Day 363: Bish Bash Bosh and Little Beaver

Thanks for free capoeira with Hub people, who go to Palestine and other places doing it with kids in war zones. And for a book about beetroots, in German. Delightful! I grew my first beetroots in California, but I think I was present for biodynamic beetroot-growing in Germany when I was 18 - I just wasn't allowed to work on the actual farm because I was a girl, so I didn't get to mucky my hands in lovely beetroot mud. I did get to clean out the stables, though, when I insisted I would NOT work a full day in the kitchens just because of my genital arrangement. They may have thought of that as a punishment, but I loved it. I still would have rather been digging holes and hoiking hay-bales onto tractors, though.

Rob was a pleasure this lunchtime. As ever. We talked Matthew 22 and art and passion. 
Lovely Nikki, Kirstie, K's friend Simon, Anna, Tarek, Tarek's very pretty (girl)friend? whose name I don't know, Christina, Cameron, Luke. It was all smiles today at The Hub. I didn't get much done, but I enjoyed it. 

A regal-looking Bosh

Thanks to brilliant Pond Mel. She never ceases to surprise and entertain me. We went for dinner at The Star, near her place. There was live music. Two Swedish girls with voices worth worshipping and a penchant for Damien Riceish emotional gloom. I really wanted to hear them sing Happy Talk or Bad Romance - just do to something else with those undeniably brilliant throats. The blonde girl had very strong and pleasing features. The dark-haired, smaller one, who did the lead vocals, looked like the only sound she could possibly make would be a mousely squeak, so petite and delicate she looked, but she sang with deep and moving tones. 

Not usually this meek, Beaver

Like Weimaraner girl dogs. Their bark is way deeper than their pretty faces suggest it would be. Always made me laugh, that. Sweet Caoimhe would bark like a burly man and Doberman Oisín, who was built like a wall and looked like Damien (Omen stylee), would whine through his nose like a girl. I remember him ripping the life out of a yellow pepper. Most aggressive thing he'd done in a long time, that was. Sweet, sweet peach, that dog.

Even to this day, dogless now for years, I still ache with gratitude for the time I spent with those creatures. Leaping about it long grass, getting giddy. Losing Little Beaver in the canal and dragging her out. She was totally chilled with the whole experience. He would have freaked. Finding pictures of Bosh with a t-shirt on. Howling with the pair of them, or singing into the girl-dog's forehead, making her wag and whine. I loved them. Thanks, Dermot, for letting me have your dogs.