A holiday of 2 halves

As you may have realised I've taken me humans on holibags... although we're back in Edinburgh today...

Well, we had to be didn't we?  Me adoring fans at the Festival haven't had the chance to see me and take photos.  That's comin' this afters so there should be lots more pics up on me Facebook page later on.

Anyway, me hols are going well, thanks very much for asking.

We travelled darn sarth on Friday night and got to Richard's mum and dads' very late... it was so late it was early the next morning.

'Shhhh,' says Renee as she was fumbling at the lock, 'People will be asleep.'

So, of course, I thrust passed her, banging the front door open with a crash before jumping up on me nan and granddad's bed to announce me arrival.

A very nice weekend we had but then had to move to Kidderminster where Richard was doin' some work.  In all honesty we were having a hard time finding somewhere to stay... not many hotels take untrained humans.

But eventually Richard rings the place he always stays at (a Menzies Hotel called The Stourport Manor) and they allowed dogs!

To be a bit more accurate they more than allowed dogs... they were truly doggy friendly.

At one point I thought I was goin' to be dognapped by the receptionist... she was very, errr, enthusiastic.  I don't often say this, but even I was getting tired of the constant hugging and the embarrassment of the long queue of people not able to check out because I was wiv me latest squeeze.

But, I have to say, the hotel staff really knew how to be doggy friendly.  Brilliant and well done.

Now, this morning back in Edinburgh me humans decided I needed an MOT.  Something about vaccinations and worming tablets.

I don't know what they were on about.

But horror of horrors, it was the Vet for me.

No I don't mind a nice vet but a year ago I sealed me bum over with poo. 

Don't laugh, it was horrible and it's just a function of me lovely curls.

Anyway. I was taken to the vet who proceeded to shave my arse.  But he shaved a bit close and gave me razor burn.  My backside was brighter than one of the landing lights at Edinburgh Airport!

This morning, it turns out that the same vet who shaved me nethers was going to be sticking a needle in me.  Just a little prick... and I ain't talking about the injection.

Needless to say, I saw an opportunity so I took it.

I don't think I actually broke the skin but the vet kept his fingers and toes well inside the carriage after that, I can tell you.

Now I don't condone that sort of thing and Richard certainly gave me a stern telling off, just as he was slipping me a crafty biscuit...

Off to the Festival now... see you next week!

Penny Swallowing Children

My Bruvva, Adam, had to have an operation yesterday.

Very off putting it was and I won't give you the gory details 'cos they're... well, gory!

Suffice it to say he did very well for a fella who isn't covered in fur, even if the blood on his jam sandwich was a bit off putting when he was eating it!

It's funny, ain't it, how we get worked up about things.  Me human, Richard was in a bit of state all day, waiting for news.  Of course, we all got worried about the bit when Adam was having his op but it's probably the recovery bit that's going to be more difficult.

Fortunately, he should be right as nine pence in a few days, which is good, 'cos the non-hairy little fella is taking me to the festival... not to see any shows, of course, but to see how many people take my picture.

You'll have seen that I've got a new Facebook page (www.facebook.com/barneytaxassist) where me adoring fans can upload their pictures of me... hopefully there'll be a real Barney community before long with people from around the world uploading their pics!

Anyway... back to getting worked up about things, which is where I started all this.

Me human Richard was in Ireland a few weeks ago.  There was a lady on his course who had just come back from maternity leave after having her third puppy.

No, I didn't mean puppy... I meant baby.

Richard was asking her about how having a third baby was different from the first.

'Well, sure now,' said the lady (she was from Ireland, after all), 'It's like this... when your first child does the inevitable and swallows a penny you dash to Casualty, pull up out side, dash in with tears running down your face and shouting 'my baby, my baby!''

She pauses for a minute.  'With your second, it's different.  When he swallows a penny you're careful for a bit and search through his... errr... excavations to make sure the penny makes it all the way through.'

And the third?

'Ah, now, that's different again.  When your third child swallows a penny you ask for the change!'

So, although it seems horrible to Adam and Richard's been like a bear with a sore head... it's probably best not to get too worked up!  It will all come right in the end!

Fur Coat Nae Knickers

Last week I may have inadvertently mentioned that I don't wear under-garments.

My actual words were 'Fur Coat, Nae Knickers'...

Apparently this wasn't the most appropriate thing to say and it caused a storm of protest... an email flooded in to my inbox (barney@taxassist.co.uk).

I don't necessarily think it was the phrase itself that caused the issue but my apparent lack of modesty.  Well, I just won't have that... I'm the most modest woofer you will ever come across.  My modesty knows no bounds.  In fact, it's the best modesty you'll ever see.  It's stupendous in nature and will put your modesty in the shade...

I'm just messing with you; I know what modesty is... I'm just not very good at it.

Anyway, putting my own magnificence to one side, just for a few moments I was thinking about my team in the office yesterday.  There are now 8 of them if you include me humans Renee and Richard. Of course, they're all very good at what they do, but I've just noticed that they're a very good looking team, too.

I don't mean Richard so much, but the rest of them are pleasing on the eye.  As pleasing as a anyone can be when they're not covered in fur like mine.

They're a pretty mixed bunch, too.  We have people from Edinburgh, Poland, Dunbar, the Borders and even one from Doon Sooth (that would be Richard again).  They work in teams of two: there's an accountant and bookkeeper in each team and they look after everything for their group of customers from bookkeeping to VAT to accounts to payroll and everything between.

But leaving aside what they do, their experience and how good looking they are they all have one thing in common... they're all very nice to me, giving me the occasional scratch.

Actually, they have two things in common... not only are they very nice to me, but they're all very nice to our customers, too.  Not that they'll give you a little scratch behind the ears (unless you ask them, that is) but their first thought is always about customers and what they need... then they'll think about accounts and bookkeeping and all that stuff.

Must be me human Renee's influence I suppose.  She always says that we'll never have a 'Receptionist' because it's everyone's job to make people feel welcome!

A Dog's Clothes Say a Lot About Him

I have to say I had a narrow escape last Christmas.

Me human Renee decided that perhaps a luxurious rasta fur coat like mine wasn't enough and that maybe I needed some, well, human clothes to go with it.

So, she proceeded to buy me a kilt and Bonny Prince Charlie jacket.  What was she thinking?  I mean, talk about ridiculously embarrassing for a cool woofer like me.

OMG me other human Richard was drinking a cup of coffee when she told him what she'd done.  It's the first time I've ever seen coffee come out of someone's nose.  I think it must have burned on the way out, too, 'cos he didn't half jump about for a few minutes.

Anyway I had to wait, with some nervousness it has to be said, for the day when me new clothes arrived.  Renee planned for weeks what she was going to do.  Dress me up at Christmas, take photos and generally make me look like... well, I'll leave it your imagination what I'd look like.

The fateful day arrived and, glory of glories, hallelujah and praise the great big bone in the sky, the outfit didn't fit.

I think both Renee and Richard were disappointed but probably for different reasons...

But at least all this brings me on to the outrageous point I've been trying to get to.

Children's clothes don't have VAT on them.  Why?  Don't ask me 'cos I don't know.  I'm just a dog.  Something to do with them being dependent or somefink like that.

This got Renee thinking.  Should a woofer's clothes also be free of VAT?  Well, outrageously, it turns out they're not.  But why?  After all, I'm a dependent, I'm only 4 (although some would say that's 28 in dog years) and I bring loads to the Scottish economy...

It's discrimination if you ask me...

(Actually, I think that it might be simply that a dog has enough clothes (fur coat, nae knickers) of his own without needing a Bonny Prince Charlie to make him look like a muppet.)

Having said that, me new high viz vest is very fetching.  Have a look at Facebook and search Tax Assist West Edinburgh for a rather splendid picture of me in me new outfit...

Playmates

I am a happy woofer.

Generally that's true but this week even more so.

You see I have some playmates staying with me.  Me human Richard has his 16 year old daughter and her friend staying.  Clearly the are here for one reason and one reason only... to look after yours truly.

Not that I need looking after, but I play this game where I pretend I do and people bring me biscuits, treats, toys and food.  It's brilliant - you should try it!

Anyway, I've got these playmates which is great.  But OMG, I can't believe it; they wanted to go into Edinburgh and visit places that I couldn't go.  I had to spend the day in the office at work... you know; looking cute and making customers feel welcome.

So, I did the only thing a sensible woofer could do under the very trying circumstances: I went on hunger strike.

Me usual plate of chicken and pasta was placed in front of me.  I took a sniff, looked up with big, soulful eyes, let me tail droop and walked away... very, very slowly.

A Dental Stick (me favourite) was offered.  I took it, then dropped it and left it on the floor untouched.

That is until me playmates turned back up at the shop after their day without me.  Then I went all joyful, ate me breakfast and wolfed down me Dental Stick.

I know what you're thinking but I don't see it as fickle... More like asserting me doggy rights to be played with and entertained constantly.

I quite often hear me other human Renee saying that if you are in business on your own it can be a pretty lonely place, especially if there are decisions that need to be made and you need some one to talk them over with.

She always says that she gets to know someone's business... not their accounts or finances, but their whole business so she can help them if they need to talk things through.

It's the very same cross I have to carry.  I mean, when you only get played with for 12 hours in a day, what do you do with the other 12?

Of course you ave to sleep for 11 of those... but the other hour is tricky and I always feel better when I can talk things through.  Do I lie down here or there?  Do I sit next to Ross in the office or Nicola?  Do I look happy or soulful?

You what I mean... it's always best to have a playmate to talk these things through with.

Damn and Blast...

...and proably in that order.

Our nice new and soon to be shiny shop in Stockbridge has fallen through.

Yes, you heard me... fallen through.

That's a funny phrase, isn't it?  Fallen through what, I wonder?  There must be an interesting fact sitting behind that phrase like so many of our cliches.

For example, do you know where the phrase 'Back to Square One' comes from?  No?  Well, because I'm as funny, intelligent and generous as a woofer can be I'll tell you.

It comes from when football matches were first being described on the radio and the commentators didn't know how to do it.  A picture of a football pitch divided up into squares was printed in the Radio Times - and the penalty box was square 1.

So when the commentator said (here you need to put on a clipped English advert) 'And the ball has been passed back to square 1' it meant that the play was starting again... good init?

Anyway, I've digressed, as is my wont, so back to the DAMN and BLAST.

Yes, our shop in Stockbridge is no more... it has ceased to be.  It is an ex-shop.

We were taking over an existing lease from a lady and apparently, even after making an agreement with us she continued to market the lease, even behind her own agent's back.  Evidently she found someone she had to pay less of an incentive to and blew us out.

And to add insult to injury we were blown out on the same day we received planning permission for class 2 use (whatever that means)!

Anyway, you can imagine it was a frosty old day in the office that day.  There were a few less woofer biscuits coming my way, I can tell you.

It's back to the drawing board for me humans, assessing options, looking for new properties and all that.

So, me adoring fans, I have a request for you.  If you spot any commercial premises (retail is best) for lease, sale or just empty preferably in Stockbridge but also in Blackhall and Gorgie can you let me humans know?

It might just cheer them up...

You can get in touch via the Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/#!/AccountantsEdinburgh

Or search Facebook for Tax Assist West Edinburgh.

Fanks awfully!

A slight misunderstanding - that's all it was

Before I start I have a joke for you (you have to say it out loud): What do you call an Irishman who lays about in your back garden all day?  Paddy O'Furniture!

It could've happened to anyone, the misunderstanding I had recently, for which I got into trouble.

In fact, you could say I was in the dog house.

Sorry.

You see, me human Richards' parents were up in Edin'bra last week and very pleased I was to see them, too.  Even I have to admit that I might have got a little bit too excited.  I mean, I didn't widdle on the floor or anything, that would be disgusting, but it was mighty close.

No, what happened was much worse.

You see, I received an instruction.  What was actually said to me (shouted would be more accurate) was 'Barney, don't jump up on your grandad it's not nice.'

What I actually heard was 'Grandad loves to have his face licked, why don't you jump up and knock his glasses off.'

See what I mean?  It's virtually the same sentence.

Anyway, I had my misinterpretation and got soundly told off, even if it was innocent.  I still think grandad does like having his face licked though.  Is anyone lese left with an image they rather wouldn't have?

I heard me other human, Renee, who's altogether much nicer and more sensible than Richard, say that it wasn't my fault and that I was just being loving... and that it could happen to anyone and that he shouldn't be cross.  You see, very sensible.

Richard had to concede that it's easy to misinterpret something especially when the message isn't very clear in the first place.  Apparently he found himself in the same situation recently... not that he licked someone's face, you understand, he was misinterpreted.

Apparently he sent an email about planning permission which he thought was asking someone to submit an application.  The person he sent it to thought he was asking whether they'd done it and if they hadn't he would...

You see - easy to do.

Anyway, new shop news...  The said application was eventually submitted and we have had the response!  Planning permission has been received for 6 Dean Park Street so I reckon we're just about ready to go with the lease!  I'll keep you posted about works and then the launch party!