The Coconut Chronicles

Hola a La Bahia de Concepcion!

Prez and I can be a little backwards, sometimes, where touristy things are concerned. For example; one of the highlights of Mulege is the beautiful old mission, third oldest in Baja, that people flock to see. We were here four years before we even thought to go see it. And it isn’t hard to get to, doesn’t cost anything to view, so there really was no excuse. In fact, the idea to go see it didn’t even occur to me until after a couple of wine coolers, shared with Martha Roney, in town. “Hey, let’s go check out the mission!” I declared, and off we went.

Wow!

The mission, by its lonesome, is pretty cool – built by the Jesuits in 1705 – but it was the view, out back, that made us wonder why we’d waited so long to go there. Built on a hill, the back of the mission overlooks the date-palm tree strewn Mulege River. Honestly, I had no clue there were so many palms in Mulege before I looked out from this viewpoint. Some days you can be treated to an all-natural bird show extraordinaire! Frigate Birds, which resemble tiny pterodactyls, come to the river to bathe and drink. What a spectacle it is to watch these acrobatic flyers circling high above the river (but at your eye level at the view point), then swoop headlong to the water below, pulling up at the last possible moment to skim the surface. Their heads scoop water across their gleaming black backs and they do a wild wiggle as they fly away. Magnificent!

Of course, now we tell every newcomer that they simply must go see the mission, just as so many people had told us before. I’m not sure to what I should attribute our lack of interest in such an important piece of local history. Perhaps it’s our lack of interest in history in general? To us, for many years, Baja was ALL about the water. If we weren’t fishing, we were jet skiing, or diving, or just doing something, anything, that involved being near the water.

Being boatless, and depressed by the rapidly declining fish stocks in the Sea of Cortez, Prez and I have sought out more land based activities in Baja. How surprised (pleasantly, I must add) we have been to discover the secrets of the desert, the town, and the people of Baja.

The canyon we stayed to hike at San Basilio with the Fullpots, last week, is a classic example. The majority of the hike was just to get to the start of the canyon – but that’s OK, the view of the bay from the high hills was worth the climb. The actual canyon began in the usual Baja way – lots of cool rocks, and cactus – but was accentuated by the oft-mentioned verdantness (no, that is not a real word). In places, the desert arroyo could have been mistaken for a tropical jungle, the plants and vines were that green and thick. But, as we continued, greenery was pushed out to make way for the GIANT boulders deposited here and there by a once-raging flow of water. If you have ever wondered what a river looks like beneath the water, all you need to do is hike a canyon in Baja.

Tighter and tighter, the walls of the canyon closed in around us, creating a shadow world of an otherwise sunny day. Then, like stumbling upon a secret and ancient city, the slim gap opened into a wide bowl, the end of the canyon. The canyon walls rose up 80 feet or more and, right smack in the center, was one of the coolest things I have ever seen in my life…a fig tree.

A fig tree? You might ask. Yes, but not just any fig tree. This tree, perched quite precariously at the top of the canyon, has sent out an army of roots to collect water from the bowl we were standing in. These roots were at least five times bigger than the tree itself, and they snaked down the wall, and dangled from the overhang. Words, and not even photos I’m afraid, can do this tree justice. Once again, nature defies human description. (But I will attach a photo anyway, cheeky girl that I am).

It’s funny to think that we’ve camped at San Basilio for eight seasons and have only just discovered this incredible canyon. Makes you wonder what else is out there right under our noses?

Speaking of which, much like the mission, the Mulege museum is a local favorite I only just visited this year. Now, we’re not talking about the Museum of Natural History or anything near that scale, but I was impressed by tiny Mulege’s display of history. The museum is located in the old prison. What’s interesting about this prison is that it was somewhat voluntary. The prisoners were brought to Mulege by boat and left at the prison. Each morning, prisoners were let out of their cells to go work at the local farms or to do other jobs, and each evening at 6pm a conch shell was blown to signal them all to return to their cells– which they did. You may think this sounds strange but consider this: where were they going to run to? The desert is not exactly a forgiving environment and the peninsula was only sparsely populated at that time.

The prison, alone, is neat to see (although, I’m sure it was not so “neat” to be an inmate in one of those teeny cells with no light and only a stone floor to sleep on), but there are also lots of artifacts to look at. The oddest display at the museum, and the most talked about, is “the thing that fell from the sky!” This “thing” is some sort of man made, space object that fell from orbit and landed somewhere in Mulege a few years ago. There is much speculation, but no one really knows what it is. In the museum, it resides in a rusty wheelbarrow, in the courtyard, with no description attached. It is spherical, hollow, and big enough for me to fit inside. There are no identifying markings but you can tell where the object began to burn as it hit the atmosphere. Weird. (Cue the Twilight Zone music).

Touring the museum and reading all the little information sheets (I am such a sucker for any kind of brochure, plaque, descriptive writings, etc), I began to think about history. How important is it? Why do some people value it highly while others could care less? At what point does the old shovel some guy tosses out become a “historical artifact”? Could this laptop someday be sitting in a museum with a spoiled, blonde tourist looking at it and thinking, wow, they were so primitive!

I like history in a Trivial Pursuit kind of way and I know it’s important to learn lessons from the past, although I’m not sure if we (meaning ‘humans’) have learned all that much. But I also believe the past can be dangerous, can pull our focus from the present, and the future, to ages that become more and more romanticized as time goes by. How many times have I heard people say they long for the simpler times of yesteryear? Simpler? Are you kidding me? I’m not saying our lives aren’t too busy or complicated but let’s be real – go back in time and give Suzie Homemaker a microwave oven and a stack of Lean Cuisine’s and see how fast she dumps that apron in the garbage!

Take a stroll through the Mulege Museum and you will realize, very quickly, that nothing about life here, “back then”, was simple. Appreciation for the present, I do believe, is one of the best reasons for preserving history. But don’t take my word for it, next time you feel like a taco, instead of driving to Taco Bell, try growing the corn yourself, picking the cobs and separating the kernels, drying them over a wood fire, grinding them with a stone matate, mixing the ground corn with water, forming tortillas, and baking them – and that’s just the first step!!

This always happens, as I near the end of my time in Baja I start to get all philosophical ‘bout stuff. It looks like this may be Mom II & HQ’s last year here. When they go, Posada will be losing a big piece of its history. The house which now serves as the hub of the park, will be occupied by someone else, the familiar sight of HQ on the front porch like some misplaced southern gentleman, and Mom II bustling around helping twelve people at once will be replaced by…? Who knows? All our memories of them and this house will be stored in our own little museums. The rest, as they say…is history.

QUESTION: What would you put in your museum?

p.s. – OK, I’m not one to blow my own horn but I have to share this with you because…because I am JUMPING OUT OF MY SKIN!!! A short story I wrote has won second place in Writer’s Digest Magazine’s short-short story contest (I found this out yesterday via email). This is a big contest and one I never dreamed I would even place in at all, in fact I’d completely forgotten about it. Yesterday I called the magazine and was informed of what all I’d won – $1500 cash, some great books, my name in the June edition, and (the very best part) my story published in their competition anthology!! Published! I’m finally going to be published!!! Brian, the guy from the magazine, said there were over 8000 entries and some really spectacular stories. WOW!!!

I always promised myself that as soon as I was published I would drink a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Well, here I am in tiny Mulege where finding a stick of butter is often impossible, where exactly am I going to find any champagne?? Then Mom II says to me, “Oh we have a bottle! HQ got it as a gift but he doesn’t really drink it so we were just going to take it back home when we go.” Coincidence? It gets better. She also had bought a full set of champagne saucers at a local garage sale recently. “I remember thinking I didn’t know why I was buying them; we don’t even drink champagne.” Fate? So last night we celebrated with bubbly in fancy glasses – I love Baja.

Funk over. Princess happy! Life is goooooooood!!

Until the next post, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The (soon to be published) Princess 

Hello from one of the world’s top ten beaches!

Well, it’s been a long time since my last post – unfortunately, gorgeous beaches in the middle of nowhere don’t tend to have internet cafes. Let’s see, the last post was from Estero Coyote, on the Pacific and we had just arrived…

We hunkered down, determined to enjoy ourselves despite the uncooperative weather, and fun was had by most. Between the sickness and the funk, my time at the estero was spent mostly in the cabana reading or sleeping. Still, I did drag myself out for dinners of fresh oysters, clams, prawns, and lobster. Yes, it’s a rough life. The Fullpots (Robyn & Glen) had a blast kayaking the estuary, which was positively overflowing with birds this time. The Elder Challenge Team (Meg & Dennis) kayaked and hiked the beach. Prez lamented the lousy fishing but was quickly pacified when the manager gave him several lovely Corvina he’d caught. Good fun.

The highlight of that camping trip was probably the big “Rock Paper Scissors” competition waged to decide who should get the last of the oh-so-yummy prawns. Prez had good kung-fu form but Meg was ultimately the majority winner.

After four days we were ready to point our various wagons toward the Sea of Cortez, Posada, good friends, and (hopefully) good weather. We were all amazed at how green and lush the desert is this year. At one point the desert floor was purple as far as the eye could see; flowers bloomed everywhere.

I’m always happy to pull into Posada, this year I was especially happy. All-In-Jim and Miss Sue were putting us up in their splendidly warm and comfy casa, and, believe me, this Princess was overdue for warm & cozy! Mom II & HQ spoiled us, as always, with big dinners including Prez’s favorite, “Twice Baked Potatoes”.

We were glad to see Mulege had recovered well from the big flood in October but dismayed by the sad state of Santispac beach (recently sold and all the residents in permanent structures booted out) and the site of our old hangout, Ray’s Restaurant, no more than a circle of ashes. The Mulege rumor mill is, naturally, churning out dozens of reasons why Ray’s burned down. One camp claims Ray did it himself, although that seems strange to me when there is no insurance money. Another camp firmly believes it was an accident – possible. And yet another group has said that Ray was way, way behind on his rent and the owners gave him a Mexican eviction notice – 5 gallons of gasoline and a lit match. Who knows what is true, all I know is we had some wickedly good times there and now it’s gone. This, by the way, did not help to alleviate the funk.  

Prez was itching to get camping again; he’d planned a big trip over to the cave painting canyons and a full day’s hike. I was still not 100%, so I kissed him farewell and spent two and a half days reading, fiddling on the computer, gossiping with Mom II, and watching the Australian Open…heaven!! (Hooray for Serena Williams, she kicked butt!) The gang returned from their trip just in time for Mom II’s semi-surprise 74^th birthday party. The Flying Powers hosted a grand affair, complete with roasted turkey, gravy, and stuffing for 20 people, if you can believe it. I like the irony of the fact that we ate cabbage rolls and pork tenderloin for Xmas and came to Mexico for turkey dinner.

Next day, on the road again for more camping. True, I was not feeling very “campy” yet, but the funk and the cough were fading and I was really ready to start my vacation. So off to San Basilio we went – crossing all of our appendages that the Elder Challenge Team, in their low-rider van, and the Fullpots, in their big, beefy camper, could make it in on the bumpy & overhung road. Once again, our mouths hung agape at the verdant desert. I, however, was not so thrilled by all the bees that come with such verdant-ness!  

Now San Basilio is one of those rare gems – a beach just hard enough to get to that it keeps the visiting population to a minimum, but stunning enough that, once there, you want to stay forever. The bay is a favorite anchorage for sail boaters, as well, and there are usually a few there at any given time (which makes for lovely sunrise photos). The wind, in Baja, is your winter nemesis. San Basilio is nice because it offers a fair amount of shelter, but you can usually count on that pesky wind showing up at least 60% of the time. Somehow we must have appeased the weather gods because what wind there was came from all directions but north and was relatively mild.

Anyhoo, we set up camp. By the time All-In-Jim & Miss Sue, Chef Wendy & Jake the Grape arrived by land, and the Flying Powers by sea, we numbered twelve. There were other campers on our beach but they were gone within a few days. (Explain to me why men from Oregon and Arizona are camping on a Baja beach wearing kilts??) The sun shone, the fish bit, and my cough stopped. Could this be the end of my bad mood? I pondered as I kayaked the glass-calm water, spying on the multi-coloured fish beneath my boat.  

I wish I could say it was but this trip just doesn’t seem to want to give me a break.

The ever-grouchy, North American Carpet Panther (aka Emily) was finally starting to enjoy herself, too. One of our party, unfortunately, has a dog that is not so cat-friendly but we worked out an arrangement whereby dog ran loose all day while cat was locked inside tent, then cat ran loose all night while dog was tied up or locked inside. This worked very well until the cat, who is too clever for her own good, pawed her way out of the tent one morning. Long story brief: there was a scuffle, cat fought hard but dog definitely got the upper paw, Prez happened to be in the right place at the perfect time and averted certain disaster, cat was not in good shape and neither was her human. She is healing and will be fine (luckily the vet in Loreto was only an hour and fifteen minutes away) but the whole incident just put me on the express elevator down to Misery Land again. I’m on my way back up, again, but the elevator going up is always so much slower than the one going down.

Ironically, it would be bad weather that would cheer me up.

Yesterday morning looked like it was setting up to be the PERFECT Baja day – hot, sunny, not a drop of wind – and then the clouds appeared. Out of nowhere, our sky turned from blue to dark grey. Then the winds arrived. They blew from all directions, confused. Soon it became obvious that we were in for some of that wet stuff that falls from the sky and campfire time would be soggy. Guess we know why the desert is so darn verdant this year. “Let’s have movie night!” I suggested to the Prez. And that’s how it came to be that eight people clustered in our tent, passing around chocolate and cookies, and laughing at “Finding Nemo”, which was playing on Dennis’s laptop computer. What a hoot! When the movie ended and we all untangled ourselves from the origami positions we’d folded ourselves into, we found the night sky clear, the wind gone…so we lit a campfire and yakked until sleep arrived. Best of all, I laughed a real laugh, more than once, and felt happy inside.

Today, Prez and I kayaked; it felt good to be making the ol’ muscles earn their keep. It looks like we may be spending one more day here to hike a really, really cool canyon, and that’s OK. I may not even go on the hike but that’s OK, too. See, I forgot to mention that Prez is my big hero. When Emily was in trouble he ran and jumped so quick to save her, he split the top of his head open. It’s just a surface wound but quite big and it bled like a son of a gun. I know he wants to spend one more day here and hike that canyon; if that will make him happy, we stay. Besides, I don’t think it’s physically possible for my hair to get any oilier or my armpits to smell any worse, so what the heck.  

Don’t you just love camping?

Until the next time I hit civilization, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

p.s. – The canyon hike WAS worth staying for…more on that next week!!

Hello from the road!

I’m in a funk. You know how it is with a funk, someone asks you what’s wrong and you reply nothing because, well, it’s true. Nothing is wrong, and you know it, but nothing is exactly right either and it’s the impossibility of putting a finger on what is not right that drives you bonkers. I’m not sure if the sickness brought on the funk or if it’s organic but here I am, in it, living the world through grey-coloured glasses. 

But let’s back up, way up, to Miz Liz’s Home for Wayward and Sickly Canadians high in the desert of 29Palms…

The nasty flu seemed to be releasing its devilish hold on yours truly. More hours were spent upright, solid foods were digested, conversation consisted of more than grunts. I even managed to drag myself out for two short yet stunning hikes in Joshua Tree National Park. We hit the hike jackpot with Prez finding a perfectly stripped-bare turtle shell, eagle-eyed Meg picking out a gorgeous Big Horn Sheep (a ram with full horns) coming down for water, and a bobcat who walked right in front of our vehicle then paused at the side to give us a haughty stare. We would hear later, both from Liz and her daughter (via New York City), what very lucky Canucky’s we were to see all this great stuff – stuff some (slightly bitter) longtime residents (who shall remain nameless) have never seen at all! Yep, things were looking up. But we all know what happens to “What goes up…”.

Oh, I came down alright, and hard. Back to the pits of flu hell for me. Thankfully, our friend and host is not without pull in her little berg and I was slid into the queue for the doctor despite the fact that he was already five patients over his limit. I returned to my sick room with a goodie bag of antibiotics, Prednisone, Nasonex, and my three hundred and forty-seventh mug of herbal tea.

And don’t think for one millisecond that the Prez was spared from all the sickness. It’s just that Prez says, “I’m fine” and you are supposed to ignore the fact that his cough sounds like a death rattle and he’s up half the night horking green things you “could slice through” (his quote, and a very gross one, ick). Miz Liz was not much better, though she prefers to tackle her illness with old-fashioned “red wine treatment”, whereby you drink red wine until even the virus starts talking too loudly and telling bad jokes. Dennis and Meg gargled goldenseal, swabbed with Zicam, and prayed to a much higher power, obviously, as they remain virus-free. Bastards.

Our time at Miz Liz’s estate came to an end much too quickly for my liking. I miss her like crazy already. But I was reminded that Glen and Robyn – now known as Mr. & Mrs. Fullpot, to be discussed later – were expecting us, and wasn’t I excited by the prospect of sun, sand, sea, and cervezas?? Truthfully, I wasn’t excited, not at all like me where Baja is concerned. The funk was settling in, infecting me, if you will.

As if the weather were channeling my thoughts, we pulled away as Miz Liz stood and waved us “adios” in the middle of a blizzard – yes, snow, the stuff we’d driven a thousand miles to escape!

Now, switching gears a moment, Prez is a doer. He makes plans, rallies the troops, and gets things done. And his plans have an uncanny way of coming together no matter how much I, prophetess of doom, predict otherwise. The Plan, for this Baja adventure, was lots and lots of camping which I usually love but being sick and in a funk felt less than enthused about. And, as fate would have it, Prez’s plans did not come together as brilliantly as usual. Our first stop – the Carlsbad State Park Campground – was full, seems it was a holiday, Martin Luther King Day actually, and everyone in California decided to celebrate by camping. We did find a spot, eventually, with a lovely view of the highway and the raucous whoopings from the local bar to keep us awake through the night. As I lay in the back of the truck, awake and cold (did I mention the cold?), I dreamt of Miz Liz, snuggled up beside her bad dogs and a blazing fire…sigh.

No worries, next morning we would forge ahead to Mexico and warmth. It rained, quite a bit. The funk had me firmly in its grip now. Crossing the border is usually a moment of ecstasy, a moment where my shoulders relax and I feel I am “home”, but not this time. Tijuana depressed me with its dirt and poverty pressing up against its wealthy neighbour. The new fence, so technologically superior to the old fence, gave me the sensation of entering a maximum security prison. The stretch between the border and Ensenada didn’t help lighten my mood either. Mile after mile of shiny new resorts are popping out like zits on the landscape – gated, gringo enclosures designed to give you the wondrous experience of being in Mexico without ever having to actually interact with the culture!

Development didn’t stop there though; the North American dream is steadily forcing itself down Baja’s throat. Wal Mart, Home Depot, Costco, and many more have arrived – nothing will be the same again. And who am I say to say this isn’t better? That this isn’t what the citizens of Baja need and want? Me, I’m just a girl in a funk, another tourist, no one.

Threats of rain kept us from the coast and we ventured inland to the RV park at Santo Tomas, the one we’d enjoyed so much last year when we came down. Last year, Xmas Eve, when the roads were quiet and the weather was unseasonably balmy, not this year when an arctic front swept through and we were kept awake by the noise of semi’s, barking dogs, and howling roosters. I’m sure Meg and Dennis were beginning to wonder what kind of operation this “ClubFred” is exactly!

Finally we found a decent spot, on the beach, met up with the Fullpots, and had a really decent sleep. (And a shower – bliss). The next day we would camp at Catavina and hike those fabulous rock structures as we’ve always dreamed of doing. Unless, of course, we get to Catavina and a freezing wind is blowing eight trillion miles an hour, in which case we would (and did) drive until we were all exhausted and flop out at the Guerrero Negro RV park next to seventy behemoth motor homes. It’s good to have a back up plan.

Now we are finally semi-settled in at our old stomping grounds, Estero Coyote, on the Pacific. Sun and heat continue to be sporadic but we have a cozy little cabana to snuggle in, and good friends to share laughs, and oysters, with.

The fog of the funk is slowly lifting. Slowly. Thanks mostly to my hubby, who cannot stand to see me so blah, so zombie-like, and tries at every possible opportunity to bring a smile to my face. I’m not worried, I know I’ll be myself again soon; I don’t fear the funk. The older I get, the more I respect the idea of living life honestly. If I’m not happy, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe I have questions I need to ask myself, maybe the universe is trying to show me something important, who knows? The true joy of a journey, for me, has always been surrendering myself to fate, to the road, to whatever waits behind that next corner – good or bad. The road does not always give you what you want but, in its own funky way, the road gives you a reason to keep on hoping.

Until the next post, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess 

Hello from the home of the Bad Dogs of the Desert!

There’s nothing like 700 miles of pelting rain to convince you a trip south is indeed the right decision. The rain fell from Vancouver well into California as we dead-headed our way towards Twenty-nine Palms, California, home of Miz Liz and her infamous “bad dogs”. It had been a year since we last saw Liz in her home and we were excited at the prospect of hiking through Joshua Tree National Park with her and our buddies Dennis & Meg who would meet us there.

I think it was somewhere in Oregon when the scratchy throat began. Oh well, I guess I’m going to get a little cold, no problem.

We drove until about 2am then grabbed a power snooze in the back of the truck at a rest stop. Four hours later we were on the road again and the “cold” was getting comfy in my head. At 10pm we checked into a Motel in 29Palms. A deliciously hot shower followed by a nutritious dinner of cheese-flavoured Doritos, Ichiban noodles, and a Coors Lite would be just the ticket, I reckoned, to bring me back to health. Tomorrow morning we’d be basking in the sun at Miz Liz’s palace and all would be well!

Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke with the horrible realization that there were approximately 27 hedge hogs dancing the Macarena in my stomach and someone had turned the thermostat down to Antarctic-Degrees-Celsius. On top of that, someone was pouring hot, liquid lead down my ear canals; another someone had set fire to my eyeballs and was inflating them with a tire pump. Meanwhile, Mike Tyson was busy perfecting his right and left hooks on my kidneys. I was in the grips of a monster flu and my sole consolation was that we were in a motel room and not camping on some deserted stretch of nowhere.

At this point I’d like to be telling you about all of the scenery and activities that I’ve been enjoying since we arrived but about all I can offer is some rather engaging descriptions of the inside of my eyelids. It’s not so bad though, if you’re going to have the flu I can’t think of a nicer place to have it!

Our reunion with the ever-charming Liz was not the hug fest I’d envisioned. Prez made first contact, warning our host to keep her distance from the “infected one”. From a safe distance, I worked up the strength for a pathetic wave shortly before I was shuffled off to the guest house bedroom – where I would spend the next 24 hours sound asleep. Dennis and Meg had not yet arrived so Liz, fabulous host that she is, entertained Prez while I engaged in a serious inner-eyelid inspection.

I’ve been getting a little better every day but I’m far from well. In the spirit of giving, I have passed along my flu to the Prez who still insists that he’s fine despite his clogged nose and gravelly throat. Liz seems to be holding out but she was staving off a chest infection before we arrived and hosting a house full of guests doesn’t seem to be helping. Dennis and Meg remain virus free…for now. Team Meyer 2007 has gone for one hike thus far but without yours truly so I can only give the second hand account via Prez:

“It was really cool, with this canyon, and water, lots of birds and squirrels!”

Bet you feel like you were right there, huh? Well, I did get to go on the hike to the Carousel Restaurant for breakfast this morning. After a filling breakfast, we all stumbled outside gasping for fresh air. Seems the ol’ Carousel is quite overdue for an air filter change or two! FYI, I’m happy to report that biscuits and gravy are still alive and well in America – defribillulator salesmen everywhere can breathe a sigh of relief. 

Emily is not having such a great trip (as if that is a surprise). Happy as I may be with all the dogs running around here, the Canadian Carpet Panther is not enjoying the canine companionship. Dennis’s dog, Sarge, an Airedale terrier has taken to stalking my fussy feline with a Glenn Close-like intensity. Chase and Cassie, the aforementioned “bad dogs”, have not yet clued in that there is a cat in their midst which is odd considering that Cassie is always on the lookout for potential food (I witnessed her trying to eat a piece of firewood today).

And speaking of the furball, let me take this moment to apologize profusely for her Chronicle last week. Had I not been so busy preparing for this trip, I would have taken a moment to edit her scandalous comments. Our New Year’s Eve at Pat & Joyce’s place was super fun (ask me someday about the game we played with cucumbers between our legs) made even more so by the fact that they didn’t know we were coming. As far as our unsuspecting hosts knew, we were well on our way to Mexico until we snuck in their basement door! This was the first time in nine years that we have been able to ring in a new year with our ex-next door neighbours and very dear friends – it was a hoot! (Although I have my suspicions that the party might have been the origin of my flu, compounded by lack of sleep and one or two drinks – what’s with the laughter? OK, one or two drinks every hour).

I was also deathly embarrassed about Emily’s “hairball incident”. Kozy and Tweeter have been generous beyond description – putting us up on in the mansion, cooking us five-star meals, plying us with hooch, letting us (me) watch Ab Fab for hours on end, providing Emily with soft blankies to sleep on – and none of us should be hacking up anything onto the rug. Shame on you Emily, shame!! Rest assured, she will no longer be allowed to guest write any Chronicles – I may have to take away her internet privileges too.

Well, the sun is shining, as it does every day in this wonderful place, and I need to try to get some food in my cranky belly, so I’ll sign off. May your New Year be prosperous and may all your pets be illiterate!

Until next Chronicle, I hope this finds you all healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess