Marmite

Growing up, if you loved Bambi , Watership Down , Daktari , Skippy , Old Yeller , Animal Magic or Dr Dolittle , then prepare to be possessed by the green-eyed monster. A couple of weeks ago, Hubby and I ‘enjoyed’ (such an inadequate word sometimes) an afternoon at Tiggywinkles, “the world’s leading wildlife hospital.”

I’ll get the really topical one out of the way first: the FIFA World Cup and memories of Maradona’s infamous cheating that put England out of the 1986 competition. Not only did he cheat, he blamed it on God. No wonder he suffered in mid-life and died prematurely. Let’s hope his hands can handle all those hot coals he’ll be stoking.

Northumberland. The final frontier. Where Hubby and I boldly went where few from the south dare to go. God’s own country, second runner-up behind Yorkshire and Cumberland. It’s so far up north that there’s a bridge over the river Tweed to Scotland, where there’s a sign that says “Welcome to Scotland”. On the English side it says, “England”. No ‘Welcome’. Welcomes are officially rationed in favour of those whom most English don’t want to welcome because said welcomees are undeserving of them.