Hello, I’m Rubí and this is my Rubí Tuesday blog, because I writs it on Tuesdays mostly but sometimes mostly not, according to whim. I do the writting but not the reading, and Morris donkey does the reading, as he doesn’t do writting at all. And I don’t do any blog at all if the Peasant (which is him on the left) doesn’t give me the pooter. And he didn’t.
So, that’s why I am doing a TuesWednesday blog, which is Morris donkey’s idea. He said if you have understood anything at all from reading Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time (and most people haven’t because if you open the yellowing paperback hidden under old copies of the New Statesman, sitting on that chair next to the toilet, you will see that you have to crack the spine open as if for the first time and…)
Anyway, Morris says there must be a short period in which TuesWednesday happens and I have just enough time to write my blog. So here am I, Rubí donkey and this is how my TuesWednesday blog starts. I’m doing it now, this is actually part of it, OK? So why I didn’t have a pooter was the Peasant is working on two pooters at once, with all the self-importance of a famous chap called Pooter who was nobody at all, but a fictional character. So and the Peasant is doing the being-a-teacher again but not going anywhere to teach it, and in fact not teaching it at all but doing it for other teachers to teach it.
It’s called PHSE… PEHS… P.. S.. H… E!! …PSHE wot is Personal, Social and Health Education and it is mostly about things that donkeys do without needing PSHE lessons. Like keeping safe from any danger by refusing to do anything that we think is risky, like going into Expats supermarket without them having facemasks and gloves on.
We wouldn’t even think about it, even if they welcomes donkeys with open arms and said «Please, donkeys, come and shop in our supermarket! If you buy six cans of tinned carrots we’ll give you a 5% discount!»
«Nope,» we would say, «First you show some respect for your customers by putting on a face mask and gloves. How do we know you’re not going out the back of the warehouse for your fag break and cuddlin those norty Chinese bat-pangolins that shouldn’t even be allowed a million miles near to a food shop with tinned carrots we are going to eat..»
«How do we open a tin of carrots?» asked Aitana suddenly interrupting me.
«Look you silly horse!» I said, «It was just an example of donkey-appropriate comestibles – and the only obvious one I could think of that would help to make the idea feasible of donkeys going into Expats supermarket, which they wouldn’t anyway but this is just what they calls a conceit in the niche comedy-blog writing world of which I am a near unique example.»
«What about Ryvita?» asked Aitana, warming to the theme. «The Peasant won’t find any of that in Consum in Vila…»
«Now that’s just typical of your silly horseness,» I said. «You could have offered that as an obvious example of something else we could eat that is stocked in their pangolin-infested supermarket. Not just tinned carrots. But oh no: you just has to go off on a tango. In any case, the Peasant is becoming Spanish. Didn’t you see him through the window, singing El Novio de La Muerte? He won’t have any English friends left after that.»
Aitana studied her hooves and muttered «He won’t have any lefty Spanish friends either if he carries on life that!»
Where was I? So the point is mostly lost now thanks to Aitana but first donkeys are about safety, so the Peasant is making a short video. It was too misty on Sunday so it was just a trial. It was certainly a trial for us, standing there being mysterious in a mist, but it will prolly be a trial for Year 9 as well because the Peasant’s wonderful cunning plan is saying that Year 9 need to be more like donkeys and less like teenagers…
You can see where this all falls apart, can’t you?
But the Peasant has been working away at it for two days now, pretending to be a teacher again. Bless. And he is coming up with lots and lots of materials, and he seems remarkably happy. It is the sort of happiness of one who is getting loads of teaching materials but doesn’t ever need to face year 9 again and acherly teach them.
Morris says TuesWednesday has finished now. So maybe I’ll get the pooter back next week on the propper day! I’m Rubí donkey and that was my blog. Now back to the anti-bat-pangolin-plague morning disinfection chores.
Equus Asinus 
Dear Rubi,
Thank you for writting this interesting and amusing blog. I think Year 9 should read it.
Much love from one of the Peasant’s few remaining English friends.
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Dear Liz of Bracknell,
That sounds like someone who is a peer. Are you Lady Bracknell by any chance? I’m asking for Morris, as he reads things and I do not, so no idea what he is on about! Curious that you thought my post was amusing. Maybe I missed something.
I won’t say, «un abrazo» (an embrace), as we sign off in Spanish, as I am all muddy today, and people usually get nervous about where the hooves are going and just gets awkward.
Rubí
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Dear Rubi,
Please tell Morris that, no, I am not Lady Bracknell. Neither do I know anybody called Earnest, or not, as the case may be.
I hope you weren’t offended that I found your blog amusing. It was just the mind-picture, created by Aitana’s comment, of a donkey opening a tin of carrots. I don’t think a donkey would be able to manipulate the kind of tin-opener that I use. You would probably need to persuade your Peasant to provide an electric can opener with a big foot-pedal to operate it. That would be amusing. However, I am sure you prefer fresh carrots, because they are much more chewy and tasty. You are very wise not to go to that shop with the tins of carrots.
Wishing you an adequate supply of fresh veg always.
Liz
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I was impressed by Rubi’s Chinese (take that Xi…!) virus precautions. The gloves provide a sort of ‘Rudolph’ effect – minus the ruby nose – but the wellies look very much ad rem.
I concur with Liz re the fresh versus tinned carrots. Perhaps your Peasant can be persuaded to some horticultural endeavours to remedy the situation…?
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Hello Garrett,
No carrots don’t work in this soil, sadly. But they only cost 65 cents a kilo in the supermarket. These days everyone glares at me when I buy the usual six kilos of carrots, as if I’m an antisocial shopper.
Yes I too thought of Rudolf when Rubí first tried out her PPE, but what was quite neat was the way she stepped out of the rubber boots very daintily leaving them standing upright in the mud. Somebody who saw the photos of that shoot said, «I’m sure Rubí doesn’t like being dressed up for these things, Gareth: she looks quite miserable.» Indeed she does. It has nothing to do with having rubber gloves on her ears – a very sensible precaution in my view – and everything to do with Rubí being the perfect living embodiment of Eeyore, as my daughter remarks frequently. Rubí just has that permanent look that says, «Oh dear, this is all going to end very badly…»
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