Hard to write at the minute, at least hard to write and put it out there . I never find it hard to write , in fact you may have noticed I find it hard to curb myself and were it not for these " how to succeed at blogging " blogs full of handy hints and tips ( hint one never blog more than once a day ) , I would most likely be at it thrice daily least ways when not at the Day Job when mostly the brain hurts too much for anything except being led by the nose by the greyhound cats and daughter , in that order upon my return to home and hearth .

Its the age old problem of what can appear on a blog and what can't . So many of the things I would love to write about are work related ... and those that aren't would impact on other people . Maybe I need another , anonymous writing space , but I would in time get mixed up . Suffice to say these last weeks and the last couple of days have involved some heavy conversations about problem drinking and how it affects kids , mental health and what that means , what migraine medication has done to my life and my memory ( my day seems to start at five am and ends effectively at 10pm and my memory is a thing of the past ... memory ? what memory ? ) I discovered via a rumour that one of my friends is moving out of the area , couldn't quite believe that she is really moving , didn't want to believe it and now have to start facing it as I received a text from her to say their house is up for sale and its happening .

But there has been some good news . ( Those with a weak stomach or the highly sensitive may wish to skip the next paragraph in its entirety ) The camper van is booked for a week in July , starting in York so I have at least a vague plan to spend the first night in Bronte country ( Haworth ) which I've visited before though I don't think D has . His son( early twenties, shares his father's interest in so called performance cars ) is appalled that his dad would even contemplate driving such a vehicle ( completely uncool ) and tried hard to dissuade him from making the booking . The best part about this was hearing D describe Alice to the van hire people as a " little " greyhound and very well behaved ( ahem ) , noting that she sleeps 23 and a half hours per day ( largely true ) . He didn't mention the ongoing tussle between Alice and the various human members of the household for Leader of the Pack or Top Dog status ( which deserves a post of its own ) , including the latest " I have a long grass stalk sticking out of my bottom which I can't expel and you will have to help me D " look ( presenting said rear end complete with protruding flag ) , to which I respond by walking off telling her to "deal with it, Alice other dogs manage " , whereas D in long suffering manner assists with baby wipe and poo bag .
My sister had long advised me about Top Dog status in her own establishment , her border terrier cross jack russel dog Grommit fully recognising her husband as the highest ranking family member , with the eldest boy George second and Harvey the little lad next . The elder daughter mostly away at uni( and female anyway ) didn't count and my sister despite feeding Grommit every meal he had ever eaten , petting him and generally cleaning up after him and attending to his every whim was Bottom of the Pecking Order . Imagine how that went down .
I asked how she knew this . She provided a demonstration one Sunday when we went for afternoon tea . In the farmhouse kitchen is a large low coffee table just above Grommit -height .
I was instructed to take a note ( either a ten or a five pound ) from my handbag and place it somewhere on the coffee table then just keep an eye on it as we talked . I did this and as I watched Grommit sidled over to the table , slid his head across the table after a few minutes , when our attention had been dsitracted and slowly took the note in his mouth and slid it towards himself . Once he pulled it off onto the floor without being stopped he scopped it up carefully , trotted over to my sister's husband and quietly gave him the money . We were amazed at this ... apparently if Peter was not at home , the money , or any other choice morsel or treat the dog saw as fitting , would be given next to George and finally Harvey would be offered the gift . Nothing for Laura . Bottom of the pile .

As I say this subject warrants a post of its own .
But finally a joke from Peter .
Question from Laura .... mentioning some friends acquiring a shi-tsu crossed with a Jack Russell , asked " what would you call that ?
Peter, (quick as a flash ) : "A Jack Shit " .