mostly I like being older. But as I cover my cuts with savlon and top up my nurofen for my aching back, I realise that I do not quite keep up with Husband anymore. I now prefer my adventures in books. I think I will take charge of planning the walks in future. They will involve only walking.

I hope you survive your day. Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love, Anne x

Good Advice 

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As I am writing this in Italy, and as the rest of the world appears to be in rather a mess, I thought I would pass on some excellent advice that first appeared in a letter to some Italians. The translation is my own (from the Koine Greek) so apologies for any mistakes. Here is a code to live by, illustrated below with some photos of modern Italy (to add to the wonder). 

How to Live in a Crazy World

Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil, hold fast to what is good. Love each other with sibling affection. Outdo each other in showing respect.

Do not be lazy with enthusiasm, be fervent in spirit, serve God.

Be delighted in hope, be patient under pressure, continuing in prayer.

Give towards the needs of good people and strive to be kind to strangers.

Speak well of people who harass you—speak well of them and don’t wish them bad luck. Be joyful with those who are happy, cry with those who are sad. Live in harmony with each other. Do not be arrogant/smug, instead associate with poor/timid people. Never be wise in your own eyes.

Do not repay wrong for wrong, but think about what is good in everyone’s eyes. If possible, as much as you able, live in peace with everyone.

My friends, never look for revenge but leave it to God. It was written: ‘“Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” says God.’ Instead, if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty give him something to drink (for doing this is like heaping coals on his head). 

Do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good…

I was tempted to paraphrase some of it, to change the ‘burning coals’ bit to ‘this will make him ashamed’ but I decided to leave it as a translation and let you decide for yourself what it means in the context of the whole.

Thanks for reading.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

Highs and Lows with Meg

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Meg’s Diary 6/3/2025

We returned from a 2 week holiday and collected a happy Meg from the kennels. She is always happy. The kennel staff obviously know her well, and talked about how she insists on carrying the biggest log whenever she’s out, and that she’s very bouncy so they don’t allow the pregnant kennel worker anywhere near her! They told us she is still aggressive towards other dogs when walking on the lead (though not when in the kennel). I haven’t seen this, so not sure what to do. They said it happens when other dogs approach her and aren’t recalled by their owners. I guess as she is on the lead, it’s the responsibility of the other dog owners to recall their dogs. But it’s a shame. I have noticed that when we’re in the car, Meg no longer barks at every dog we pass. I hope this continues. She must have got used to seeing other dogs when in her kennel, so hopefully they have become ‘normal’ in her world.

Before we collected Meg, I felt a bit depressed—I wasn’t sure that I wanted her back, life is so much easier without her. I never felt like this with our other dogs. When she first came home, Meg pretty much ignored me, and was much more excited about going into the garden to greet the gardener than greeting me. This was a low point in our relationship. Later, we had a lovely walk together and I realised that actually, I am very fond of her, but it’s easy to forget that. I hand-fed her for a couple of days to encourage her to bond with me again. But if I am honest, unlike Kia (my ‘velcro-GSD’) Meg would be completely happy whoever she lived with. If I was ill and needed to rehome her, I would have no worries about her settling in, she would forget me as soon as she left the driveway! Perhaps this is what makes working GSD so suitable for police and army work—they focus on the task and are less attached to a single owner. Meg does follow me round the house, but only because there is not a better option. She is good company unless someone/thing is more exciting, and then she leaves me without a backward glance. I find this difficult. Though it does mean I don’t feel guilty putting her into kennels. (I also wouldn’t worry if she was stolen.)

We collected cat-with-snapped-tendon from Son. She was happy there, and did not want to come home. She now has the utility room, so no longer caged, and Meg is not supposed to go in there. Of course, Meg is not keen on this rule. She came in with me today, when I used the washing machine. The cat was on top of her cage, Meg put up her nose, Milly slapped her, repeatedly. I stroked Meg, praised her for being calm, moved her away before she lost all control and bounced on the cat. It’s such a shame they aren’t friends. They would both enjoy the company.

The weather is sunny. This makes life easier as there are less muddy footprints on my kitchen floor. But it means I worry about leaving Meg in the car for too long, so when I go out she needs to be in her cage at home. Although she seems very happy in her cage, I don’t like putting her in there. When I’m home, she is free in the house all the time now, unless her feet are muddy. So far she hasn’t destroyed anything. Mostly she sleeps in whichever room I am working in.

We were having some shrubs planted, and Husband needed to put sticks in the ground so the gardeners knew where to plant them. There was no way we could let Meg witness this—she would have gone back and collected the sticks, and then when the shrubs were planted she would associate them with sticks and go and collect them too. We put her in the hall, where she couldn’t see what was happening. So far, the shrubs have survived.

I like throwing sticks for Meg, but there’s always a danger that she’ll try to grab them when I pick them up (and would break my fingers, she is so strong). Therefore, she is meant to ‘wait’ when I stoop to pick up a stick. Sometimes she grabs them anyway, and then I stand, and wait for her to drop it before I will throw it. Meg understands this, and stands close, looking at me, determined to not release the stick, waiting for me to continue the game with a different stick. I always refuse, it feels important to never let Meg win when we have a stand-off. (This is probably why she prefers everyone else in the world to me—I am the only one who insists she obeys!) This week Meg kept grabbing at sticks (I’m guessing because no one stops her when she’s in kennels) and our walk was very slow—lots of standing, not looking at her, waiting for her to release the stick. She is very determined, and will stand for long minutes, refusing to obey. But I am more determined. One day, I hope she will simply obey—it will make life easier.

One afternoon was perfect. We walked in the woods, I threw sticks, Meg charged backwards and forwards chasing sticks (picture a torpedo, taking down anything that stands in the way). She came when I called and walked next to me on the lead, along the edge of the road but ignoring the cars. We drove into town, and I walked to pay the friend who feeds the poultry when I’m away. Meg carried a stick, and walked next to me, through the station car park, up some steps, along the main road (for 1 minute) and although she was on full-alert she did not chase the cars that passed us. Then we went to Mum’s, and she slept in the back of the car. Then played with a ball while I cooked dinner. In the evening she lay watching telly with us, chewing her chew. Such a lovely dog. Perfectly behaved.

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

anneethompson.com
*****

Glasgow

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I am in Edinburgh for my annual review (all very scary) and today there was a conference in Glasgow. The way that Edinburgh University works is that they will take remote students, who access everything online, but once a year, in June, it is compulsory for us all to be in Edinburgh for a week. Apparently being in Glasgow counts as being in Edinburgh.

I caught a 7:30 train from a bright sunny Edinburgh, and planned to walk from Glasgow station for 40 minutes to Glasgow University. However, there was a squall of rain, and when the train arrived (it takes about an hour) it was pouring!

I spotted some students that I recognised, so ran through the crowd to join them. None of them were keen to walk for 40 minutes in the pouring rain, so I ordered an Uber. This is more exciting than you might think, because although I put the app on my phone a while ago, I had never actually used it. They showed me how I could order a car by size (we needed a people carrier) and that Uber sends a map, showing where you are and where the car is, so you can watch it approach. It was all very easy.

Glasgow University is not easy. It’s incredibly difficult to navigate. The buildings are old and beautiful. I don’t know why but I was expecting them to be modern, with lots of blue glass!  Instead, they are weathered stone, and they have turrets and cloisters and squares of green in the quads — but not much in the way of helpful signposts! Never mind, we found the correct rooms eventually.

The conference was a series of papers, presented by PhD students from Edinburgh, Glasgow and St Andrews. It was good to meet other students, and to hear the sort of topics they are researching. Some were really interesting: the reversals in the book of Isaiah, whether Qohelet (Ecclesiastes) writes about the Messiah, what eyes represent in Proverbs… Some were very clever, but I didn’t understand them: Deuteronomistic Memory and the Redaction of 1 Kings had me stumped! I drew doodles in my notepad and tried to look intelligent.

There was food, if you managed to find the correct dining hall. (Maybe this was deliberate, only the people able to follow complicated instructions were fed!) There were also washrooms (obviously) and these were easier to find but not without problems. The one I used had a large clear window that looked out to the quad. There was a blind, but it was about an inch above the window sill, and I am shy, so I tried to lower it. It went up another inch. I twisted the rope the other way, it shot up a couple of feet! Whichever way I moved the string, the blasted thing just went higher. I gave up in the end, apologised to any unsuspecting passerby, and tried to keep my face hidden. Not a relaxed pee.

There were afternoon papers, and then people were invited to tour the city and have dinner in a pub. But I was tired. I ordered another Uber (I am good at it now!) and went back to the station. 

When I arrived in Edinburgh I walked to M&S in search of supper. I drank a whole carton of milk and ate a whole angel cake. Who needs nutrition? Feeling like a proper student now.

Hope you have a good day too. Thanks for reading.
Love, Anne x