With grinding teeth and knitted brow

Dad’s acting even stranger than usual, if that’s possible. He’s sitting in his chair staring off into space one minute, the next he’s pacing around. He goes out into the garden and stands with his hands on his hips looking up at the sky then down at me before stomping off into the kitchen. He opens the fridge then closes it again. He returns to his chair, his brow knitted and the industrial sounds of his teeth grinding together the only thing breaking the silence, apart from the ticking clock he keeps glancing at, and the occasional grunt he makes after viewing the time.

I know what’s bothering him, what’s making him tense, because I feel it too. The butterflies are as present in my stomach as they are in his. I share his tension, his fears, his pure emotion. We wait…dad and Bones, as the world turns and the clock ticks,  ever onward, counting down to kick off.

Yes my friends, that’s right! Today is the start of the Premier League season here in England’s green and pleasant land. Forget the Olympics, forget the European Championships – mere distractions – this is it, time to get down to the important business.

Mine and dad’s team have had a couple of dreadful seasons but with a new manager coming in there is a whole new feelgood factor, me and dad are clinging desperately to the hope of qualifying for European football next season.

There is nothing like footy to run you through the whole range of emotions – the greatest highs and the deepest lows. Screaming red-faced at the television, cheering and yelling in triumph or sitting head in paws mourning defeat.

Dad used to treasure having a season ticket but he can’t go anymore and that sometimes makes him a bit sad. We’ll be watching a game and he’ll say to me: “Look Bones, that’s where me and my mates used to sit, just behind the dugout.” Or, “That’s where I used to stand with the lads when they still had terraces.”

The game won’t be on television, dad will go to the pub and watch the results coming in, sometimes we listen to the live commentary on the radio. We’ll watch Match of the Day tonight and extended highlights on Football First; tomorrow we’ll watch other teams play live on tv.

Me and my dad love football, it’s just absolute torture waiting for 3 o’clock.

 

On the subject of the olympics

Just found this brilliant picture of Andy Murray’s border terriers wearing his medals. Well deserved my friends -you know what they say: “Behind every good skin is an even better dog!” Hmm, or did I just imagine someone said that?

Anyway check out the story: http://uk.eurosport.yahoo.com/blogs/londonspy/murray-dogs-wear-olympic-medals-040059424.html

The olympics and all that

I’m worried about my dad. We’ve been watching the Olympics in our house since it started – not the ones in ancient Greece, I’m just on about these particular games in London – and I think dad is getting a little too excited. On top of that his language, already coarse, is getting worse.

He sits there staring wild eyed at the tv, yelling at the atheletes. He calls it encouragement, I call it abuse. I think that they could probably hear him in the stadium when he’s shouting. Come on you !”£$%^*  lazy  +_)(*&^ move your %&^$, he yells.

During the boxing tournament he’s punching the air, dodging and weaving; during the cycling his legs are pumping and he moves side-to-side and during the rowing he rocks back and forth as if he’s in the boat and pulling an oar with the rest of them. If anyone was to look through the window they’d think he was insane!

The worst moment was in the final event of the heptathalon – the 800 metres. Jessica Ennis was running for Britain and dad was with her every step of the way. As she broke clear at the front, dad was going crazy “Go on Jess, go on!” he cheered. My big sister Jess was sleeping on the floor at this point and jumped up to see what dad was yelling her name out for. The poor old girl didn’t know what he wanted her to do so she started going back and forth to the door and to him. “What dad?” she asked in confusion, having just woken up, “where do you want me to go?” Me and my brother Alf were in absolute hysterics watching her. I laughed that hard I thought my belly would burst. Jess didn’t speak to either of us for the rest of the day. hehehehe

The Beautiful Game

Thank the heavens for Euro 2012. Dad gets even grumpier than usual during the summer when there is no football on; by the way for my American friends’ information, I’m talking about proper football, not the silly armoured behemouths who run around for 5 seconds before leaving the pitch to be wrapped in a blanket and given oxygen and, despite only one person in a team of 40 being allowed to kick the ball, they still call it football? Hmm, strange.

No this is proper football, what Pele once called “the beautiful game.”

Dad loves football, he used to have a season ticket to see his team. I know he misses those crazy days. It’s funny, mom can be talking to him about any subject you like and you can tell by the faraway look in his eyes he hasn’t heard a word she’s said because he’s thinking about football! hehehehe

Away from the league though, this summer he has the distraction of the European Championships. Yet watching England play can be as agonising as watching his club side.

I must admit, I’m a big fan of the game myself and I’ve been there sitting watching all the games on tv. Here’s a photo of me watching the England v Sweden match with my dad.

 

 

 

After a good start Sweden went 2-1 up and dad wore despair like a heavy cloak. His moods seem entangled with the fate of our national team. Each Swedish goal was like a knife that twisted into him. As his faithful dog I felt it too as the opposition scored:

 

 

 

As they attacked dad would sit further and further forward in his seat, Walcott hit one from the edge of the box “Go on…go on…go on….y…ye….YES!!! YEEEEESSSSSS!!!!!!! GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!! GET IN THERE!!!!!” His arms aloft, his face contorted with joy. I was going just as mental as him:

 

 

We celebrated together, dad and Bones, Bones and dad. “Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land…..” We didn’t want to settle for a point though, not after drawing our first game against France. But then Walcott drives for the line, knocks it across, Wellbeck…. oh what a goal, what a cheeky little goal, what a beautiful goal. Bones and dad, dad and Bones raising the roof:

 

 

 

England win…..Ukraine next!

After the match I was spent, all that emotion takes it out of you:

I love football!

Bones v the zombies

When I was a puppy, for those of you that remember that far back, I told you about falling asleep and waking up to be confronted by my first zombie. It wasn’t a real one of course, it was on tv: mom and dad were watching “The Walking Dead”. But I didn’t know and I woke up to see a close up shot of this undead thing staring at me with lifeless eyes. You’ll remember I growled a warning to it which made my family laugh and me a bit embarrassed. Zombies don’t exist, they’re just figments of the imagination of skins like George A. Romero and Mark Tufo…..aren’t they

Ok, well check this story out. In a place called Miami a skin was shot by police as he chewed the face off some other skin. Both of them were in the nip (pardon the pun), that means naked by the way if you’re not familiar with the slang.

The report says that the police told him to behave himself but he growled at them and carried on chewing, eating his nose and eyeballs! yeeeeuch!!! Then they shot him but it didn’t stop him so they carried on shooting until he was killed; what are the odds on the kill shot having to be to the head? Remember the only way to put them down permanently is to destroy the brain or seperate the head from the neck.

This is it, this is how it always starts. The beginning of the zombie apocalypse, be ready, be prepared: you skins are about to lose your place as the dominant species, top of the food chain. I’m going to sit in the front window and guard the house – Bones is prepared, are you?

Bones will save the world!

I’m not what you call a paranoid dog but some things I read give me a bit of an itch, a little voice at the back of my underused brain that says: “There’s something not quite right here…” I’m not the sort of dog that is into conspiracy theories, most of them are a bit out there if you know what I mean, although I occasionally look into deep geopolitics (I know, I surprise myself sometimes), I think I’m just a cynical mutt.

This caught my eye this morning: Earth In Crisis As Wildlife Numbers Plummet and straight away I thought “ah, another load of sensationalist garbage.” But then that itch started again, something’s very wrong. I get this feeling that the environmentalists are the biggest threat to the skins on this planet, little snippets surface with some very famous and influential people going on about over-population, that is a very, very scarey concept; what do you do about over-population? De-populate.

Bill Gates is one of the loudest voices out there, the Gates foundation is busily vaccinating millions in Africa against polio. In this short video clip he talks about reducing the population. The vaccinations themselves are not doing what it says on the tin. He’s not a very nice skin if this is true and I’ll leave you to make up your own mind on that.

Al Gore, the champion of global warming, might have been telling a few fibs, read the evidence and decide for yourself.

That loveable rogue Prince Philip The Duke of Edinburgh has stated that if he is reincarnated he wants to return as a deadly virus, I feel sorry for the corgis.

Now I’m not denying that there is a problem with pollution, global warming or climate change or any of the other things that you skins are worried about; all I am suggesting is that there might be some very nasty people who think nothing of doing the most despicable acts imaginable to take advantage of situations. Perhaps there are too many people on this planet but who gets to decide who lives and who dies? What is the criteria that means you get to join the line on the left or the line on the right? Race? Creed? Colour? Credit rating?

I ask one thing, read both sides of the story and make your mind up, you’ve got a search engine, have a look.

 

It’s not the end of the world dad

Bonesdiary has yet again had to take a back seat as it wouldn’t be possible to pry my dad away from his beloved computer with a crow bar. Today mom was using it to do some geneology research, finding out about her family on her dad’s side. Some of them appear to have gone from a place called Ukraine to a place called Canada, like 100 years ago or something which was before even my dad was born!

Anyway, while mom was tapping away, dad was pacing like a caged tiger, he tired of that and eventually sat down. I could still hear him grinding his teeth from where I was sat watching him. I told Alf that he would be on a diet of soup if he carried on grinding, his teeth would wear down to nothing. Alf said I should take his mind off things by pulling the bottom of his jeans or widdling up his leg. Jess stirred enough to tell me not to bother, just as I was about to make my way over to dad. “He’ll kill you; not just wave a finger and tell you off, not just chase you out of the room, you will cease to exist!” As regular readers of bonesdiary will know, I’m rather fond of being alive, maybe I’ll follow big Jessie’s advice for once.

When mom finished what she was doing she alerted him to the fact that the computer was free. Dad had given up and decided he didn’t want to use it after all. All that moaning for nothing. He went off muttering about she had her own netbook, why couldn’t she use that….whole day wasted…more important things….blahblahblah. Well if you don’t want it dad! While he’s in the kitchen boiling the kettle to make some tea and bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders I’ll nip in and do a quick post – hurray!!! He’ll be back sunshiney and happy once he’s had his fix of tea.

One thing I noticed in the news is that the world is no longer in imminent danger of ending on 21st December 2012. Phew that’s a relief, I loved christmas so much last year that I would be a bit peeved if that was the only one I’d ever get to enjoy. Apparently some excavations have revealed Mayan paintings on the wall of a house in the jungle that date back before this codex thingy that everyone got all worked up about, and it disproves the calender ending/world ending tosh. The calender in our house ends every year but the world keeps spinning and everythings just fine. Read about it here: http://uk.news.yahoo.com/earliest-mayan-calendar-shows-no-hint-world-end-175153101.html

Why are skins so negative? They’re always looking for signs that the world is coming to an end: Nostradamus said this and some astral alignment means that, wars and rumours of wars, the bible says the end is nigh. These things that will “come to pass” are the same things that skins have been looking for since they first swung out of the trees. Skins: it’s ok not to worry. Nobody knows how long they’ve got, so why waste this brilliant life with negative thoughts? Enjoy this moment, this now. It’s yours to do what you want with. You get some skins who punish themselves for being alive, ohhh I am so unworthy. Treating yourself like that because you’ll earn a place in heaven makes absolutely no sense, what if there is no heaven? What if this is all we get? What if heaven is here? Then what is the sense of denying yourself?

The way I look at it is, if there is such a place as heaven, the best way to get in is to just be a nice guy and kind to others, no matter who they are. That’s all – you’re in. Oh and by the way, there’s no mention of dogs having souls, so does that mean we’re barred from entering the kingdom? Ah well my friends, I might as well enjoy what time I’ve got left, hopefully way past December 21st.

 

Bones on high

Its about time: that fake tree is gone and Bones’ racetrack is officially open for 2012. Free at last, free at last. I’ve been lapping at a tremendous rate and I think I’m back up around my pre-christmas times already. One added element that I’m quite pleased with is one of the chairs blew over in the garden during the recent high winds and dad hasn’t righted it yet, so it has created an extra obstacle. I find that if I go into it fast enough and dip my shoulder at just the right time, I can slingshot off it and head for the kitchen door; I am launching myself over the step from a bit further back now so I don’t lose momentum and don’t break my stride, like a hairy hurdler. I remember when I was that small I had to be lifted over that step.

After my run I’ve started getting up onto the windowsill where Alf likes to guard the house; now I’m a big lad I think  it’s only fair for me to help with home security and keep a watchful eye on the street. I climb up from the arm of the sofa and behind the curtain, problem is I can’t get back down. The curtain swings back and I can’t see the arm to step back down on. Alf jumps down but my legs are stumpy compared to his, so it’s a bit of a long drop. Dad tells me off when I get up there, he thinks I’m crazy enough to try jumping down but forget that. He comes and picks me up and puts me on the ground but its not long before I’m back up there; if I’m getting down then I’ll choose when.

Skinny Alf told me that dad doesn’t want me to jump because I could break all my legs and if that happens the vet will cut them all off and feed them to stray cats, then I’ll have to go on a cart when it’s time for a walk. I hope that’s not true, if I haven’t got any legs, how will I have a scratch?

Happy new year

I’ve been so lazy over the festive period that I have only posted a couple of times on Bonesdiary, sorry about that my friends. This morning mom has gone back to work, I bet when she left the house she wished she’d stayed in bed – it is hammering down with rain and the wind is blowing like it wants to move Britain that bit closer to the European mainland.

We didn’t get a walk this morning but I’m sure there will be one later; me and skinny Alf are up for it no mattrer what the weather but I doubt we’ll get her majesty chubby Jess out of the house, she’s not what you’d call an all-weather dog.

I didn’t enjoy new year’s eve, I was already tucked up in bed by midnight and only dad was still awake, it’s not a big celebration in our house. Dad had only drank a pint of shandy and mom had some fruit juice then went to bed about 10pm, she has to get up early to give Jess her insulin so she gets tired in the evening and never stops up late. Dad complains that people wish each other “Happy New Year” but don’t give a damn if the other person has a good year or not, he thinks people should be caring towards others all year round, not just pretend for 10 seconds or so on one night a year. Plus he can’t stand that song everyone sings – is it “old lads whine” or something like that? He doesn’t know what a lang is, or an ayne for that matter and he thinks Robert Burns should never have been published because nobody has a clue what he’s on about. Chill out dad!

Where was I? Oh yeah, so we’re all asleep at midnight and suddenly there’s the most almighty BANG!!!! Then another and another, it carried on and on like it was an artillery barrage, I thought it’ll be the infantry coming in next. Alf went and hunkered down behind dad’s chair and Jess got really terrified, like she used to when she was younger so I’m told. The noise didn’t bother me but I was worried about Jess, dad let me out of my cage and I  went running up to Jess and licked her face: “It’s ok Jessie, it’s just fireworks, it can’t hurt you.” Jess was wild-eyed and frantic,” I don’t like it – make it stop!” It was horrible to see her so scared like that. Eventually the noise faded but Jess was still upset, mom had come downstairs and Jess sat with her, panting and occasionally looking round the room fearfully like she was expecting more bangs at any minute.

Dad took Alfie outside for a widdle and I tagged along just to make sure he was ok. When we went into the garden we could hear alot of shouting from up the road, there was a fight going on. Some drunken bum was screaming about how he was going to knock some other drunken bum out, the other was screaming he was going to kill him, women were just screaming in general. Me and dad stood and listened for a while, then he looked down at me with a sad smile and said “Happy new year Bones” and went back in the house.