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Seeing the New Year in - 2011 - 2012

Seeing the New Year in - 2011 - 2012

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Published by Ronnie Bray

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Published by: Ronnie Bray on Jan 02, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Seeing The New Year In!
By Ronnie Bray
Our chosen method for seeing the New year in these pastfew years has been to watch the Waterford crystal Ball fallin New York’s Times Square, wish each other a Happy New year, and then take to out beds. It is a sound plan, andit works to our advantage – usually! This year, it didn’t goaccording to plan thanks to a few local law breakers and anelephant of a dog called Belle, our sweet Groenendael.This year it was different. We couldn’t wait for New York to do what London and Australia had done hour earlier, andso we retired early, being tired, and, being ancient, we canget away with it without folks thinking it strange.Saturday night we are treated by the local public broadcasting system putting on Hyacinth Bucket [carefulhow you pronounce that!], followed by Judi Dench andGeoffrey Palmer’s ‘As Time Goes By,’ which is followed by one of my firm favourites that is tolerated by my wife,“Last of The Summer Wine.After I see ‘Last Of TheSummer Wine,’ which is a travelogue about the region of my birth, an anthropological study about the inhabitants,and a sociological study about how to get along together with a variegated population when it is markedly variedand totally incompatible in all the important avenues of life.The tiredness, to which I referred early, was so potent that Idropped into Nepenthe’s arms whilst Geoffrey Palmer was
trying to think of a good come-back to Judi’s ascerbic witover some trifling thing she had said to him after he had been bested in a brief exchange by Mrs Bale. That’s the point at which the spread of inhibition over my cerebralcortex was consummated, and I fell insensible.It was my intention to remain in that condition untilPheobus ‘ginned to rise and rosy fingered dawn slitheredover the crest of the Superstition Mountain and warmed theValley of the Sun to its working temperature for NewYear’s Day at around 75 Fahrenheit, when I would rise andattend to the needs of the day and the requirements of our dogs. However, other forces not unconnected to the naturalworld were at play to force my designs to submit to theurgent distress of Belle in response to the few local peoplethat undertook to let off fireworks in a ‘no-firework’ zone.Mark this: it is not illegal to buy and own fireworks in adomestic zone, but it is against the law to light them off.However, someone always does.The illegal firework people do not set off their rockets and bomb shells in large numbers, but only in ones, twos, and, by the most incorrigible, threes. Neither do they wait untilthe Old Year gives way to the New Year in our time zone,which is Mountain Time, or Greenwich Mean Time minus7 hours.Somewhere in the midst of, I will guess, Compo’s diatribeagainst either Blamire, Foggy, or someone else, a fewminute rockets whooshed through the clear night sky.These were immediately attended by 80 pounds of prime
and licensed dogmeat launching herself up onto the bed in asingle hefty bound to find asylum that would bestowsurcease of terror, abundant and unquestioning comfort,and an ultimate sense of safety in our arms. This we took with out customary love, patience, and understanding. Itdidn’t work!Belle was hard to please and didn’t settle. Instead, shewent on a walkabout on our bed, trying first this position,then that one, and then a whole series of in between us,along the backs of our pillows, ligging against one and thenthe other of us for a brief moment before setting off againto find a better place. Although we have a King size bed,there was not a place where our darling Belgian felt wasright for her. Consequently, she launched herself downfrom the bed and roved around the room and bathroom tofind a niche where her well developed senses would becounselled by her massive intellect that she was safe fromall harm, especially noisy ones.At her departing, I settled back to sleep and was just gettingto the bottom of the hole behind the White rabbit whenanother pyrotechnic device was set off bringing Belle in itswake to repeat her previous performance and achieve thesame signal lack of satisfaction as she had previously. Thisexercise was repeated several times until at about 11 30 pmsomeone exploded a mortar bomb a few hundred yardsfrom our silent home. This device launched both dogs intodisarray, even little Frankie who had laid on her pad by theside of my bed and been calmed after every report by a fewstrokes down her glossy back.

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