Welcome to the Analog

Welcome to the Analog

Chapter 1 is on this page.
Chapter 4 is here.
Chapter 3 is here.
Chapter 2 is here.

For fairly obvious reasons, this page's theme will be variations on fetching shades of brown. The discerning among you will note that this text is the colour of the rather attractive bit of fur just behind my right ear. Other parts will be in fur-bit colours of my choosing so stay alert. It might suddenly go white.

chapter one

	I have landed. I can't be fully sure where I have landed, however, so I'll have to take my people's car-god's word for it that this is Greece. More of her later. Me first.
My early life is nothing to write to you about so I won't. Let's just say that being born near Gatwick gave me great tolerance to planes, thunder, fireworks and other loud noises which, from first impressions here, seems a useful talent. First impressions? Warm, well supplied with sticks and with comfortable beds. It also has beaches which is more than can be said for Crawley, after all. There's little more you would ask for, is there?
	Since we arrived my people have been to the beach quite often with me. We then all totter off to a stone-flagged place where they sit and drink stuff. That bit's quite interesting, too. But not quite so interesting.
As you can see, I do important things on the beach. You cannot imagine how untidy they are.

How was the journey? Not at all bad, really. It seemed a bit further than Jevington so I can tell you that countries are probably longer than miles. I also don't recall stopping overnight on my way to the Bells but that might have slipped my mind. Here's a summary of what I did. I don't know when I did this stuff.

I had a swim and a nap on a big boat	I found a German stick and a German straw lady with a straw dog who was very quiet	We stayed near a nice river with noisy birds	We stayed in a hut and I had a nap or two

My education as dog of the world is now complete so I can now tell you about ...
... religion. My people's car god talks to them. She tells them where to go, when to get off and on the motorway and when they have arrived somewhere. She is very patient with them and never wrong. She sits in the front with them and has a rather mechanical tone of voice. When we got here, all she could say was "Go to the nearest road" so they stopped believing in her. They now have a new god who lives in the stone-floored places we go to after the beach. I don't know her name, either.

I like a good routine. Here it consists of getting up after a while and then getting fed. Then we get in the car and go to the beach. Here I find things and can lie in a cave.

I can also go swimming which is something I have discovered I quite enjoy. The dew ponds here are somewhat bigger than I'm used to and have surf and waves and stuff. This keeps me cool. I also sit in the water. This means I get extremely wet and have to shake a lot.

I don't fully understand why my people keep moving away from me on the beach.

Then I have a nap and then we go out for a walk in the country behind the village. I don't really understand why we always seem to go to the same bit of country. My people call it 'the land' and it looks like this. Last time we went, we met some other people and they all walked about a bit together and stuck sticks in the ground. They were obviously special sticks because I wasn't allowed to move them. It may be another part of their religion and I'll need to keep an eye on it.
If we don't go to the land we go to the beach. This is satisfactory.

Next time, I'll tell you about my people's other god of the hearth – I think he's called Dr Marvin Pangloss.

By the way, I saw this in town recently. Any ideas?

Yes, I suppose it could be a Volkswagen.

I'm probably going to have quite a strange life. No matter. This is my friend Michalis, who has been known to play ball, and this is one of the things he drives around in.

He made this hole and that's me running around in it. Had anyone troubled to ask, I could have done that – I'm quite good at digging – but they got Michalis to cheat with the big yellow things. If I'd dug the hole, it wouldn't have been so boringly square either. Nor as deep, mind you.

Dr Marvin Pangloss? I thought you'd never ask. He sits on the shelf above the fire and tells my people what the weather's going to do. He is almost never right so he's not a very skilful god. When he's really pessimistic, they call him Marvin and when he's really optimistic, they call him Dr Pangloss so I'm not sure now what his real name is. I don't think they really believe in him.

Sorry I've been so quiet recently. There really hasn't been too much to say apart from the fact that I got a sore paw and limped a bit and stuff. It happens a lot here and my people don't seem too sympathetic. Not that you care. I have found time to change the print colour. It's now the same as the dark brown bit behind my left ear this time. Good, innit? Anyway, it's time for another telegram from Greece - that would be an Anagram. Geddit? Please yourself.
I'm still on duty most evenings on the terrace while my people sit around oblivious to the many perils which surround us.
Obviously, I can't be on duty the whole time. Even the guard dog gets a break.
If, by any chance, you have some influence in that quarter, could you let my people know that among the many dangers here are goats, donkeys, chickens, geese, owls (two sorts of those: the little quiet chaps and the big screechy ones), a big white horse and, you'd barely credit it, turkeys. Can't think why the Greeks keep turkeys. Revenge perhaps? As we say in Crawley, enuff is ableedinuff.
In fairness, it should be said that turkeys run satisfactorily fast. I wished this one a Happy Christmas. Just trying to be polite.
What else? Oh, the country walk's changing all the time. First land with trees, then land with trees and a big hole to run in and now they've filled the hole up with huge sticks and bits of metal. They'll throw concrete in it next, I shouldn't wonder.
It's a hard life.

Spot on as always. They pay a guy to dig a hole, then they pay a guy to fill it with a concrete box and then the first guy comes back and fills it up with the earth he took out of the hole. Can't see it meself. But then I'm just a mutt. They liked it because they sat on the terrace and drank lots of stuff.
Now it looks like this and I'm not allowed to play on it:

Somebody stole my beach last week. They say it's something to do with the storm from the south – believe that if you like.

I'm not pointing claws but I've never really warmed to the woman up the road with the goats.

It used to look like this:

Today it looked like this:

I don't really mind because the weedy stuff is soft on the paws when you run on it. Something my people are oddly reluctant to do.

They also get quite nervous when I play in the big waves. Can't think why. I don't have a picture of me trying to surf because my man was too busy telling me to get out of the water.

We all get nervous about different stuff I guess. My people get grumpy because I feel I should bark at the old guy with the straw hat who walks down the road in the morning – he certainly looks like a serial killer rapist dog-napping burglar to me and you can't be too careful. I think I may give up the guard duty stuff. Nobody takes much notice anyway.

It being Sunday, my people will be going out for dinner so I'll have to stay in and protect the place from goats, serial killers in straw hats, geese, turkeys, owls and the like. The bedroom is the best place to do that, I find.

While I was on the beach today I came across this chap. Didn't say much, didn't do much.

OK smartarse, what is he?

Double-click around inside this box for the answer:

Golden Plover

Competition time:

Speaking of intelligent people, and some would claim we weren't, there's a new parlour game in town. If an analog is Ana's log and an anagram is a message from Ana, what are the following? The first two are done for you by way of a hint. Answers by e-mail to one of my people. I shall choose the best to put on this site. There are no prizes but you may claim your bit of immortality. Even more so if you come up with a wholly new one. At the very least it'll keep you out of the pub for ten minutes.

anadin =

anabaptise =

anathema =

anaesthetic =

animosity =

noise that I make

analyse =

anodyne =

anonymity =

anorak =

anemometer =

I am economical with the truth

Competition results:

I can't say the entries overwhelmed the staff in my post room but the winner is: ANOREXICS – I think it's broken.

Runners up include: ANODYNE – I eat; BANDANA – I'm not allowed in there again and ANAESTHETIC – my taste in art.

I've been a touch busy of late, what with the first Christmas with my people and all, so here's an update:

we had visitors. Not just once; night after bloody night of them. Barking didn't scare them much so I went back to bed after a while. Some of them talk foreign.

we had lunch on the terrace. Or rather they did.

we picked olives and I helped.

I ate some of the olives and was sick.

we went to the beach and I had a number of naps in the sun.

we sat on some steps and had a chat.

I think I'm getting used to warmth and sunshine. Never cared for it much before but once you get used to sleeps in the sun and walks in the warm, it's not all bad.

STOP PRESS:

I seem to remember this car-packing palaver and it bodes no good at all. Just when I get settled and have disciplined the goats, it seems we're off again. So I guess I'll see you soon. I look forward to that but leaving the sunshine is unwelcome so you'd better be nice to me.

I'll let you know when I've landed.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Thud. The Ana has landed.

Click here to find out what that sounds like.

Blimey, it's parky here, innit?

Not as parky as it was in something called Germany, though. 25 below something, I'm told.

Bit of a shock to the system after New Year's Day lunch on the terrace. Still, can't be helped, I guess.

Here's rundown of the trip home:

we sat in the car a lot listening to the car god. God, she's dull.

I had a nap on something very orange in a hotel — where, incidentally, the staff paid considerably more attention to me than the people.

I played in the snow stuff.

Since we got back:

I have resumed my persecution of squirrels and allied vermin.

I have barked in Jevington.

I haven't seen you.

Perhaps soon, we can put the last one right. Bring something to eat.