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This one was inspired by my recent tidy-up of the blog followers. The majority of them (past and present ones) are mostly ‘one topic’ endeavors. This got me thinking about the gallimaufry that is my blog. Spo

My first psychoanalysis was done via the classic-Freudian model of free association, which means you basically start talking and what needs to come up will do so in time. It wasn’t difficult to talk about whatever flits about in my conscious to a captive audience. Indeed it was somewhat fun: for once I was doing the talking while someone else did the listening. This didn’t go well as my unconscious would not co-operate to release its dark and repressed secrets to my analyst, Dr. Bernstein. The unconscious lay dormant mum and allowed my conscious to drone on and on about mundane matters until Dr. Bernstein became nonplussed and accused me of ‘resistance” which is a catch-all term for not giving the analyst what he wants you do say. *

I sometimes think of this when writing this blog. I start with a blank page (and mind) and wait for The Muses (or someone like them) to inchoate my thoughts towards a theme and subsequent essay. What happens of course is a hodgepodge of various entries, ranging from dribble to cosmic matters like Life, The Universe, and Rats at Tewkesbury. Most blogs (the ones I read) are consistent in their contents. In contrast, mine looks unfocused, almost incoherent, like a James Joyce novel minus its charms. My inner-Dr. Bernstein is waiting for me to settle down but he is hardly in charge. Instead, I have the You-know-what, who, to their credit, doesn’t give tuppence what I write so long as it generates comments and Danegeld.

I am wary of the Dr. Bernsteins of the world, who tell you how to do things right and if you don’t it’s a sign of resistance. At the beginning of my analysis, I assumed he was right and I was wrong. Eventually I connected the dots: my round-shaped peg mentality (and being) were only ‘wrong’ as I was trying to become ‘more square’ for the sake of “The Square Ones”. Dr. James, who was as ’round’ as I was, happily helped me out of that way of thinking.**

There are approximately eighteen categories of topics at Spo-reflections and I never know which one gets the latest entry. I suspect thems looking for a square-meal (as it were) don’t read me. Rather, it’s The Round-Ones who pop by and read me with relish – or so I hope.

*I now know he wasn’t wrong. At some level my unconscious (Personal and Universal) didn’t trust this man to hear things right; he would turn everything into an Oedipal Complex. They got me out of there and to Dr. James, a Jungian, where both types heaved a huge sigh of relief and exploded upwards like a piece of machinery that has been given one ounce of pressure too much. Psyche is fascinating.

**Freudian psychology tends to reductivism: nebulous neurosis are distilled down to a straight-forward issue or event. Jungians generally go in the opposite direction: expansive imagination into the archetypes, and you get to play Dungeons and Dragons.

Note: this one was written when I was in a very dark mood. My inner-Mrs. Danvers was being quite vocal. Not to be worrying; I am writing to purge and not state truisms. All the same, thems looking for a happy witty entry should come back later. Spo

Whenever I cannot think upon something to write, I go to the ‘posts’ setting to look at the half-written essays I have started but either became bored with or couldn’t find a direction how to finish. Sunday night, when I was looking for something to write, I pulled up 4-5 essays, which were not so half-written as half-baked. “How dull” I thought, reading each them. So I flushed them to pull up a fresh page and start with scratch.

As Blobby sometimes says: “I got nothing” .

Actually I have a lot on my mind but I am choosing not to write about it. I apologize that is cryptic and teasing, but whenever I get into state of despair, my mode of operation is to withdraw into a hole and close the door and lock myself inside. This is somewhat to save myself from the toxicity and cruelty that is my fellow man, and partially to spare others from my vitriol and wormwood. Don’t look directly me or you will turn to salt.

In my life I’ve had more armageddons than teeth; I recognize one when it happens to me. The fact I’ve managed to survive all of them is small comfort as these latest ones seem headed towards no recovery. Funny how thirty years old was I frightened of dying, and now that I am nearly sixty I feel there is little point to going on further. It seems futile. Why keep up my health and putting away towards retirement when you feel there is no future? What do you do when you struggle every day to survive, only to discover you have but what you are living in is awful?

This is a depressing entry. Normally this sort of bilge stays below deck or is written down in my paper journal and not displayed in public for all the world to read and become down in response.

Whenever I feel anxious and bitter, there is a part of me (call it my inner child) that wants some strong parent-like figure to take me in their arms and assure me everything will be OK. Things are not OK and no one is going to do this. Winston Churchill, who was no stranger to depression, said something along the line ;when you wake up and realize you are in hell you keep walking until you are no longer so’. What is take from this is keep going through the motions of living. It isn’t any comfort but it is the right thing to do.

I debated a few times whether or not to press the publish button on this bad boy. Sometimes it is better to write but not publish. The Norns who displayed this one say publish and be damned. So I did.

The other day while chopping garlic I realized I have allowed myself to succumb to ‘food-shaming’. I was making a quick uncomplicated supper and I wanted some garlic flavoring. A few chopped bits from already-processed cloves in oil from the glass jar in the fridge would have done OK. Alas, I don’t have such anymore. Countless cooking videos and top chefs have told me what’s in the glass jars is rubbish and you’re a bad cook if you use any. Apart from its inferior taste* their issue with garlic in a jar conflicts with how a proper cook would do: you should know how to chop garlic and do it right too. To this day I am not very good at chopping things, and every time I chop things (especially garlic) I feel an invisible panel of Gordon Ramseys are frowning at me. Someone is a little tired of eating dinner while I critique my cooking, pointing out to him this isn’t cooked long enough or this lacks nuance etc.

Growing up in the Midwest, folks didn’t go look at food this way. Something was ‘good’ or it wasn’t. I wanted (and still do want) to be a good cook. Good cooking done well is a joy. However I’ve gone over to the dark side of cooking ‘the right way’. Mr. J. Kenji Lopez-Alt, who wrote a book based on scientific research towards the best way to cook things, admits his cookbook has been shanghaied by folks (mostly men) battling it out over the right way to grill steaks, fry eggs, etc. Oh the horror. He states folks have missed the point. There should be joy of cooking and individual variations based on preferences.

Yes, sometimes dinner at La Casa de Spo is a box of M&C mixed with whatever items are at hand.** This is convenient and dammit it tastes good thank you very much. Not all cooking has to be TikTok stellar or made with organic ingredients hand-picked at 3AM by third generation organic Amish farmers. I need to get over the shame felt from making hamburger hot dish rather than coq au vin (from real capon).

Once upon a time I enjoyed playing the piano. The last time I had lessons my teacher was into proper position and hand placement. I felt I was being prepared for a concert at Hill Auditorium. He wasn’t wrong to focus on technique, but it took all the fun of playing and I stopped lessons and the piano too. I don’t want cooking to follow the same route.

In time my chopping, sautéing, and such will improve with practice and experience. Getting better knives and pans should help. While I journey I must remember this is supposed to be fun and not my entry on The British Bake off.

*They aren’t wrong. Freshly-chopped garlic tastes better than what’s in the jar. This isn’t the point.

**Usually made with tuna, this is called “Tuna Hemingway”.

Spo-fans (the dears!) occasionally send emails inquiring towards matters I’ve written about but I didn’t follow-through. This makes me think of the novel “Moll Flanders”. For thems unfamiliar with this lofty tome, it is the ‘biography’ of woman who goes through life in a series of shenanigans for which the author* drops the ball as to what happened in the previous situations, like her several spouses and her children. Life is like that though; we dance through it with a lot of unfinished business, for which we often don’t see their conclusions. All the same, here’s some updates I hope this post assuages some angst and slakes interests.

Bread: This weekend I plan to make me a basic loaf using the mix-master. I found an oh-so-simple recipe that doesn’t look to too many variables that could bungle. I will be content to get the ‘hang of it’ to make the second loaf the decent one.

Wine: I did not go to Total Wine. A Spo-fan (the dear!) suggested I get ‘box wine’. Sensible fellow! Sensible solution! The box-stuff lasts long and I can have a wee-dropy as needed. It isn’t great quality, but it suffices. These box-types come in various albeit non-descript flavors like ‘Pino Grigio’ and “Cab Sauv” and the not yet dared tried ‘Table Blend White”. Can you imagine?

Car: The mechanic chappie at Chapman Hyundai told us our oil leak originated from a faulty oil plug that was placed in the recent trip to Jiffy Lube. We are quite upset by this. Someone plans to write JL for possible compensation, on the grounds ‘no harm asking’. The car repair bill was ~$1300, of which only a fraction was the oil matter. Most of it was long overdue ‘100K mile maintenance matters’, which would have been less expensive if we had done these things spread out through time. At least it’s all done and lord willing we are good for awhile.

Nursery rhyme: A while back I wrote about a picture in a children’s book of a nursery rhyme that had been haunting me. It is now my wallpaper on the office computer where I see it regularly to do some ‘desensitization” from it. It is turning into a rather sweet thing. Good.

WordPress followers: My ‘one thousand followers’ has been pruned to a modest 360 with more to go. Patience above! There were over 500 that were links to not to real people but to business sites and extinct blogs, and some led to nowhere. I do hope I haven’t thrown out any babies with the bathwater. WordPress says the unfollowed just won’t get an announcement I have posted, that’s all. If they are keen they can sign up again as new followers.

  • If I accidently eliminated you I am sorry and please sign on again.

The Overlords: Last week I received a surprising email from the bosses (or someone like them) announcing an upcoming meeting to go over their provisional plans to open up a third office which will include space for ketamine treatment. These notions were supported by The Other Psychiatrist, the one who announced he is leaving next month. I figured with Urs Truly being the sole shrink again this project would be scuttled. I am quite curious to hear what the plans will be. Lunch will be provided.

Harper: Several have asked about her, bless you all. She sleeps more and walks slower and she doesn’t jump up much anymore. Someone thinks she is getting deaf. Every day we hold her still to administer her eye drops. Lately she’s been vomiting up her supper, poor thing. It’s sad to see a loved-on decline.

Cup Sprites and other La Casa de Spo haunts: The Cup Sprites are busy as usual but nowadays they are more active moving about Someone’s glasses, not mine. There hasn’t been a ‘Henrik sighting’ in months. Jenny Greenteeth is lying low and probably peeved at our recent endeavor to drain the pool to replenish it with fresh water. I don’t dare swim at night lest she is planning some outrage.

The Board of Directors Here at Spo-reflections: Several Spo-fans seem smitten by my mythical bosses and want to know all their latest. Up to no good that’s certain. Now that summer has returned to The Time of Legends and the midnight sun makes it nearly always light out, all the doors and windows of Heorot Johnson II are let open to let in some fresh air. Good thing too. The inner halls were beginning to smell like the backend of a basilisk.** The Board haven’t sent any recent vague but menacing emails so that’s a good sign they are pleased as Punch with my prose. On the feast day of my nativity (in a few weeks) they are giving me a big bag of gummy-bears and some buffalo wing-style Great Lake Potato Chips. The dears.

*Daniel Defoe.

**Worse than their fronts, if you can imagine.

I know a fellow nicknamed Jocko*; he has a habit to exclaim out loud the word ‘good !’ after everything that happens to him. He will do this even in the face of bad news or a bungle. By immediate focusing on ‘good’ he reports he can find something good, some lesson, some asset in the worst of situations. He doesn’t deny the bad – often that’s pretty obvious – this ritual helps him find something positive so that the event is not 100% misery. The plane is delayed? Good. He has time to read. The plan didn’t work? Good. Jocko and his team can learn something from it.

I’ve been trying to practice this to see if it is any good. Yesterday the Elantra was discovered to be dripping oil onto the garage floor; this may be why the oil light has been on for some time. The usual shop tells us there are no appointments available until the end of July. I had Monday off; I had a lot of fun activities planned which all included driving. At first reaction there was nothing at all ‘good’ about this, not by a long shot. I imagined Mr. Jocko would have to work very very hard to extract good from this disaster.

“Good” I exclaimed. I had to open up the hood and remember how to check the oil. I hadn’t been in there ever; it was quite dirty. I gave it a clean-up and I felt good to do so. When the mechanic lifts the bonnet he may be impressed. I checked the oil (low) and filled it with some oil we had on hand (good), and felt good for my industry. “Good” I exclaimed: this happened on my day off. Imagine if I had driven to work, leaking oil, only to have the car break down, unable to drive home. As for the day-off plans? “Good” I had an opportunity to stay home and go through all my ‘watch later’ YouTube cooking lectures, which I did. ‘Good’ we are obliged to go to another service shoppe; perhaps it will be a better experience than our usual one. ‘Good’ I got to call into work to explain I have no wheels and thus can’t get to MESA (a 45-minute drive) so I can stay put and work from home ala 2020.

I see how this approach makes one focus on the advantages and the problem solving benefits. I teach something like this to my patients, the ones who have a habit to immediate go to negative/the worse-case scenario in everything they think and do. “Oh, yeah?” they say, ‘how about …’ bringing up scenarios to defeat the approach.

I too find the ‘good’ approach challenging in the midst of politics, violence, war, and all the other matters afoot these days. I remind myself the practice isn’t to negate the gravity of things, merely not to fixate on them. Certainly we tend to turn into the things we practice. I could use less OMG this is a disaster/gloom complaining in my character.

Someone is organizing a AAA tow truck to haul the drippy thing to the dealership for its appointment on Thursday. Good. I don’t have to worry about this. I can do my day’s work and focus on my job. I will be home today when The Pool Man arrives. Good. I can ask him about the pool light device; can he fix it? I would like not to swim in the dark no more.


Let us hope so, anyway.

*He is well over four feet.

Blog entries for Monday are usually written on Sunday evenings; they are often influenced by the ‘going-back-to-work’ blues. Not this one. Last week The Medical Assistant ‘reminded me’ Monday 20 June the office will be closed. This was news to me. I looked at my scheduled and lo! It is true. Apparently when the place was sold to The Overlords, the 19th June became a holiday enough to close shop the day after. I was struck speechless but this fortuitous thunderbolt. Hot puppies! An unexpected three-day weekend! Better yet, because I wasn’t aware of it I hadn’t filled it with there’s-work-to-be-done chores. A day without content.

I remember some study in which a bunch of “I have too much to do/I can’t get caught up’ complainers were given a hypothetical 8-day week, the last day being ‘free’. The majority didn’t use this gift to relax but filled the day with… you guessed it…. more work. I will think of this when I wake Monday morning.

Frankly it will be unsettling to have a day without content. The sensible thing would be to be idle, ‘doing nothing’, rather than filling up the day. And there is lots that can be done. I see myself calling The Handyman and The Car Repairman (or somebodies like them) to come over I’m home and get those repairs done. Here’s what I think I may do:

Go to Total Wine and replenish my larder with cheap (less than ten dollars) whites.

Drop off the Ships clock for yet another repair (he isn’t opened weekends).

While I am out and about, visit The Knife Sharpener, another fellow not opened on weekends.

There are prescriptions to pick up.

Oh the horror there goes the day and it hasn’t even started yet.

I am certain I will go to the gym, as flab does not rest, and a trip to Total Wine will be fun. I will try to resist the rest to sit still with a pot of tea and catch up with my reading.

I wonder how ‘off work’ I will be as patients probably aren’t aware we are closed. I imagine getting paged by Dicky Purdy et. al. going into hysterics as his prescription for Valium cannot wait until Tuesday. I will soon find out.

Yes, that is what I shall strive to do: sit read and drink tea, no rubbish either. Wish me luck. This won’t be easy for me.

When I was a smaller and people were taller I was blessed with a lot of picture books. Some I read on my own and some were read to me. There were certain books I preferred one way of the other. I have only vague memories of most of them; it is interesting to reflect on which ones I remember, and why.* There were some books whose illustrations were unsettling. I found them upsetting even, yet fascinating, even alluring – enough to go back to them despite my discomfort. These have stayed in my memory as half-remembered haunts.

There were a series of books by a Richard Scarry. I loved his books, particularly their illustrations.** I remember a certain drawing in one of them was that of a witch-like character flying in a wicker basket. It was some sort of nursery rhyme, but one I had never heard. I don’t remember the rhyme, but it was haunting. I would not read this one myself; I got Mother to read to me. There was some sort of charm was evoked; I was safe from direct contact. What did I fear exactly? Perhaps I was scared of being carried away in the basket and never returning.

I hadn’t thought of this image in decades, then it came back, bubbling up from the depths of my unconscious last week, to remind me it’s still down there. It seemed to suggest I seek it out and face my fears. I grew curious to see how well I remembered the picture and the poem, and what sort of reactions would I have upon seeing it again. Thanks to the good folks at DuckDuckGo, it didn’t take me long to find it.

Here it is:

This is the picture and the poem.

Fascinating, to see it again and examine my reactions. The old woman (cat) looks cheerful, almost fairy godmother-like. I remembered her more mercurial, something “Hallowe’en” and definitely to be avoided. I don’t think this is a mother figure, although there is no suggestion the inquirer is a child/boy. The rhyming meter is a strange one; I can’t quite grasp the meter. I remember now it was the end with her promise that disturbed me the most. I wonder why would she return: to clean his place? To take him away in the basket? To tuck him in bed for the night?

I took to the WWW to find out the origin of the ditty and what it means. Alas, Babylon! I cannot find it. It seems to be a popular piece for there are versions sung on The Tube of Yous and there are countless illustrations of the rhyme. In most versions the inquirer asks if they can come along. Only then she replies ‘I’ll be with you bye and bye’, a promise but there is some doubt.

The versions on The Tube of Yous are sweetly sung and the old woman in the illustrations online look beneficent – in contrast to my memory she was lurking with intent to harm.

In my analysis it fits into a recurring theme in my psyche of a preoccupation (Freudians would say ‘fixation’) of a negative female figure (Anima and Shadow) that in cahoots to lure me away, Jenny Greenteeth and Yeats’s poem “Stolen Child” are examples of this, as are aspects of The weird sisters of ‘Macbeth”, The Norns, and The Fates carry this archetypal energy.

One of the best way to face a haunt is to get to know it better. “Nothing in life is to be feared, only understood”; this remains one of my favorite mottos.** Finding the picture and reading the poem was a brave move for me. Hearing these upbeat versions have shooed-away this long time haunt. The witch has transformed into a mother cat like in Mr. Scarry’s picture drawing.

She can be with me by and by; I would be glad to go for the ride now.

*One of them, “Jerome”, about a frog doing princely deeds, I can still recite by heart.

**Funny I never learned if Mr. Scarry was a pen name or a real person, and was he the writer or the illustrator? I still can recognize a character from his in an instant.

**Marie Curie said this.

Patience above! I haven’t done one of these in awhile – and there are one hundred to do! It’s high-time to get cracking. Now, where did I leave off? Let’s have a look-see. At number sixteen:

#16 – Set aside 10 minutes a day to do something you really enjoy – be it reading a book or playing Halo.

This one is most sensible. The late Barbara Holland (one of my author heroes) wrote about in her book ‘Endangered pleasures”:

‘Gloom we have always with us, a rank and sturdy weed, but joy requires tending.’

Indeed! The lovely things in life have to be nourished and made room for, lest the time-sucking miseries take over. Tip #16 is something I continually tell my patients to do when they bemoan they have ‘no time’ to do this/that or the other. I advise them to put it in the calendar, down to do every day at the same time, even just five minutes. Otherwise you will never find time for “X”. I also tell them this goes for ‘date time’ with your significant other, and even for sex. They often find this somehow ‘cheapens it (sex)’ as don’t you have to be in the mood for it? I point out you are always too tired and never in the mood as it were. So make time for it why dontcha.

The nameless author of these one hundred platitudes mentions reading a book. I will not go to sleep without first reading something, anything, if only a page’s worth. Habits done daily better the chance of it happening. I also keep reading material at-hand for those rare times I find myself with a little free time, such as waiting in a line. While others look down at their phones, I read me a chapter.

One of my 2022 resolutions is “Do nothing each day for 5-10 minutes”. I think it’s doing me some good to stop the world, close my eyes, and sit still for a while. I am pleased I am over 90% on this one. Most of the time I am not really enjoying it but itching to get back to there’s-work-to-be-done tasks and hummingbird brain activities.

About Halo… I have never heard of such; I had to look it up. Silly me, I thought it was like bocce ball or horseshoes. It is an on-line video game, sort of like Dungeons and Dragons but set in the future and minus its charms. If I am going to swing and shoot things I want stirges involved. By the way, neither game looks like much can be accomplished in 10 minutes but doing something is better than doing nothing is my motto.

Spo-fans: do you put aside some time each day to do something nice and what do you do?

Brother #2 as a used the expression ‘X of a thousand Ys”. Example: the backyard was buggy, it was land of a thousand flies”. The other day I was poking around the stats on WordPress when I noticed I have a thousand followers. This sounds impressive, but then I had a look-see who these suckers are. What a collection! It certainly doesn’t lack for variety. At first glance it swells my pride, but then I looked closer. On the whole I smell a rat – several in fact. Let’s look at the categories of these so-called followers:

[1] Companies. These are along the line of “Puppy dogs Training” and “The daily Binge” and “Neotype” . There are a lot of vitamin stores as well. These sound like legitimate places, but not people. I wonder if they are there to ‘bait me’ to come visit their shop. “Artic Heat Pumps” has been following me since 2015, the dear.

[2] Folks from India (or that part of the world). Mostly men but some women too, they have names like Akash Triverdi, Shukufa Sayadli, and Pathan al Fesh. They seem to be real people but if they are following me (some have done so for years) none have left comment.

There is one named ‘Indianluxuryfurniture’ that seems to a combination of [1] and [2].

[3] Sultry babes. Patience above! There are a lot of young women following me, more so than the Indian-sounding men-folk. They have large eyes and lips, and their photos are often ‘from the chest up” (the men tend to be photographed ‘from the neck up’), so I can see their bosoms. They don’t seem to use proper names but code-types, like ‘Somekindof20″ and “JJJanae”. If they are legitimate followers (and not call-girls) they also don’t leave word.

[4] WTF-types. These are faceless/no photo types with letters/numbers for names. ‘maxlcreapu’ and ‘spankycocktail’ and ‘petbesty’. “Jinsuxhoi” is my longest follower, the dear!

and then there is

[5] Real people; no rubbish-types. Folks with proper-sounding names with photos (not displaying cleavage) and with seemingly real email addresses. Many of them I recognize as fellow bloggers or blogger buddies, but not all of them. Maybe not the majority.

I’ve been too timorous to click any of them and see if they lead me to a real blog or not. I sense I will get only ads or arrive at nasty sights and come back covered in cookies and malware.

So, what to make of these thousand acolytes? Part of me thinks to leave them alone. If they want an announcement every time I post they are welcome. The Swiss-German in me want to delete the ones that seem suspicious, which is nearly all of them – but what if I get rid of someone genuine? Is there any harm to keep them or is it better to flush-em, lest they have sinister cookie-connections.

Can anyone shed some light on these matters? I am keen to learn. For all I know I maybe living in a fool’s paradise.

P.S. I went ahead and deleted “tastyclickblog”. I am down to 999.

There’s just no pleasing The Board of Directors Here at Spo-reflections. I was on a roll of well-received entries, but this didn’t stop their propensity to grumble. Their recent email asked me to ‘loosen up’ and write something less introspective. I wasn’t aware they actually knew that word. As I don’t have anything to suit this purpose, I dug up another Spo-tale from the archives, fiddled with it a bit, and perhaps the boisterous board wont notice. Spo


Once upon a time and a very interesting time it was in the faraway State of Confusion lived two animals, Hedgehog and Porcupine. They were in a newly-formed relationship. Porcupine was coming off a painful LTR with Aardvark (painful for Aardvark that is).

Baby Porcupine 1 (2)

Although it was early-on in their relationship, already there were problems. First of all, there was the issue how to kiss without injury. Talk about rough trade! Second, their means of communicating was hindered by poor WiFi service. It easily went down, especially when they visited Rabbit who lived in The Elysian Fields. Customer service was no help, as it was staffed by sloths and snakes. Go figure.

However, their main matter was neatness. Hedgehog was content to ‘let the place go’ while Porcupine continually ran around trying to keep things tidy. Porcupine despised filth. He would not allow Hedgehog’s best friend Squirrel over for tea, on the issue of Squirrel having dirty nuts.


One day Hedgehog fell into a depression, having not listened to his psychiatrist to keep taking his Lexapro. As a consequence, the place cluttered up more than usual with empty KFC buckets and ‘to go’ containers. Porcupine took umbrage. “You are a mess!!” he shouted at Hedgehog, “and Weasel will get you!’ But Hedgehog paid no heed. Porcupine announced he was leaving for Palm Springs to see some real pricks, and off he went.

Eventually the Dominos pizza boxes piled up and blocked the door, preventing Hedgehog from going out. Uber-eats had to be dropped down the chimney. Hedgehog got lost online and he forgot about Porcupine. But he felt OK.

In a week with two Tuesdays Hedgehog heard something burrowing through the trash. At first he suspected Rat, but then he remembered Rat was overseas, in Tewksbury, visiting the relations. It was Porcupine! He had come home! “What would you do without me?” he said after kissing carefully, and made Hedgehog tidy up the place and eat something wholesome. Then Porcupine insisted Hedgehog go outdoors and get some exercise. They went out and were immediately attacked and eaten by Weasel .


There is probably a moral in this, but I leave it to the Spo-fans to write one.

The winner with the best comment gets a Dominos Pizza date with The Sleazy Weasel.

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July 2022

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