Happy New year

There's nothing like a New Year to set you pondering the big mysteries of the universe. Like, 'how many Hungarian dentists does it take to change a 9-year-old's tooth crown?'

At least I can answer that one, thanks to Poppet and the ongoing tooth saga. You may have read that she snapped off most of one of her front teeth during an acrobatic stunt in December. The first temporary crown lasted a week before it fell off into her hot chocolate. The second one made it all the way to England for our post-Christmas Progress through the Realm... until she spotted something interesting on the floor of the rental car, bent forward to try and reach it and bashed her mouth on her knee.

She had to manage with only one front tooth for the rest of the trip, which wasn't easy when she didn't want people to know how she knocked the other one out yet they could hardly miss the strange hole in her smile. Oh well.

And to answer the original question, it's about four. One to build a new tooth, one to hold her gob out of the way, one to pass the instruments and one to translate to Mummy that they are worried all the wincing from Her Ladyship during the process means that the tooth is dying. It's not a great prospect that she's going to need root canal surgery but I'll keep you posted.

Another deep mystery: Is Gary a good name for a guinea pig?

Nobby thinks that George, Eric or Wayne would be more appropriate since the guinea pig is supposed to be his and he is determined at least one of our pets' names should reflect his football fanaticism. But let me back up a minute, what on earth is Nobby doing with a guinea pig?

Back in August I found a single sheet of A4 on my desk with a simple message:

'Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is a guinea pig. Love from Poppet.'

Being a total softie when it comes to small furry creatures, and recalling the hilarity of watching my own guinea pigs from my childhood, Whisky and Soda, play follow-the-leader round and round the lounge, depositing a trail of 'chocolate drops' behind them as they went, I duly ensured Santa delivered a guinea pig voucher to Poppet on Christmas Day. She was delighted and as soon as we returned to Hungary we hot-footed it down to the pet shop to choose the perfect animal and all the associated paraphernalia.

And thus Peppermint, a tiny brown and white bundle of fur, joined our happy home. Only, in my softie opinion, he didn't seem very happy, spending his first 24 hours sitting perfectly still under a pile of hay in the corner of his cage. Of course it could have been nerves but I decided it was loneliness, given that until we turned up he was quite happy living with a friend in the pet shop.

Which is why we rushed back to the pet shop and bought his friend as well, passing it off as a New Years present for Nobby to try and soften the blow of finding out his wife had finally gone nuts. Still, the internet is on my side, several sites say these are social animals and ought to be kept in twos. And it has to be said that Peppermint greeted Gary like an old friend with a lot of squeaking and snuffling, which I translated as total delight of course, in my new found role of Dr Doolittle, and they were soon snuggled up together under the hay. Point proved, Nobby.

Okay, here is a real humdinger:
What is the worst place for an over-playful, maniac Vizsla pup to cut himself?

Whilst we were away, Boy-Next-Door and family went home to Portugal and we both left our doggies in the same kennels. Since we came home first we bravely volunteered to take on their mad mutt along with ours for one night only to save the guy from the kennels making two trips.

Ike is permanently happy and wags his tail so hard and fast that if it catches your legs the whip welts can take a couple of days to go down. However, it wasn't until he'd been here about 12 hours and engaged in some very enthusiastic wagging whilst trying to bite Tiggy's face off, that I noticed red splatters all over my kitchen and hall cupboards, doors, walls and floors. With much wrestling I managed to ascertain that he has a little cut on the very tip of his tail and had been blithely spray-painting my house while he mucked about. Bugger.

Luckily the neighbours came and got him soon afterwards and with a bit of spit and polish my house is more spick and span, and less abattoir. I do fear for their white three piece suite though...

More musings next time, very likely about the joys of returning to school after a three week break. I have INSET training tomorrow and Friday, with the kids in tow due to lack of babysitting; I'm sure there'll be loads to tell.

Meanwhile, Happy New Year and here's to an interesting 2011! At least I won't be a) studying, or b) turning 40 this year.