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6 Oct:
 
Having considered Christmas, I have decided to gift my husband a really good anti dandruff shampoo; this shall probably be sourced from Paris. Been peeping on him rather a lot lately and noticed that he has a bad case of scalp snow. Still not sure what he's up to but there is a lot of clanging and banging going on.
 
~The Liberation of Muttlet~
 
This week was so welcome for it included the day on which we could finally claim back our boy, bring him home to where he belonged, back into the bosom of his family. Things just haven't been the same without him and the excitement and enthusiasm associated with his return bubbled away inside me as I busied myself with preparation. However, upon arrival at the pet detainment centre I quickly realised that something was a little ‘off’. A dread-headed young lady with tattoos and piercings (have nothing against these by the way and have always wondered what one would look like with such an image) asked us to sign the official paperwork. Our beloved Muttlet, she said, had ‘experienced an organic awakening resulting in a remarkable change of character’ thus his rehabilitation programme had been deemed a complete success, hence his early release. That said, we were presented with the following recommendations/suggestions regarding his transition back into the outside world. Any initial annoyance subsided having realised that these recommendations could have been conditional.
 
1.Muttlet should now be referenced as ‘Mu’, a spiritual name apparently of his own choosing.
2.Having converted to vegetarianism, ‘Mu’ prefers his vegetables fresh and lightly steamed. In addition, he would like his unruly hair to be tied up off his face into a tiny dog-bun. This should help to avoid any embarrassing food debris which may get stuck in his fur. Given that he has also grown a little beard of sorts, this will require regular grooming, especially when having consumed his favourite organic fruit purées.
3.To reserve dignity, he should wear a cotton loincloth when in the company of others. 
4.He should rest upon a good quality yoga mat instead of having to sleep in a cold tin bath, which, we were informed, would only ‘make him feel less of a free spirit, just more of a confined one’. It was suggested that this had probably been at the root of his past problems.
 
Conclusion:
 
We no longer recognise our little boy for he has grown so skinny. though I personally do not trust this so-called ‘neo-Mu’, for I know him only too well. Am I concerned? No. Not really. If it keeps him home with us then all this nonsense will have to do, albeit things have changed a little around here which is bringing us unwanted attention from the local press. Most days there are either followers from pet rehab or waifs, strays and familiars visiting the washroom wishing to practise yoga with their newfound guru, their seer or whatever it is he is to them. Some simply seek to sit in his presence and meditate. And, whilst ‘Mu’ sits crossed legged upon his tin bath, other animals queue up outside in all weathers, at times appearing lost in a silent soggy contemplation. Furthermore, he has barely eaten anything that I put out for him so we will  just have to see how long this pretence goes on for, I know him to be a most calculating dog when he needs to be, plus a number of savoury food items have apparently disappeared into thin air.
13 Oct:
 
Not long after this return, whilst enjoying tea with Violetta, our idle chit-chat had turned to  music; more specifically to which genre of music would be a good choice for a follow up musical soirée, to be held here in The Parlour in the not too distant future. Unfortunately, we were rudely interrupted time and time again by her impertinent niece, Louise-Elle, who opted to express her disdain at every suggestion. “What do you think of an open mic night, Violetta?” I enquired, feeling somewhat edgy as I awaited her reply. I was secretly hoping that this time my friend and she alone, would be the one to answer. Alas, this wasn't to be for once again her niece interrupted,“Nah, can be bad music man though it'z ee-zee really init?” Say what???? I thought, somewhat taken aback, “Is it? What is easy? Presumably your choice would be something random, a kind of obscure street music where anyone over a certain age would struggle to keep up. There would be little or no chance of a sing-along for how would anyone decipher the words? Even if they could, they probably wouldn't understand them and that would go down a treat with the locals now, wouldn’t it?” Whilst refraining from any further sarcasm, I simultaneously battled with frustration as it surged towards a rolling boil. Suddenly, glaring at me with eyes concealing a kind of malicious intent, the young lady edged herself forward to let out an enormous sigh, indicative of her nonchalance and contempt. Like a ewe chewing the cud she paused to blow on her bubblegum. And, as the balloon grew bigger in size it quickly burst, fortunately missing me but adhering itself instead to her modernly made up face. “Whoops-a-daisy now!” I tittered, before turning to my friend to add a cheeky little jibe I could not resist,“It looks like pop goes Louise-Elle! Ha ha! Pop you say? Pop it is then! We’ll throw an eighties night!” Struggling to maintain my composure, I found myself humming the tune to ‘Pop Goes the Weasel!’ It just came out of my mouth as if from nowhere and I simply couldn't help myself. Pausing to apologise I found myself shot with the ‘death stare’...“It's Lu-L!”  she mouthed before tearing into another jam doughnut. And, as a trickle of strawberry conserve appeared at the side of her mouth, I shuddered quietly to myself remembering the expression,‘If looks could kill…’
20 Oct:
 
Halloween was imminent and my husband had been hired to play Beetlejuice at some posh private party. He had said that I could go with him but I had chosen to remain at home with Muttlet and Chumley. You never know who will be knocking at your door on a night where it is commonplace to see mysterious figures lurking around in the shadows.
 
~The Ghostly Exploits of Cecil ‘D’ de Bartlett III~
 
Here, in our village, it is well known that Cecil ‘D’ is prone to random bouts of haunting. Those with a strong disposition are able to ignore him, others find that they cannot, choosing instead to sell up and move away. Why, he did my very own head in this week, at a dinner party up at The Old Gaolhouse. There we were, around twelve of us I believe, enjoying our starters and talking about our favourite murder mysteries when Cecil appeared, belching rudely before a porridge-like vomit oozed from his mouth. The Brigadier was furious, jumped up from his chair shouting, “For God's sake man, get a grip! It's been over two hundred bloody years since your passing, you have to let it go! Just give it up why don't you!” Some thought this to be a little harsh, with Roderick mumbling, “Easy on old boy, it can't be easy. If you were to ask me it takes a jolly good while to get over a decent poisoning.”
 
I have to say though, that before this week the last time I saw Cecil he had joined a party of  vagabonds down at the soup kitchen, Christmas Day, 2021, There he was, nodding and clapping whilst appreciating a tipsy troubadour who had just completed a rather raunchy rendition of ‘Mistletoe & Wine’. 
27 Oct:
 
~That Midnight Hour~
 
Earlier this week there was an occasion where I could not get off to sleep. I tossed and turned but rest escaped me and then I heard it, an odd tapping sound at the window. Upon further investigation, there, standing in the darkness, was a man looking very much like my husband, his snowy white hair somewhat tousled & teased by the force of an uncaring wind. Dressed in breeches, his baggy white shirt was more than a little ripped as it hung low at his chest, exposing exoticly tanned skin whilst his wild eyes searched into the darkness beyond. Calling out a name, a female appeared. As her ample bosom heaved away inside the tightest fitting corset, her skirt stopped short at her ankles revealing the muddiest of boots. Embracing with a passion, her calloused, filthy fingers caressed the desire so deeply etched upon his face...“Titty…Titty, Oh my lovely Titty!” he cried. Her mouth moved towards him to reveal a set of blood stained fangs, poised to take aim at his neck. Shouting out, I woke with a start before turning myself over, finding comfort in the sound of my beloved there, snoring away beside me…
 
*~*
 
The clocks have gone back and the evenings are dark as another winter looms. Keep your chins up folks, the baubles will soon shine on the Christmas trees whilst the bulbs in the earth below prepare themselves for a visitation in the early spring.
Mrs WH