masks, blackberries

I believe the cuckoos have something they want to tell me.

When I climbed up to speak to them, they kept pointing their beaks upwards.

I looked all round the ceiling, but I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual cobwebs.

I’ll keep an eye on things up there.

I must remember to keep on trying to talk to the cuckoos, in case they have anything else to tell me.

I took a parcel of Rebellion biscuits round to little Strawberry.

I’ve visited her once before, early this summer. We had a cup of apple-blossom tea in her garden.

This time she invited me into her house. Very cosy.

She urged me to take off my mask.

I’ve hardly been indoors anywhere, so I don’t know what’s normal when socialising.

Strawberry’s house is not well ventilated. It hardly has any windows, and they don’t look as though they would open.

Since I was the person coming into Strawberry’s home, possibly bringing alien infections with me, should I keep my mask on?

But could that seem rude? Perhaps suggesting that she wasn’t being sufficiently careful?

This is when I need Ruffy’s advice. He’s always read the latest research and statistics, and knows what should be done in any situation.

But with him and Points locked up in prison, I’ll have to make my own decisions.

The Government isn’t giving advice either. It just says that I should use my judgement. That’s not very helpful at all.

If Strawberry’s undecided about wearing a mask, I don’t want to influence her in the wrong direction.

We old bears should set a good example to the youngsters.

But I don’t like to think that she may think that I think that she’s likely to infect me.

On the other hand, if I take my mask off, it may seem that I’m not concerned for her well-being.

Or that I’m not really worried about my own vulnerability. Which I am.

Since I am worried, I should probably keep my mask on.

But then I don’t want to offend Strawberry.

I shouldn’t have come inside at all. There was no need. We could have chatted on the doorstep.

I’d better leave.

I haven’t given Strawberry the biscuits, in case she felt obliged to share them with me.

I’ve left the package by her sofa. I hope she finds it.

I was relieved to be back outside in the fresh air.

Next I took some biscuits round to my friend Ellie.

This time I didn’t make the mistake of accepting her invitation to come inside.

Ellie told me where to find a good patch of brambles. I was feeling energetic, and quite hungry, so I set off straight away.

It’s a long time since I’ve been blackberrying.

I discovered that over-seventy-fives are also unreliable at berry discrimination, but please don’t tell Ellie.

It was obvious that the green berries weren’t ripe. I know that lots of fruit start off green, and then turn red. Plums, cherries, apples…

So I picked rather too many red blackberries before I began to think about their name.

I realised that there’s a reason why they’re known as black berries.

Luckily I then came on a different bush which brought it all back. The blacker ones tasted very good indeed.

It was a prickly job.

The brambles themselves, of course, have sharp thorns which I didn’t quite manage to avoid.

And I thought I’d also been attacked, perhaps in a friendly way, by a gang of very small hedgehogs.

I expect it was because I’d been thinking a lot about my friend Points, who happens to be a hedgehog.

But these prickly creatures ignored my requests for them to move.

I soon realised that they were quite inanimate.

Instead of prickles, they had little claws, and when I pulled them off they took tufts of my fur with them.

I don’t think any hedgehog would have behaved like that.

Now I’ve got a lot of blackberries.

Tomorrow I’ll make a blackberry and apple pie, or possibly a crumble, to take to Points and Ruffy in prison.

No, that’s not a good idea.

The Prison Officers would suspect that I was smuggling a file or a cosh into the prison, hidden under the pastry.

I suppose blackberry wine wouldn’t be allowed either.

Perhaps bramble jelly, in a plastic container. I see that glass wouldn’t be welcome. (I’m afraid I’m starting to think like a Prison Officer.)

Blackberry buns or muffins could surely only be used as the friendliest sort of weapon.

I’ll see if I can find a recipe.