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BOOGIE-WOOGIE BUGLE BUG (in my company be)
Our little dog Gypsy Rose is more affectionately known, although only by Milady and I, as Loonbug. There is no single event or aspect of character in this small dog that gives rise to this soubriquet; it is more that is her nature. All of us have names given to us at birth and generally, I suppose, we grow to resemble the names. Or not, in which case we are given nicknames - often by the parents who gave us the wrong name in the first place.
My own name (George) for example, is a family name and I am the fifth of that name in my family. However, I have been known as Georgie, Gigot and The Old Rev - more recently, although I am neither old (at least not very), nor a Rev. My father however, was christened George, but was known as Tony all his days and my mother was Jean, but called herself Jackie, which she is now legally.
Bible students will know that in Scripture, the name usually represents the nature of the character described; thus Jesus means God is salvation, which seems appropriate in the circumstances.
In this same way, our Jack Russell-ish hound is indeed a Gypsy up to a point, but then Loonbug takes over - in much the same way that Dr Jekyll became Mr Hyde.
A popular method in naming or re-naming someone is to shorten the name or even the nickname. Thus, Loonbug is often reduced to plain old Bug. Poor Gypsy. However, I have taken to expanding her Bugness, to ensure that she is not downcast or offended, by introducing her nickname into various popular songs, which I sing to her on occasions. Mad about the Bug; Don't Cry for Me, Little Loonbug and, of course Boogie-Woogie Bugle Bug from Company B. There are others, but I don't want to give you the impression that I am completely loopy.
Gypsy's latest Loonbug notion is to sit on the back seat of our car and let out an occasional yelp; a sound not dissimilar to a car alarm. It is the first time that I have encountered a dog taking on the role of back-seat driver. If that ain't Loonbug, I don't know what is.

Well, what can I say. Goodbye to the Cat-pee Ka, and welcome back to dear old Doblo Seven
These 'terms of endearment' may need an explanation for some. Our courtesy car, a Ford Ka, had a short time before our custody been used by a Cattery. It had the distinct aroma of cat about it when we first took charge of it and the name stuck. And our Fiat Doblo, when in Ireland had a registration number commencing 07; seen immediately after the Doblo badge on the tailgate. The moniker Doblo Seven was impossible to resist, although a near neighbour of ours in Kilmartin believes that we call our car Gertie. Where this arose from is a mystery as neither Milady nor I have ever used or considered this at any time. Maybe in a parallel universe...
After a mere 6 months (to the day), our Fiat Doblo has been restored to the bosom of the family. The story is complicated, but I shall try to explain - at least in part - how it came to be back with us.
Early last November, the timing belt broke on the dear old Fiat. When making the repairs our garage discovered that something they described as a gear - and relative to the timing-belt in some way - had broken/fallen off/become damaged, and needed replaced. Establishing the part number they proceeded to order one of these whatnots only to discover that there were none to be had. Anywhere. Not one. Zero.
Days became weeks and weeks months without news of the manufacturer (Fiat, I presumed) making any more doo-hickies.
Then... Then it was discovered that 2 - yes two - of these hen's teeth were actually in existence! Or in Lithuania to be precise. Here it becomes a little fuzzy, because instead of buying one of these Lithuanian rarities, something brought about the discovery that the Fiat engine was not a lot different from an identical looking Vauxhall one. Further research convinced the garage to order the Vauxhall part - of which there appeared to be a glut - and faster than it takes to find out what supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is in Swahili, we had Doblo Seven back with us, and our days of cramming 800 flower stems and various jars, buckets and other assorted floristry gear into the back of a Ford Ka were behind us.
Incidentally fiat is Latin for let it be done. It is most readily seen in the expression fiat lux, loosely translated as let there be light.
And God said "Let there be light!" and the chief angel turned to God and said "Sorry, Guv. We ain't got the parts."


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LAGOM KITCHEN I do not usually do restaurant reviews. I am not a food critic unless I break a tooth or fall ill as a result of dining, but today I felt to rave about a small eatery in Glasgow's Victoria Road. Lagom Kitchen is run by the elder daughter of close friends, so I am declaring a bias at the outset - although if I had found fault with this wonderful little establishment I would have continued my 'not a food critic' career.

Lagom - at least in this context - refers to the Swedish idea of simple and perfectly balanced, if I understand it correctly, and this is the simple and balanced description of Lagom Kitchen. The choices on a small but inspired menu cater for most palates and our lunch - capped with a second coffee and a dollop of exquisite cake -  met our needs for the rest of the day. Milady and I decided that when next in the city on business, we would take a detour to Lagom Kitchen. It quite made our day.
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