At almost 20 years old, my daughter is all grown up now. It’s fab – we’re friends, she’s funny, we have fun, she’s a lovely young woman of whom I’m very proud – but sometimes I really miss having a small child around the house.

When she was little, I used to love playing with her toys. Playmobil, especially; she had tons of the stuff, and it’s all up in our loft until she moves out and has kids of her own, who may be lucky enough to get their little mitts on it one day.

I miss that. I miss having an excuse to cover the living room floor with scenes from Robin Hood, or a fairy tale kingdom, or a hospital, or drag out the doll’s house and live a little pretend life.

If I had a small child, I would have an excuse for buying – and playing with – toys, like this gorgeous wooden train set from my clients Babi Pur.

I would have no reason not to buy this beautiful wooden doll’s house.

And there would be someone to dress in all these gorgeous little organic cotton baby clothes.

Broody? Perhaps a teeny, tiny bit. But I do have a small nephew and an even smaller niece, so even if I can’t justify buying these beautiful (and ethically sourced, by the way) toys for my own daughter, I could always keep them stashed away for the next time my niece and nephew visit.  And if I have a little sneaky play while nobody’s looking… who’s to know?

Lately, I’ve been dog-broody.

Our little dog, Jack – some sort of terrier cross; we never knew his breed for certain – died last October, aged at least 16 years. Again, we never knew his age for certain; we found him, one day in 2000, a week before we moved up to North Wales. He was trotting, knackered, along the railway line that ran next to our flat, so we went down and saved him. The police had no record of a missing dog fitting his description, and neither did the RSPCA. Posters on trees and at the local pet shop yielded no enquiries, so we decided to keep him. Jack and the Doo family – we were destined for each other, a match made in heaven.

Jack was a fabulous little dog, with heaps of character. He couldn’t be allowed anywhere near other dogs – he had a real other-dog-aggression problem – but he was fantastic with people, children and cats. In fact, when Mr Doo used to take him for his late night walk, they would invariably be followed by one of the local cats, who were all drawn to Jack like a magnet. Our own cats adored Jack, and would snuggle up in bed with him – whether he liked it or not.

So it’s been almost a year now, and more than ever I’m feeling Jack’s loss. The house just doesn’t feel right without him. Without a dog.

So we’re thinking of getting a puppy, one that we can train to be well-socialised with other dogs, and with cats, and with kids (even though we don’t have any small children ourselves, both our sisters do, so it’s important that we have a child-friendly dog, when we eventually get one).

But what breed do we go for? There are a few under discussion.

First up, a beagle. They’re wonderful dogs – very trusting, very friendly (which is probably why they’re the breed most likely to be  used in vivisection – they’ll literally put up with anything, poor little blighters). If we do get a beagle, I’d love to call it Jeremy. As in, Jeremy Beagle. Ha!

We’ve also thought about standard Yorkshire terriers. Not the miniature, fit-in-your-pocket type – I love them, but Mr Doo would look ridiculous walking one – but the large-Westie-sized ones. However, standard Yorkies are not dogs you see often, because everyone wants the teeny-tiny ones these days.

We don’t really fancy a Jack Russell – at least, not the short haired variety – because, well, we’re just not convinced they’ll be good around the cats, and they do have a reputation for being a bit yappy and snappy.

I’d really love a border terrier, myself; I love how scruffy they look, and they’re sooo cute. Perfect size, perfect temperament, probably good with cats – though I’ve not checked this.

But ultimately, I think we’ll be happy if we can find a smallish terrier cross of some sort, with a cute face, a nose you can’t help parping like a bicycle horn, a massive personality and a whole heap of love to share.

A dog like Jack.

… or should that be “potate-dohs”?

As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, one of my clients is ShinyShack, my very favourite place on the web to buy gifts, gadgets and cool stuff.

I drool every time I visit the site; apart from the must-have gadgets and daft toys, there’s a great selection of retro sweeties and other mouth-watering goodies.

But ShinyShack have gone and surpassed themselves this time.

Because their latest must-have item isn’t a gadget.  It isn’t a gizmo. It’s not a packet of sweeties. It’s a potato plant.

But this isn’t just any old potato plant.

It’s a potato plant that grows crop after crop of potatoes that look startlingly like Homer Simpson.

I’ve never felt strongly either way when it comes to genetically modified food. I’m sure it has its good points and its bad points, much like everything else.

But if genetic modification of our crops means that we can enjoy a potato salad, or a sunday roast, with lots of little Homer Simpson faces staring up at us from the plate – then count me in.

This morning Mr Doo awakened me with a cup of tea, as usual, on his way out to work at 7.15am.  But unusually, instead of grunting the obligatory “love you, have a nice day” before falling back asleep, I woke up instantly… because as he left, he called out: “By the way, it’s snowed.  Look outside – everywhere is white.”

And he was right – it was.

Ignoring the temptation to go back to sleep, I forced my eyes open and phoned my daughter, who was in bed two rooms away (we like phoning each other while we’re both at home; it amuses us).

“Look out of your window,” I said.

“Why?” she mumbled. “What’s happened?”

“Just go. Look. Stay on the phone.”

“Mumble.  Grumble. OH WOW!”

“Want to go for a walk?”

“Yeah, OK then” – to my utter surprise; she rarely gets up before midday.

So, we gulped down a quick cup of tea, put on several layers of cardigans/fleeces/jackets etc, then off we went. We had a lovely walk up over the footpath that winds its way between fields from Clynnog Fawr to the beach, stopping every few feet to take photos.  The sun was just rising, so the maj0rity of the photos are either blue-tinged or pink-tinged, depending on the light and the direction in which the camera was pointing.

It was bitterly cold out there, but after an hour of walking in our many layers of clothing, we returned home feeling hot and happy.  Such a perfect day… I’m now working from a sleeping bag on my sofa, watching TV while I catch up with a bit of blogging and admin… Hardly the most productive day I’ve had in recent months, but I can honestly say that today has so far been my favourite day in a very long time – the sort of day where you realise just what’s important in life, and that its various little glitches really don’t matter in the great scheme of things

Here are my favourite couple of photos from this morning; you can see the rest, if you’re interested, at http://www.flickr.com/photos/debbidoo/

So, there’s a recession going on, apparently.

The media reckons there will be 2m unemployed in the UK by Christmas, people are losing their homes, and it couldn’t happen at a worse time of year.

Businesses are struggling too.  Savvy managers know that during an economic downturn it’s best to increase marketing activities and budgets, but if the money isn’t coming in, how can you afford to advertise?

How I’m going to afford Christmas this year has been on my mind a lot lately.  Like many businesses in their first year, I could do with a cash injection.  And like many consumers, I wonder how I’m going to enjoy Christmas if I can’t lavish my loved ones with gifts (I’ve always loved giving Christmas presents; I’m gutted to be tightening my financial belt this year )

So, I had this idea two weeks ago about a website that would offer cheap advertising to businesses, but at the same time empower consumers to find and share tips for having a cheaper Christmas.

Keep Christmas Cheap is part campaign, part community, and I hope it’s of use to you, whether you’re a single mum on benefits or the owner of a website selling anything Christmassy.  If you like it, please tell your friends… you never know, you may be able to save someone’s Christmas

My daughter just brought this little snail in to meet me, which she found on her bedroom window-sill.

I wonder if it’s the smallest snail in the world?  It’s certainly very tiny… in this photo, the snail is posing on a UK 5p piece (this is the UK’s smallest coin, at about 1.7cm diameter).

Anyway… how cute?  *grin*

I should explain that both my daughter and I have a real fondness for snails.  We’re also quite keen on slugs, which are basically homeless snails when you think about it.  There’s a little slug that lives in the overflow pipe of our bathroom hand basin.  He comes out at night to nibble the bits of soap that are stuck to the side of the soap dish.  We call him Slippy The Soap-Eating Slug.  Yep, we’re weird

So, I’ve been suffering with a weird throat thing for the past few weeks, and it turns out it’s tonsillitis.

My tonsils have been inflamed and pitted for years – the legacy of two-thirds of a liftetime of smoking – but over the past few weeks it’s been really bothering me.  For the first couple of weeks, it felt like I had constant heartburn; you know, that acidic feeling in your throat, as if stomach acid is burning it.  Over the course of last weekend, however, it got worse, and I felt like I constantly had a sweet stuck in my throat.

I don’t like visiting the doctor; he’s nice enough (he was at uni with my friend’s husband, and once we discovered we had a mutal friend we really hit it off); but one of the receptionists is a real cow, and makes me feel like I shouldn’t be there, even though I’ve only visited the surgery half a dozen times in eight years.

Anyway, yesterday morning it got so bad, I felt like I was literally suffocating on my own tonsils and started to have a panic attack.  My daughter ordered me to call the doctor, standing over me while I phoned in for an appointment.  By the time I finally saw the doctor, several hours later, I’d convinced myself I was dying of throat cancer and I was a real nervous wreck.  When he looked into my throat and calmly announced: “Oh yes, tonsillitis” I burst into tears with relief.  Then it all came out, about how stressed I’ve been lately; I’ve been working 12-14 hours a day, and I’m dreading Christmas because I’m still grieving deeply for my nan, who was my best friend in the world and sadly passed away in December 2007; I feel like Christmas will never be the same again.

Gwion was very sympathetic, letting me pour out all my stresses and worries, and told me that the stress has made me run down, and that’s why I’ve got tonsillitis.  I have the most amazing immune system of anyone I’ve ever met (in fact, Gwion wants to investigate the possibility that I have an over-efficient immune system, for a number of reasons which I won’t go into); but I suppose even the best immune system has its limits.

So now I’m on penicillin, and nicotine patches to stop me smoking (I’ve tried to give up several times over the years, but I think this is the first time I’ve ever really meant it).  And I’m going to make sure I take some time out to relax.  Because if there’s anything I’ve learned from losing my nan, it’s this: life’s too short for stress and worry.  My nan was a born worrier, and it made her so ill over the years, that when she caught C-Diff in hospital during a routine test, her immune system wasn’t able to fight it.

If you’re stressed about work, or money, or absolutely anything, please don’t suffer in silence; go to see your doctor, and get him or her to help you find ways to deal with your stress… your immune system will really thank you for it.

Like a lot of ladies, I’m very fond of candles.  They add a lovely warm ambience to any room, they’re relaxing, the flickering glow is mesmerising, and if you buy scented candles they make the room smell gorgeous (always handy if you’ve got pets, like I have).

One of my friends on UK Business Forums – a great place to network, if you’re in business or about to start one – was telling me today about her products.  And guess what?  Funmi sells soy candles.  They’re better for the environment because they’re biodegradable and come from nice natural sources (i.e. soy oil, extracted from soy beans).  They burn longer than paraffin based candles, don’t give off that icky smell that you get from ordinary candles, and the scent lasts a lot longer.  Even better, they don’t leave a nasty waxy residue on your walls like ordinary candles do.

Personally I think they’re a fab idea, and next time I go web-shopping I may just have to stock up.  All the fragrances sound delicious, but the one that’s top of my wish list is the autumn spice soy candle, which sounds absolutely heavenly (mmmm, cinnamon – my favourite!)

So if you’re wondering what to get me for Christmas… now you know!

Lolcats fans might be interested to know there’s a project underway to translate the entire Bible into ‘lolspeak’, the language ’spoken’ by the cats featuring on lolcat sites such as icanhascheezburger.com.  Here’s a couple of lolcat pics for those of you not already familiar with the concept:

So, this project to translate the Bible into lolspeak.  The project apparently started in July 2007 and is now 61% complete.  Here’s an example of some of the progress so far (this is from Matthew 1):

“Da burth of Jebus

Now, teh burth of teh Christ was liek dis: After Marry and Joseph waz all “We’s gonna get marrieded, kthnx”, but before dey could had hankiez pankiez Mary was all preggarz from Teh Ceiling Cat. Joseph was liek “I has virjn – NOOOO dey be stealin my virjn! Must hied hur”. But when he was tihnkin, zomg, a BirdCat frm Ceiling Cat was liek, “Oh hai! Iz in ur dreemz, givin u messij. Don be scairdy cat. Taek Mary as ur wife – is virjn. But teh Forse is strong in tihs wun, lol! HovrCat is on hur, givn hur feetus, srsly.” So Joseph was liek ” Oh yey. Iz gonna luv him and squeez him and call him George.” But BirdCat was liek “No, you gonna call him bahbeh Jebus, cso George bad name, srsly. cuz he save kittehs frum bein bad kittehs. Kthxbai.” So all dis was all did cuz Ceiling Cat had sed it wud be. Him proffit was all liek: “Hay guise, luk! teh virjn is all preggers, and dey gonna call him A-manual”, dat be joospeek for “Ceiling Cat wit us” Then Joseph walked up, dun wat teh BirdCat frm Ceiling Cat tolded him too, and was all liek “U wit me now lol” at Mary. And dey didnt has Hankiez Pankiez til affer dey gets a son and calleded him Jebus Christ. Kthnx.”

Hehe.  Wish I had time to read it all, let alone contribute – but alas I’m waaay too busy.  But if you’re not, and want to help, please pop along to the Lolcat Bible Translation Project and volunteer.

Kthnxbai

Apparently, whenever there’s a royal knees-up at one of the palaces, Her Madge likes to have a bit of a boogie to Abba’s “Dancing Queen”.  According to Chris Evans, HM has been overheard saying: “I always try to dance when this song comes on because I am the Queen and I like to dance.”

This story makes me giggle so much – I really like the idea of the Queen having a sense of humour.  And I’d really love to see E2R having a sly wiggle to Abba – it’d really tickle me.

Anyway, what put me in mind of this story was this: I was rummaging around ShinyShack.com (I visit the site more or less daily) and came across this Dancing Queen Badge.  Seen it before, of course, but had never made the connection between the story and the badge until now.

I wonder if the Queen would see the funny side if I sent her one as a gift… I bet she’d wear it, though it might clash a bit with the Cullinan diamond