Ruminations on a life more simple

Dear Browsers and Browserettes,

we trust the trauma of yesterday's "non-pasting debacle", as it has become known in the House of Electrofried, is now but a thing of memory. Fetlock's dusting brush has been duly locked away in the cupboard next to the Dyson Superturbo GTi (it being a day of rest) and we're hopeful there will be no repetition of this unfortunate turn of events.

Butler in study shocker

Fetlock himself has taken to bed, clutching a thin but well-thumbed Slovenian/English phrasebook of dubious quality. We expect his re-appearance shortly, doubtless armed with some finely honed phrase that has been distorted beyond all reasonable recognition.

By way of example, after much enquiry, we are lead to understand last week's offering was "Kdaj odpelje gondola?", which roughly translated means, "When is the cable-car leaving?".

This has caused much confusion in the local village-shops where Fetlock tends to ply his Slovenian/English transcripts, as the nearest funicular transportation is some two hundred miles away. Accordingly, cable-car related small-talk tends to be rather on the thin side in Little Wittering.

No matter, Fetlock is diligent in his studies and a seat of learning will always be available to him in the House of Electrofried for so long as he may choose to occupy it.

Out and about in the Baronial Grounds

Sunday in the House commenced, as always, with a rousing constitutional. Mrs electrofried and I decided this morning to walk the Baronial Grounds and were pleased to discover the fishing-folk of Lesser Wittering out in force. We allow them free access to the lakes in order to supplement the meagre fare to which they are accustomed - it's the least we can do really.

Unusually, teenygoth decided to rise early from her lair (i.e. within the hours of daylight) and elected to accompany us. That said accompaniment appeared to consist, for the most part, of a series of unconnected grunts only added to the pleasure of the moment.

Tented anglers

We were, however, in for an even bigger surprise than the pre-dusk appearance of our youngest fruit. As we made our way through the woods at the top end of the estate we encountered the strangest of scenes before us - the muddied banks of the Baronial lake were bestrewn with tents of various size, colour and shape, each of which we discovered on further investigation to contain one or more of our local angling fraternity.

These Glastonbury-like piscine foragers were apparently taking refuge from the mild showers currently making their way lazily up country.

"Let me tell you ... ", I called out to mrs electrofried, "... when my father used to take me fishing as a lad we had nothing more for protection than a trilby and a stout pair of walking shoes between us."

"Yes, my dear," came the reply, "that accounts for so much."

The perils of multi-rodding

Worse was yet to come. As we made our way down to the lake we observed that for each angler there were at least five rods pointed aggressively toward open water, each of which looked to be cast from the very finest the UK polycarbonate industry could provide.

Mrs electrofried was not slow in providing further commentary on this sad state of affairs.

"And I suppose all you had back then was a pointy stick, some knotted string and a bent paper-clip?"

"Indeed". I nodded, staggered as always by the intuitive prescience of my loved-one.

"Guess that's why your father maintained that standing account at Mrs Miggs' Fresh Fish and Licensed Victulling Emporium then?

I was reduced, for once, to silence. Pausing only to cast an icy stare in the general direction of the giggling teenygoth, who for some reason found our conjugal exchanges a source of some amusement, I struck off back to the House in high dudgeon.

The pleasures of the life simple

The rest of the day has been spent in conjecture at the apparent need for our fading civilisation to make life ever more complex. By way of example, I cite the following:

• Once we had a few simple shellac pressings and mrs electrofried's trusty Victrola - now we have CDs, SACDs, DVDs and those strange little shouty MP3 creatures that darling teenygoth keeps under her bed to alarm visitors with.

• Once we had bitter or pale ale - now we have shelf-loads of strange and exotic alcoholic beverages of quite extraordinary hue and strength.

• Once we had BBC and ITV - now we have a proliferation of terrestrial, satellite, cable and doubtless extra-terrestrial offerings, almost all of which appear to regurgitate shoddy and dated 70's sit-coms or mild pornography dressed up as "Yoof Culture".

I ask you, where's it all going to end??!!

Grumpydom beckons

Mrs electrofried has just brought through the conjugal Horlicks together with the latest listings for "Grumpy Old Men". I rest my case, but fear I cannot leave this pasting on a low note. So with this in mind - it's back to the "Poll of Hounds".

The voting goes on

Never mind the final of "Big Brother", the one they're all talking about in the world of Blogdem is the "Hounds of Electrofried Poll". We've been deluged with entries (well, three of you have left comments - for which many thanks!)

Currently, Daisy and Mollie are tied for first place, Dylanne lagging behind by a small tree at the edge of the woods. Teenygoth is concerned that should this come to her attention she could be further traumatised, having already suffered the indignity of "coming out" as a trans-gendered spaniel.

With this in mind I've published some puppy photos at the top of this pasting in an attempt to even things up a little. Why not ask a friend to vote too? The blog now comes fully equipped with the ability to mail individual sample pastings to your chosen others. All you need do is click on the envelope icon you'll find located handily at the bottom of each item. Unless, that is, Fetlock has been dusting again ...

best regards and looking forward to counting the votes,

electrofried (mr)