Captain Midnight here nursing a hangover.

Well, nursing Himself actually. He’s the one who’s hanging.

We’ve had a bit of a weekend in Bonny Utrecht among the Scots and the Nederlanders: three days of drinking and feasting as the two halves of Herself’s family got together to celebrate something or other (they don’t seem to need much excuse). What were the highlights of the weekend for me, you ask?

1. Sitting under the table on Friday evening while They stuffed themselves on Boeuf Bourguignon.
2. Sitting under the table on Saturday evening while They stuffed themselves on Lasagna.
3. Sitting under the table on Sunday evening while They stuffed themselves on five courses of Haute Cuisine.

You get the general idea. Lots of fun for them, dog biscuits for me.

I did however enjoy the frisson in the room when Himself was the only person who cheered for Ireland in the Six Nations Rugby Match against Scotland. Fortunately, general good humour and my own robust physical presence prevented an outbreak of fisticuffs.

It was also a good moment when the conductor on the night train from Amsterdam told us that we needed to buy a ticket for “the dog” and Himself explained that unfortunately “the dog” didn’t have any money. The conductor was less than impressed and insisted that I sat on Himself’s lap for the rest of the journey to avoid paying a penalty fare. Humph!

Anyway, I managed to make lots of new Caledonian friends in between the drinking and feasting and have decided that next time around I’m going to come back as something Scottish.

A Deerhound maybe?

Captain Midnight here reporting from Siberia.

Well Kingscote, actually. But judging by the temperature you’d think it was the outskirts of Novosibirsk. Himself snapped this picture of me braving the Beast from the East. As you can see, my built-in fur coat and earmuffs enabled me to prance around quite comfortably au naturel, as I believe they say in Russia.

French, you say?

Are you telling me no-one speaks French in Russia?

As I was saying, my manteau de fourrure was more than adequate insulation to deal with the white stuff. Himself, on the other hand wasn’t really up to the job without props. He ransacked his wardrobe for hats unworn since the last ice age and tried them out in turn. I won’t say he’s vain but there was no one else to take selfies, if you know what I mean?

He was planning to wear yet another hat but it was so hideous that I sneaked it under the table and gave it a bit of a chewing to emphasize my disapproval of the impending sartorial embarrassment.

Mercifully, Himself took the hint. The offending item remained unworn and I was able to hold my head up reasonably high as we enjoyed a walk in the woods, this afternoon. It’s not easy being a gentleman’s gentleman when your gentleman has such questionable taste!

On the other hand, I do love the white stuff. It’s amazing for prinking and pouncing and sticking your nose in.

You should try it!