I’m getting Sylvester’s boxers down.

“That’s it, Sylvester,” I said. “You just take down your boxers and I’ll stick a big one up there!”

While perched on the top of a step ladder Sylvester handed me down the two portraits of his father’s prize winner pedigree boxer dogs. They won the dog show here several years ago, and as I liked the pictures so much Sylvester allowed me to display the paintings in my living room while his apartment was being decorated. They made a nice change, but to be honest I’m a little bored of them now.  I’m replacing them with a huge photograph of Hannibal, my dachshund now.  I do like to freshen up the look of my living room in spring, don’t you?

I’ve had a lovely week, Marjory my neighbour invited me over yesterday evening, having hired a sweet young French chef to cook her birthday dinner. What a handsome young man he is! And I think he took a shine to me, too.

After thanking him in the kitchen for such a lovely meal I spotted something between the frog’s legs, and the cake. So many candles! In the end we lit them, and the chef and my friends all sang happy birthday for Marjory before she blew them all out in the dinning room. It brought quite a lump to my throat. Such fun!

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing today. I’ve been trying to be supportive to Rainbow, Sebastian‘s sister. She’s terribly worried about the people in Ukraine, where she has a number of friends.

“They should do something about those awful Russians,” she said to me while sitting at my kitchen table. “Can’t they send someone?”

“Like who?” I asked.

“I don’t know. The Pope, or the other one,” and then she paused and scratched her head, and then remembering said, “That nice Bono, or Greta Thunberg, perhaps.”

“I’m not sure Greta’s quite the right person,” I replied, “though she might have something to say about the carbon emissions of those useless T72 tanks. They seem to burn very well, if nothing else, but I don’t think that does much for global warming. Then again nor does a thermobaric weapon. The environment doesn’t seem to be a priority for Mr. Putin.”

“I feel so helpless,” she added at length.

“Well, you don’t have to,” I said. “Unicef, the UN agency with a mandate to help women and children, is organising help for women and children in Ukraine. So is UNHCR, who look after refugees.”

Giving here has the funds matched by the agency and is applied directly to women and children in need, and is the most efficient way to provide help. I didn’t need to add that previously having worked for Unicef in Africa, in field emergencies in Sudan and Somalia, I could vouch for their effectiveness.

“It’s a tragedy,” I said, giving her a hug. “But one way or another we’re all going to be a part of sorting it out. And I don’t mind paying a few extra dollars for gas if it means we don’t give Mr. Putin the kind of help he needs to hurt innocent women and children in Ukraine. Let’s just hope people are wise enough not to let his friends, people like that orange haired loser of a former president, ever get anywhere near the reins of power ever again.”

With that I suggested Rainbow come upstairs and help me pick out a nice yellow and blue outfit to wear when I go out today. Perhaps you could do the same.

If you feel generous use the links above to send a few dollars to support people affected by the war in Ukraine. Send me a copy of your receipt and I will enroll you at no cost in our Whatsapp Group – a gift worth $10 a month. Just send me a copy of your receipt to fdobson@zoho.com

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

Leave a Reply