Burning Peter to save Paul

Eastbourne has a problem. A big one. We have a hospital here, which is as it should be for a town our size. In fact, since we have the only main hospital for at least 20 miles in any direction, you would think we would be happy with it.

But we're not.

Bit by bit, our hospital is being closed down and the services are being transferred to a 'nearby' hospital, The Conquest in Hastings.
Like I said, nothing else for at least 20 miles. And that's not counting the fact that the main road is guaranteed to slow to a crawl for miles during peak times. Or if there are road works. Or an accident... 'Alternative' routes involve minor roads, many of which have cars parked along them, forcing traffic into a perpetual slalom. Unless you opt for the picturesque route, which, while relatively trouble free, adds an uncomfortable five miles or so onto the journey.

(map taken from Google Maps)

First, the maternity unit was closed down, despite lots of protests, petitions, demonstrations and talks (the kind of talks where only one side appears to be listening, apparently). It was put off and then sneaked back onto the agenda when they thought nobody was looking.

Three days after it closed, the first 'taxi baby' was born, en route to The Conquest.

Now, any scheduled surgery is to take place there too.

A fun fact about Eastbourne; It has the oldest (average) population in Britain. A large town, comprised mostly of OAPs, all of whom have to somehow make their way to someplace they aren't necessarily familiar with, via whatever means necessary

Fun fact 2; Discounting taxi, there is no one single form of public transport that will get you from Eastbourne to The Conquest. The Conquest is at the back end of Hastings, well away from any busy transport routes. This might be fine for patients trying to sleep, but for anyone trying to get there, it's a bit of a bugger. And if you should decide to drive there, then you have to fight for a parking spot in one of the most fractured, compartmentalised car parks I have ever known.

Julie has said to me that she wouldn't be surprised if they were trying to turn it into a cottage hospital. I poo-poohed this idea, but when I mentioned it to my doctor today, he replied that he wouldn't be at all surprised.

Well, crap.

Naturally, the residents of the town aren't taking this lying down - they can't because some of the wards have been closed and there aren't nearly enough beds... In the windows of many houses, you will find small posters defending our hospital. Most of them seem more plaintive than anything else...

Nice flatline...

Julie, being a life resident of the town, is obviously very much against the transfer of services (as am I). One day, we were out for a walk, and we happened to pass a house with one of these posters in the window. Julie felt moved to have a little rant.

Well, yes. Although a tad on the illegal side of things.

Right to roam - doggie edition

Sorry about the absence, folks. What with the festive period and other things, I didn't prepare enough Gems to last for this long.

One of the things that has occupied us is a new member of our family. We have fostered, from a rescue centre, a Staffordshire bull terrier/bulldog (or boxer, it's not been too clear) by the name of Roxie.

"OMG! WANTS!"

She's seven, but has spent three years at the rescue centre. When I first saw her, my heart nearly broke, because she was so depressed and wary of forming attachments that would be broken. She would lean against the fence of her pen for the slightest bit of contact, but would refuse to react to it. She has been with us since last Friday, and as that picture shows, Roxy is settling in nicely.

In our company, in our home, at least.

When it comes to leaving the house, she is resigned about needing to wear a muzzle (legacy of a poor past), and wary of almost everything. That said, Roxy is incredibly well-behaved, and it's only with one or two dogs that she feels threatened enough to take action. Apart from that, she is very happy stay close to us.

Today, our early-morning walk took us along the seafront - there and back again. One of the things about Roxy is that she decides when she has had enough and stops. Literally. We will be walking along, happy as anything, and I will be chatting with Julie. The next thing we know, an arm will be nearly wrenched from its socket because Roxy has had enough and stopped dead without us realising in time.

This morning, we managed to get quite far along the promenade before we reached Point Nope. Probably, Roxy wanted to investigate all the new smells. Certainly, she was fascinated by the pebbled beach and the smell of the sea.

As we strolled back, Julie noticed something interesting. Something which elicited a silly remark from yours truly...

AN APPEAL

If you have a pet you no longer want or can no longer keep for whatever reason, don't dump it. Take it to a rescue centre.
If you would like to have a pet, don't get one from a shop or pet farm. Get one from a rescue centre.

Rescue centres are charitable organisations, are registered as such, and have to provide documentation of everything they do and must adhere to basic guidelines. This means that any animal given to them will be treated, and treated well. It also means that you are essentially guaranteed of a healthy animal should you come to adopt or foster one.
As you can see from the picture of Roxy, she is a happy doggie indeed, despite her demeanor in the rescue centre. Proof, surely?

However, rescue centres, as I said, are charities. This means they are reliant on donations and the occasional Lottery grant. Last Chance Animal Rescue is the place Roxy came from. It's a tiny place with minimal resources, and the abnormal weather we have had in the south of Britain recently has caused a lot of trouble. The high winds and torrential rain certainly did the centre no favours, as they went without power and a phone line (and therefore no internet connection) for a while.

Just think.
That means all the animals rescued had no heat. Apart from personal mobile phones, absolutely no contact could be made with the outside world, unless you braved the flooded roads - the entrance to the centre is slap-bang at the bottom point where the road cuts across a valley.

If you are local to the centre, please think about using them as a resource for a pet. And even if you are or are not, please think very hard about donating to them. People often drop by with food and/or toys and bedding, but money is the one thing they desperately need.
Drop by their donation page to find out more.

Thank you.

Rare Breed Week: Happy as a pig in wotnot

For our final post in our week-long special celebrating our trip to the South of England Rare Breeds Centre (SERBC), we're going to continue our stroll through the centre's extensive grounds, through wild woodlands, open fields and well-maintained orchards.
As I mentioned before, here and there along the route, there were notices, giving information about various plants and animals, both domesticated and wild, that could be found in that area. Furthermore, there was a series of fun questions for younger children, based on pigs.

In Wednesday's post, Julie seemed to be under the impression that pigs were mute until someone had popped them into the oven and begun to roast them. Yes, we were being silly (no change there, eh?).

A little further into the woods, we found another sign, one which was concerned with how pigs protect themselves from the elements...

Damn... now I'm hungry...

Rare Breed Week: Oh, those delicious noises...

Welcome back to the South of England Rare Breeds Centre (SERBC). Today, we are going to be going for a little stroll. The farm is really rather extensive, and stretches out for a fair distance beyond the immediate environs of the buildings.

There are a number of ways you can go exploring, and one of the most fun methods is via a tractor and trailer ride

The driver is a joker, but very conscientious and kept up an enjoyable, but not patronising patter. Oh, and you don't pay anything extra for this. The same goes for the bird of prey displays.

Alternatively, you could take a leisurely stroll around the property. Or, like us, you could have a ride and THEN go walkabout. There is a choice of three routes, varying in length, although even the longest will get you round in no more than an hour, unless you stop along the way for some reason or other.

While you walk, there are information points here and there. And, for the younger ones, there are some fun quiz signs to keep an eye out for, all based on pigs, of which SERBC has a few breeds.

Piglets: much cuter than their adult counterparts.

As we can be childish now and then, me and Julie decided to look for these quiz posts and answer them as 'well' as we could. This consisted of me reading the question out in a mock-posh BBC accent, and Julie replying as only she knows how...

Bwahahahahaha!
Nice one, love!

Rare Breed Week: Spot the birds

Wotcha and welcome; we've got another themed week for you, one that is all to do with The South of England Rare Breeds Centre.

Unusually for a 'visiting farm' (one that is for tourism/education as opposed to a true working farm), the SERBC is also a charity, one that helps children and adults with learning difficulties and special needs. Quite admirably, this policy isn't limited to the visitors; when we went, there were a few employees/volunteers that fit this category.
Good for them.

Over the last few months, Julie and myself have been to a number of animal, plant and wildlife places. I hesitate to call them 'attractions, because that makes them sound like some theme park. The wildest ride we have been on with these places was a tractor-and-trailer ride at the SERBC.

It's easily one of the best places we have been to. The entry fee is not too bad, and there is plenty to do and see when you get there. Plenty of animals, usually varieties of domestic breeds in paddocks and fields, a children's petting area. There is also an aviary, but the best birds were the ones that were allowed to roam as they pleased.

Generally, the ducks, coots and other waterfowl were content to stay close to the water (I know, what a surprise, eh?) The Guinea fowl, on the other hand, were somewhat restive and were rarely in the same place for more than a minute. Between curiosity and their almost constant bickering, they were all over the place and we kept seeing one Guinea fowl or another in various locations.

Julie was fascinated by the birds' exotic markings, and no wonder - if you stare at their torsos for too long, it becomes a pretty trippy experience.

...no comment.

Man, that's one bitchin' dog!

As mentioned before on numerous occasions, we are fond of dogs and other animals. Unable to own a pet ourselves (house rental rules, lack of funds and unwillingness to leave social animals on their own if we work all day), we will often visit wildlife and rescue centres. Recent trips have taken in The British Wildlife Centre, Raystede Animal Welfare Centre and the Last Chance Animal Rescue centre.

All three are very worthy places; however, LCAR is a very small operation, and very much a shoestring operation. As the name implies, it is very much a place of final hopes for the animals involved. The last time we went, there was a Staffie cross-breed by the name of Roxie. She had been there for a while and was very subdued. I eventually managed to coax her into coming to the fence and I squatted down to get closer and have a little chat with her. She sniffed at me and then allowed me to poke my fingers through the links of the fence (WARNING! NOT TO BE DONE WITH EVERY ANIMAL!).

Picture taken from LCAR site.

We bonded quickly, which was stupid of me really, because it had got Roxy's hopes up and when we had to go, she began to whimper and wail. It broke my heart.

When we visited LCAR the next time, I noticed Roxy's cage still had her details on it, but there was no sight of her. She may not be a puppy any more, but I would seriously adopt her and I can't understand why nobody has yet done so.

Other dogs, however, were not so sweet and friendly. The various Jack Russells were especially vocal. And then there was Tim.

Picture from LCAR site.

'Lively' is right. As soon as anyone hoved into view, Tim went berserk, jumping all round his cage and barking his head off. Also walking around was a family (Mum, Dad and two teenage daughters). Unlike us, they definitely were in the market for a pet, and were treating each animal with a little more scrutiny than we gave. When they reached Tim, he began his maniac bark-and-bounce routine, only calming down after he was sure the family were no real threat.

And then we arrived.

After Tim had calmed down once more, I approached the cage carefully. This was no meek Roxy, after all. I did try to be friendly, chatting to him in a calm, happy tone, but all he did was bark himself hoarse.
I moved away, and Julie took my place. For some reason Tim didn't try to assault her eardrums, but quieted down. He still wasn't happy, but he wasn't noisily hyper any more.

I commented dryly that Tim didn't appeared to have come from Thailand...
The family, who had remained nearby, laughed heartily.

Obviously, Julie had meant to imply that Tim was more of a ladies' man... er, dog.

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PS

Raystede currently have a donation drive to help them treat the hedgehogs that they have been treating. If want to donate, then visit the appropriate web page HERE.

A-groping and a-growling we will go!

It's been something of an open secret for the last few months that I have been suffering from acute depression and anxiety - enough to give me panic attacks out in public. I've been trying various forms of treatment and medication, but for one reason or another, they have not managed to do the trick thus far.

Readers of this blog will know that my mother has a dog, a Jack Russell terrier by the name of Toby. He's a family dog and something of an attention whore, but a highly intelligent one, nonetheless.
Intelligence was a hotly-debated topic with our previous dog, Skip. He was a pure-breed English Springer Spaniel, and bloody huge. I don't mean fat, but tall and stocky - I would often have people stop and ask me what breed he was, because you just don't get Springers that large. However, Skip was either clever and sneaky or just plain bloody daft. Honest - we couldn't work it out, even after a dozen years.

Back to Toby.

He loves to cuddle up next to you on the sofa, wedging himself tightly between you and the arm of the sofa (or chair, if you're skinny). In fact, it's slightly alarming, because he curls himself up so much you wonder how he manages to breathe.
However, once he's there, it then becomes a case of symbiosis. He's feeling so much better for cuddling up to you, sure. But, as you stroke him, you feel yourself feeling better too. It's an established fact that petting animals can help people's mood to change for the better - generally. There are limits, of course.

Me - I'm a dog person through and through. Some months ago, Julie thought it would be a good idea to visit a rescue centre, one which allowed you to meet and greet the animals.
Wow.
We both came away wanting a dog - different dogs, though. Julie liked a Jack Russell, while I fell head over heels for a female boxer by the name of Princess. She'd been there a long time and had developed that institutionalised mentality; resigned to her fate. I'd walked up to her pen and managed to coax her to the door. We sat there for a little while, 'chatting', while I tried to stroke her through the gate.
Unfortunately, we can't have a dog. We don't have the money, we're both technically working full-time - and the terms of our house rent forbids it.
That meant that, after Julie came back to get me, I had to stand and leave Princess behind.
She started crying, and it broke my heart.

------------------------------------------

More recently, we were out on a drive and had stopped in Hythe in Kent. It was lunchtime and we walked along the semi-pedestrianised high street, peering into various cafes. Hythe was busy, and the cafes reflected this, so we kept walking, hoping to find somewhere a little quieter.

Enter Truly Scrumptious.

As you can see, it's set back from the street a little, sharing a courtyard with some other establishments.

It seemed to be a little quieter than the other places, so we decided to give it a shot.

As we walked in, we heard rock 'n' roll music playing; that was a plus for me, as you all-too-often find that the omnipresent Heart FM will be worming its way through the cafe speakers. As I headed up to the counter to ask whether they had soy milk (I also have a milk intolerance), I was gratified to see the largest collection of teas and infusions I have ever seen outside of a supermarket. Heck - I've seen supermarkets with less of a range. Apparently, tea is an obsession of a level normally associated with coffee drinkers for one of the owners. That said, I was told that her husband (sorry! I forgot to ask your names!) is precisely that sort of coffee enthusiast.

Fancy a brew? Of course you do.

In the end, after some agonising over the infusions, I went for a pot of our celebrated favourite, Lapsang Souchong - with soy - and a plate of chips with cheese and chilli. Julie just had a sausage inna bun and a bottle of Coke.

As we waited for our order, more people arrived. In fact, it rather looked as though we had got there and ordered just in time to beat the rush. Some stayed inside, some went and sat outside. Mind you, since they had dogs with them, the cafe policy meant they had to remain outside.
We were sat next to a large plate glass window, and a couple arrived with their dog to sit at the table just outside from us.

Oh, but what a dog.

This is Finn. What a handsome chap.

Obviously, there is a large amount of spaniel going on there and since my family had had an English Springer before, I was definitely melting inside. At our table, my tea arrived, much to Julie's disgust. I paid it hardly any heed. The same went for the i crossword we were poring over. I was trying to decipher the clues, but I kept being distracted by the dog outside.

In the end, Julie gave up, exasperated in a good-humoured way.

Er, what? I think you'll find that's stroked' or 'petted', love.

Of course, I did give in to my impulse and went outside to introduce myself to the dog and his humans.* As it turned out, the dog went by the name of Finn and had an interesting story.
Finn was found wandering the streets, somewhere in Ireland (I forgot to ask which Ireland. Mea Culpa). When he was picked up, he was taken to one of the Dogs' Trust centres in Scotland and from there, he was then adopted by a couple from Suffolk. And there I was, an ex-pat Brummie (Birmingham) from Eastbourne,  on a day out to a Kentish town bumping into an Irish dog and his new family. Cool.

Apparently, Finn is a cross-breed, a mix of Springer spaniel and setter, the latter explaining the grey spotting on his coat. Funnily enough, his humans (whose names I also neglected to note. Sorry!), had always said they didn't want a spaniel, because they had had experience with them before and found that, like me and Skip, spaniels can be just a tad brainless.
Happily, Finn cast a spell upon them, and they were immediately smitten.
As was I.
>sigh<
Oh well. At least I didn't have to worry about Finn's future, he now had a good home, it would appear.

SERIOUS BIT
OK folks, I want to make a little request here.
If, like me, you want to have a dog for a companion, then I would like to congratulate you on your choice. However, when you go looking for one, please be careful about the people and places you get them from. Puppy farms are not illegal, but if you do go this route, be very sure that they are registered with all the proper authorities, and that the animals have had all the shots and medication, with the documentation to prove it.
Please don't buy from a small ad in a local newspaper, or via some unknown on the internet.
In fact, considering the amount of dogs that escape, are discarded or rescued from owners who mistreated them, why not go to a rescue centre, be a hero and rescue a dog yourself. You'll feel even better when you 'fondle' them, then.

*Yes, I did make a fuss of Finn. He was a happy dog, as most Springer spaniels are, and his grin and his energy was infectious. Yes, I felt a lot happier for his presence.

Letters discuss the RSPB.

There is a charity based in the UK known as the RSPB - the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. In 1891, a few societies with similar aims merged to become the RSPB, and the aim was to prevent birds from being killed simply so ladies could have feathers for their hats. Later, the society's remit was extended to protecting birds and their environments, as it was clear that so much of birds' existence is dependent on the places where they live, feed and migrate.

In case you're wondering, the bird in the logo is an avocet.

More recently, it became painfully obvious that the RSPB needed to widen their focus even further; a neither birds or the flocks exist in a vacuum. Any locale is so much more than the sum of its parts; everything depends on almost everything else. So it is that the society now campaigns for the protection of animals, plants and environments in general, alongside the original focus of our feathered friends. In fact, they recently looked into whether they should change their name to reflect the widened aspect of their interests. However, it was decided that they would keep their name - partly out of nostalgia, partly because they felt it would show potential donors that they are not simply another environment charity, and partly to reflect their moderate emphasis on - guess what? - birds.

That said, and bearing in mind that the RSPB, along the RSPCA (Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals), is one of the biggest animal-related organisations in this country, pretty much everyone knows what the initials stand for.
So, when the question arose in a game of Trivial Pursuit, I was expecting Julie to rattle off the correct answer pretty smartly.

Silly me.

So Julie. What do the initials stand for?

Indeed.
To learn more about the RSPB and its work, visit their site.
Oh, and my humblest apologies for the terrible pun in the title.

Running and rambling

A while back, one of Julie's colleagues announced that she was going to take part in the Cancer Research Race for Life.

At the time, we congratulated her and didn't think much of it. After all, there is so much in the way of charity events taking place these days.
And then, in July last year, my father was diagnosed with a massive and aggressive brain tumour. Less than six weeks later, he died.
After that, our heightened sensibilities couldn't help but notice that so many people's lives had been touched by cancer. It's been tough, to be sure, but we're coming to terms with it now. Yes, we do find ourselves in situations that affect us. The first time I saw this video was hard for me, but I now see it as a positive thing.

Back to our friend. When she told us of her intention to take part in this, we wished her well and backed away. Not from sponsoring, but from the actual activity. You see, neither Julie nor myself are what you could term 'svelte' or 'athletic'. Not by a long shot. For my part, I like to walk; I'm built for a slow, solid pace and Julie is generally happy to accompany me.
Running? Uh... no, thanks.

Julie put it slightly differently, of course.

Heh. Dad would have loved that one.

It mutts be love at a rescue centre

Sorry! Terrible pun, I know.
The thing is, my family has had a few dogs over the years. The first I recall was Skip, an English Springer Spaniel - and a big bugger he was too. He was a pure breed, and as such had many of the problems that pure-breed dogs (and cats) do. In the end, it was bowel cancer that got him, but he lived a happy life. Even happier if there was ice-cream in the offing.
It took quite some years before my folks could bear to get themselves another dog. That dog is Toby, a Jack Russell terrier - again, a pure-breed. Again, he's had quite a few medical issues, but again, he's in his old age and still enjoying himself enormously. It's fairly pleasant too, in that he's generally a lot more well-behaved and mindful of himself than Skip was. Skip was a great dog, and tremendously loyal, but he had the attention span of-SQUIRREL!

Ever since moving out of my parents' place for good, I have to admit I have missed having a dog around the place. The thing is though, I work full-time, as does Julie (in a roundabout manner), so it wouldn't be fair on any animal if we did take one in. The closest we got was when Julie sponsored a dog from the charity, The Dogs Trust. This is Jacob.

As you can see, he's not a pure-breed, although there is a lot of Jack Russell in there. I never got to meet him, as the sponsorship was all done online and he lived half a country away. Oh well.
My point, though, is that I approve heartily of The Dogs Trust and what they do. When we are out for a walk and we see some runty little hairpiece or a slobbering beast with more muscles than brain cells or something that looks like it makes a living from chasing parked cars, we know that we could never go the pure-breed route.
For me, it goes even further, as I explained to Julie.

Pow.
Mind you, I suppose it would have to be a mentally robust animal, considering how off-beat its new humans would be...