Skittishness

Well - did Granny say Beloved got it wrong? Because, well, he did. No phantom pregnancy, after all - unless the little black and white animal, born first thing Sunday and now skittering about is a phantom. Maybe it is. Otherwise it's a matter of : WE HAVE GIVEN BIRTH. Or rather Isobel has, the smaller goat, the Virgin Milker (bet you didn't know this was the correct term for young, female goats, did you? Suppose it would be blasphemous to suggest same term could have been applied to the Mother of God. Never mind.)
















Granny and Beloved at play? Sorry to disappoint you, yet again. Nor is it a picture of the baby (called Vinegar - according to Mr Handsome from Blackburn, who was very miffed indeed at not being called to the birth the moment it was discovered; fortunately, Blackburn Rovers being in the semi-final of you know what, this did not last long. He does, on the other hand, remain miffed by Granny's insistence that the kid's name is 'Rachel' - after delightful and now departed female guest. Vinegar indeed! Alongside two other goats called Ruby and Isobel? Never! Granny suspects, though, this goat will have two names for its whole life. Neither Mr Handsome nor she are easily diverted. She herself would at a pinch settle for 'Rachel Vinegar'. Mr H is not shifting in any way whatever. )

These more elderly skitterers are revellers from a Citizens of the Third Age display at Carnival on Saturday, up Granny and Beloved's way. The procession here was much truncated compared to the one in the large resort. The collection of walking yogurt pots complete with spoons sticking out did not appear, for instance. (Strawberry flavour anyone? Or Toffee Banana? Very inventive they are on this island; the names of the yogurts were even written in Spanish). Nor did the large functioning, plaster fire-engine, complete with fire crew which won the first prize for floats. Nor the blokes in drag with fairy wings on their back or the collection of well-feathered Red Indians. The blacked-up cannibals in grass skirts, plus blazing fire, cooking pot and simmering missionary - sporting large - fake - bare - tits - did feature, on the other hand. Political Correctness and Carnival are strangers to each other on this island; to put it appropriately crudo they do not share a bed. Many others do not go to bed either, with or without each other. The sounds of revelry went on all night and at 11am a small group, wings, sequins, clown wigs, you name it, were still leaning drunkenly outside the local bar still waving beer cans.

Granny knows what they feel like. After a heavy week of entertaining she feels pretty much like that herself. It is raining. Good good good. Today, after signing off from this, she proposes doing absolutely NOTHING. No skittering for her today. So here's some other aged skittering to be going on with.

















Update. It's up! Here.