I'm in my growlery, my sanctum sanctorum, my quiet place where I go when I feel the need to growl, my retreat in times of ill humour - OK have it your way pedants, the old pigsty!
Even Geordie has been shut out so great is my snit! If you look carefully you can just see my eyes peeking out through the holes in the bottom of the door. That's where countless generations of porkers long transformed into bodins and rillettes rubbed the wood away with their snouts. Bless.
There are bars at the window and a small piece of primitive artwork to lift the spirits of visiting anchorites who come here on retreat each spring and very lucrative it is too. So what has brought on "the black dog", this misery me which prevails - why frogging of course, rippit, rippit or unpicking as us Brits would say. There isn't a French word for it, perhaps they don't make any errors.
There I was multi-tasking away as is my wont which is why I didn't spot until too late that my entire morning's work didn't line up with what had gone before. Damn and blast, where's my ripper? Sounds a bit piratical that but I don't think I shall morph into Captain Hook just for a laugh as that would make stitching even more of a challenge.
Bet you have no idea what this is going to be and I'm certainly not going to enlighten you for some time to come as I may change my mind in the interim. I wonder where that is, I didn't know I had one. Perhaps it's behind that little door next to the growlery.
The slightly rippled effect is not part of the design but simply because I took this photo with it on my knee. You're still none the wiser are you. 555 - that's ha! ha! ha! in East Asian text speak.
That's better, I can feel the gloom lifting and once I've had a stroll round the estate here at the Chateau it will probably be time for lunch - but certainly not bodins, blanc or noir, I can't help thinking of all those poor pigs. Not a bad view eh? And it's all mine. Oink! oink!