Just About Scrambling out of the Google Pit

It has taken till now for me to scramble out of the Google Pit -- I thought I had it all sorted out but I went and forgot my Google password. Then I forgot I was supposed to use this new password, and couldn't think why the old Blogger password didn't work any more. More tea for me, I think -- after a year-long climb, I'm gasping. I'll also have a scone, please, with jam and cream.

Fallen into the Google Pit

Och, fine - I have given in and turned my blog over to the New Blogger, with brand new Google account and everything. I am such a clever bear, knowing my way around the world wide web the way I do.

Am off to still my shaking paws with some tea.

Teddy Bear Party Planned

Mary is talking about holding a Teddy Bear Party, which sounds a lot of fun. We got excited and started talking about bear-shaped sandwiches and bear-shaped cakes and bear this, and bear that, and Mary sneezed and said "nothing of the kind!"

"Och - so what's the point of a Teddy Bear Party?" I enquired, flummoxed.
"Just to have the teddy bears there, all siting around the room with the guests, of course," said Mary.
"But we're ALWAYS there!" I protested. "What would make the Teddy Bear Party any different from an ordinary party?"
"The guests," said Mary, as though I should have guessed. "We'll invite folks who have never been here before."

Ah.

I still think we should have some sort of teddy bear feature. I suggested the teddy bear shaped sandwiches again, and Mary snorted, and said "we won't have much to eat. No sandwiches. Maybe tea and a few biscuits."

I see. It's not just the 'bear' side of things that's being played down, but the 'party' side of things too. I suppose that's the Scottish way. Pretend it's not a party, and it will be a success. Make too much of a fuss and a pother, and it will fall flat like a frightened sponge cake.

Well, don't tell Mary, but I'm still going to dress up for it and pour the tea and make everybody most welcome. Over the biscuits, we'll gossip about Lost and Flog It! and Pop Idol. And then when I get bored, I'm going to fall asleep and let Mary wind things up.

It will be a lovely day, so long as nobody carries me away in her handbag.

Yawning

Whoops - that turned into a whole month, didn't it? I rather fell asleep over my scone, I'm afraid.

Suddenly realizing...

Och dear. It's time I came up with a new post, isn't it?
I will retire to bed with tea and a scone and give it some thought.

My Gift to Mary

Sarah keeps nagging me to add something new to my blog - I had no idea she was so keen! I must be a better writer than I thought, but I mustn't sell myself short. To tell the truth, there has been nothing at all as exciting as the beared flu. Life has returned to its usual boring normal self, which is a huge disa relief.

It doesn't do to disappoint all my loyal readers, though, so I set paw to keyboard once again. It's Mary's birthday today and the air will be thick with the sound of rustling gift paper and gooey birthday cake. I baked it, of course and then painted 'Thorntons' on the box. See, I'm a bear of many talents. I should post my CV here some time so you can all see for yourselves. I can even play the piano - was taught by my mother, rest her beary heart - and the other day I looked out some special sheet music with lyrics.

I tried it on Sarah before the big day. "Listen," I said - "what do you think of this music? Would it suit?" I sang Happy Bearday. Have you heard it? It's a cracking song.

"Oh, it's fine, and you sing it beautifully," said Sarah - "but we don't have a piano."
"Well thank you," I said, annoyed. "You always have to ruin my little surprises."
That lassie is a pain in the neck sometimes.

My next idea was to buy candles for the cake. I couldn't remember how many we needed, so I bought 125 to be on the safe side. I decided to try one just to check that it lighted correctly, and accidentally set fire to myself.

It wasn't my fault - the cat tripped me up and I fell flat on my face - fortunately the cake wasn't anywhere near. Sarah said it might be safer to bury the rest of the candles at the bottom of the garden, because there will be major fireworks if Mary sees 124 of them on the cake. I didn't complain too loudly when she took them away. Never mind, my fur will grow back. I can cover the bald spot with a strategically placed cat - preferably the same one who caused the contretemps.

After that I painted a masterpiece - art is another of my special accomplishments. Unfortunately my fur stuck to the burnt sienna and Sarah had to prise me off the canvas with a palette knife. Next time I'll try watercolours instead.

Not to be daunted, however, I turned my attention to the miracles of the wakening soil. I'm a notable gardener - my green paws are legendary. I grew a mighty sunflower, which flourished bright and tall. Sadly, our massive snails discovered it and razed it to the ground in one night.

I was trying not to cry in a corner - I really wanted to give my Mary something nice to show her my love and appreciation, but Sarah came and gave me a hug and said Mary loves me just fine the way I am, and when she reads my latest blog post on her birthday, she will be very happy.

That's true - I can write. I can do a lot of things, as you know, but I'm especially good at writing. It's how I can best express my love. All the bears want to join with me in this, so all of us stand here and raise our voices for this chorus:

Happy birthday, dear Mary - happy bearhugs to you.

No Birds Sing

What a drama going on in these parts of Scotland! Nothing less than beared flu, if you please. I was in such a twitter when somebeary told me that I thought I would plump off my chair. Beared flu! Not the sort of thing you want around this neck of the woods.

As soon as Sarah came over I rushed to her with the news.

"Beared flu?" she said. "What, in the name of the wee man...? Oh, you mean bird flu?"
"Aye, beared flu, that's what I said!" said I. "Isn't it an awful thing to have around here, and all us bears living nearby?"
"No, no," said Sarah - "it's bird flu the media is so full of. You're safe, you wee gomerel."
"Safe?" said I, a mite disappointed. "What, bears never catch it at all?"
"Not a single bear," said Sarah - "it's aiming at the birds."
"Oh," I said, and digested the thought along with my scone. "How many birds are languishing of it around here?"
"Only one that we know of," said Sarah - "and it wasn't from these parts."
"What, a furreign bird?" said I, dropping my scone. "If there's no bird flu around here, then, what's the flap all about? No, no, no - there's no smoke without a fire, that's what I always say. Something must be going on."

I went for a good peer out our window - and blessed if I could see a single bird anywhere, despite all the trees, grass, blue sky and other things birds hold so dear.

"There are no birds!" I cried in despair.
"What - not one?" asked Sarah.
"Not one!" I moaned. "They are all dead! It has killed them all - the beared flu."
"Bird flu," corrected Sarah.
"What is all the commotion?" asked my own special human, Mary, joining us at the window.
"There are no birds left in Scotland!" I wailed. "They all dropped down with the beared flu!"
"Mercy me!" said Mary. "Poor creatures. Are there any outside the kitchen window?"
We toddled over to the kitchen window and took a quick glimmer round.
"Oh!" I cried. "Look over there - there's a sole survivor, and it's pecking in our lawn."
"What kind of bird is it?" asked Mary, setting out fresh mugs in pretty colours.
"A doo," I said - "a big fat grey one."
"Oh," said Mary, disappointed. "It would be just our luck to lose all our birds except for the doos and sky rats. They'll still be flocking round here when all the rest are gone. Bleuch."

Then I noticed some other feathery forms flying overhead, a corben on the neighbour's roof and a sparrow prinking itself in the bush.

"Well then," I said, toddling over to the steaming mugs. "What are you old crones gawking out the window for? We don't have all day. Give us another scone."