How's your productivity going, in the end times? I confess I have spent much of today digital window-shopping for chickens. Man, there are some great chickens out there, ones with crazy facial ornaments, ones with Trump-hair, ones that look like small thunderstorms on legs and ones described, ominously, as "vive"... Our elderly hen feu Tabasco died on End Times Day (I went out in the pouring pathetic fallacy rain, haggard with disbelief and horror and found her dead, thereby adding to Tuesday's general shitweaselry) and I know it seems callous to already be browsing for her replacement, but poor Pepper our resident avian tyrant looks very forlorn out there on her own with no one to bully all day then cosy up to at night.
Each to their own. Me: chickens, B: Welsh gin, F: posting Auden poems on Facebook, M: buying leopard print boots.
Here is the dearly departed, posing uneasily with a pumpkin recently. You were a good hen, Tabasco, if very loud in the mornings.
In other la-la-la-pretend-it-isn't-happening news, we went to Luxembourg for three days last week on The Most Middle Aged Holiday Ever, hiking. Luxembourg was (a) ludicrously beautiful and (b) waaaaay more German speaking than I had realised. Except the cemetery:
Aujourd'hui nous, demain vous, it says, cheerily.
Such rocks, much tree, so waterfall:
I'm finding looking at these pictures of rocks and trees very calming. I mean, they've been around for kajillions of years. They've probably seen worse, right?
Our hotel was quite eccentric, with 7 different saunas, many with naked German people in (plus one IN OUR ROOM, why, a sauna not a naked German). The relaxation room, however, was entirely out of bounds for everyone but wasps.
There was also an 18th century hermit hole, if things get really bad:
I mean, I'm not saying I'm totally qualified to live in a hole in a rock on seeds and roots pieusement dans la crainte de Dieu, but if it becomes essential, I can give it a shot.
I have two Yorkshire Vet episodes to relate to you, including one which went full Carry On with Julian having to break an alpaca's hymen, but I'll save those for later (it's another bastarding public holiday today). Instead, let me show you the dog's new bed, because I am pretty sure a human-sized one is what we all need right now. I am fully obsessed with this bed.
Truly, it is a bed for the age. Join me in the fake fur lined envelope of comfort and denial.
If none of these things does it for you, can I humbly recommend this, one of my most cherished extracts from Ru Paul's Drag Race season 7? I have it filed away for the darkest days:
"hashtag #thebestIcandorightnowinthissituation" (words to live by)
"this is the Hunger Games of Drag"
And also, commentary by Katya, my most-loved queen EVAH.
(Since I wrote this: Leonard Cohen AND an outbreak of avian flu meaning I may not even be able to go chicken shopping today. Oh, and another wave of spam from witch doctors on the blog, which is now basically a forum for bots to talk about Drs Unity and Osemu Okpamen, both of whom, based on the botcomments, may in fact be better qualified to be Commander in Chief than the next incumbent, even though they are fictitious. BRING ON THE FURRY ENVELOPES)