The 80’s song “Baggy Trousers” by Madness has been popping into my head quite a bit recently. It’s about the monotony of school life, but it seems equally applicable to life in lockdown: just like the kids in the song, we’ve also been “trying different ways to make a difference to the days.”  Susan now has a host of vegetable plants happily growing in containers both inside and outside the house, and if all goes well we’ll have our own supply of potatoes and salad later in the year. The “if all goes well” bit of course refers to how well we can protect the growing plants from the furry types. There have been a few Beagle-related incidents already, and I’ll get round to detailing them in the next post.

Speaking of Beagles, Beanie’s been using her lockdown time to answer the really big questions in life, such as “is it possible to climb into an empty bag of kibble, and are there any tasty kibble fragments to be found at the bottom of that bag?”

The answer to the first part of that question is clearly “yes”, and judging from the accompanying munching noises, I’d have to say that the second part gets a “yes” too.

Any Beagles wishing to duplicate this experiment to confirm the results for themselves should be aware that it is possible to get stuck in the bag, get into a panic and urgently require the assistance of a humie for extraction.

What’s more, if you’re a Beagle and you’re wondering “what’s it like to steal and rapidly consume hand-made pizza base while the yeast is still rising?” then Beanie has you covered on that one too, but the answer is somewhat nuanced.

In the short term she would say that the experience is overwhelmingly positive; the feel of that full tummy is ample compensation for being slapped about the face by the dough as you struggle to speed-swallow it. It’s only later in the day that the negative consequences become fully apparent. Firstly there’s the problem that the dough that barely fit into your stomach soon swells to approximately twice its initial size, and as a result your Dad compares you to an over-inflated rugby ball with comedy ears, which is both hurtful and inappropriate. Additionally, you may find that the serving for your tea-time meal is drastically reduced. In Beanie’s case, she received the kibble equivalent of a dry Ryvita crispbread with nothing on it, while Biggles got something akin to a full English all-day breakfast and really rubbed it in with exaggerated woofing and munching noises.

As for me, it’s all been about two fitness-related projects; I’ve written a training app which will be ready for release on Android platforms soon, and I’ve turned this..

into this:

I’m really enjoying have access to a full height pullup bar once again – it’s great to do muscle-ups without whacking my head into the ceiling – but even better than that, I’ve discovered that Biggles is simply the best furry training partner on the planet. Any time I go out into the garden for a workout he insists on coming with me and keeps me company for the whole session. I get his full attention when I chat to him about my goals, and in between sets he encourages me to do a form of active recovery that involves ear ruffling.

Only once has he run off with my chalk bag, which shows remarkable restraint for a little Beagle boy, and so I’ve rewarded him by making it possible for him to complete some lockdown projects of his own. Below is his latest work, but he’s also done a sterling job on adding extra ventilation to my socks.

Any time Susan needs to put drainage holes in a pot she’s preparing for her plants, he’s ready, willing and able to help. The holes don’t always end up in the places she wants them, but you can’t fault my little boy’s enthusiasm.