No spikes for Spike

Out for a walk the other day, the three of us (two humans and a doggie) were walking past an ornamental garden area. Form the corner of my eye, I spotted some large flowers and did a double-take.

"My my," I thought, "that's a rather large thistle."
Of course it came out a little differently, leading Julie to make a certain observation.

Equal ops for children.

Taking Roxy for a walk yesterday, I stopped for a rest (Roxy's request - she refuses to go past a certain stretch of low wall until we have sat there for a few minutes). Sometimes, Roxy will hop up onto the wall to sit next to me. This time, however, she simply flopped to the ground (a sure sign I needed to get her home soonish) and basked in the warm sun.

As we sat there, a small group of schoolchildren came along with a couple of adults carefully shepherding them in the right direction. When they were encouraged to ask questions of random people, I realised they were on a field trip.

A couple questions later, it seemed they had fulfilled their quota, and were preparing to head up onto the pier. Before they did so, the teacher wanted to make sure her charges understood what they needed to do and what to look for.

At that, the teacher held her clipboard over her face to hide a smile, while the less restrained man at the back of the group wheeled away, doubling up in silent laughter.

My own laughter was not silent, and I felt moved to literally applaud the young boy for an apparently progressive attitude. The teacher, may or may not have been impressed, commented to me that, "in all the years I have done this and asked these questioned, not once have I had that answer."

Win.

Not to be sniffed at.

One thing that all dog owners know is that unless their dog has been very highly trained, then a dog is a curious creature, and wants to investigate interesting smells.

'nuff said, right? Roxy is certainly no exception to the rule, and having almost total freedom after three years in a last chance rescue centre means that she will make the most of it. Especially since she is still settling in, and half-believes she might have to go back to the centre.

One of her regular - and favourite - strolls is along the promenade and past the pier. Just before the pier, the prom splits in two; one path leading up and past the pier's entrance, and the other continuing by the beach and going underneath the pier.

Taking the lower prom route, you start to get a long series of low walls, one of which surrounds a sort of picnic area. Obviously, many people sit on these walls, and on this particular day there was a family of parents and young children perched on the wall, munching on chips (British chips, made with thick cuts of potato and deep fried).

Roxy, ever interested in all the different smells, always makes a bee-line for the wall, and that it also bore people with food was simply a pleasant bonus. As she was sniffing at the wall, the family were making a fuss of Roxy, something that is usually welcome. However, with all the various odours, her canine attention was pretty much set to 'distraction mode'. So, while Roxy was amenable to being stroked, the most important thing was to check out all the interesting smells on the wall.

Moving along, Roxy started snuffling at a section of wall one of the women was sat on. I kept an eye out, because some people take exception to having a dog smelling their nether regions. It didn't help that the woman offered a dubious origin for a particularly interesting smell.

...sometimes, I need to engage my brain before sending messages down to the mouth...
Fortunately, the woman laughed it off.

I suppose it could have been worse...

A dad and a dog on the Downs

We have some lovely scenery near us. Of course, that could be said of almost anywhere, including the middle of cities (Hyde Park, London; Central Park, New York). For us, though, it's a little special, as we have Britain's very latest National Park on our doorstep; The South Downs National Park.

Last weekend, following a lazy start with Roxy on the bed (see Wednesday's Gem), we decided to go to one part of the South Downs, known as Butts Brow.

Butts Bow, a painting by Lis Lawrence.
NB - all rights to this piece belong to Lis Lawrence. www.lislawrence.com

It was a short, but steep drive up to the car park, where we found that a lot of other people had already had the same idea. There were even a number of cyclists making their way at varying speeds up the hill. Even the car park was not at the top. Once you had parked up, you had a choice of various routes to progress along, although all had the same basic theme of  'uphill'.

Let me tell you, though; It's bloody worth it. When you reach the summit, there is a 360-degree view for miles around. Off to one side, you can see Beachy Head and the sea beyond there. Turning clockwise, you can see the South Downs stretching off into the distance. Further around, there are some hills and valleys a lot closer, but you can still see patches of land between them. For my money, these gaps looked like doorways into different worlds. A final quarter-turn gets you a view of the town of Eastbourne.

Again, this image is not ours. All rights belong to Will Gudgeon.

It doesn't normally look like a view of Orthanc from the film version of Lord of the Rings, but it is an impressive photo, yes?

The three of us spent a good ten minutes admiring the scenery, until the mood was broken by Roxy, who was suddenly rolling around in the grass, in paroxysms of joy. Fortunately, there was nothing that warranted the dreaded B-word.*
Rolling over, Roxy stood and shook herself, grinning hugely. I smiled myself, and, referring to the view once more, remarked how wonderful it was.

Here's to my father, who introduced me to walking in the countryside, and to offbeat humour, and to Toby the Jack Russell terrier who often accompanied him on many a jaunt. Rest in peace.

The hills are alive with the sound of wotnot

It's nice to get out and about, especially since the weather has finally taken a turn for the better and the sky has given up on trying to completely dominate the land by water.

In Sussex, we have England's newest National Park, the Sussex Downs.* Rolling hills of chalk, dropping off (quite literally in the case of Birling Gap) to the sea, but stretching for miles inland. Topped with scrubland and grazing fields, it's a nice place to get away from it all.

Well, it would be, if 'all' hadn't had the same idea and begun tromping and driving round the countryside in inappropriate clothing.

On the rare moments, however, when the sounds of traffic and/or screaming kids that would rather be watching TV are mercifully absent, it's a gloriously peaceful place to be. Close your eyes, and just listen. That's the wind in the grass, maybe an early cricket or grasshopper, the occasional sheep, and possibly one of the most defining sounds of the English open countryside, the song of the skylark.

A couple of weeks ago, we were driving to Seaford to take Roxy for a long walk along their promenade. For a change, I decided to take a route through the Beachy Head area of the South Downs National Park. The weather was warm, and I had the windows wound down a little, and I was thrilled to hear the skylarks singing away. Julie couldn't hear them, though.

Yes, she went there. Then claimed the cows were singing too, even though there weren't any nearby. I suggested their tune would be 'Udder the boardwalk'.

The conversation went absolutely nowhere after that.

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* Why on earth are these hills called 'downs'? As far as most people are concerned, they should be 'ups'. I'm sure there is a logical, etymological reason.

...and when they were only halfway up...

I try to be clever, honestly. I try to have a ready answer for every situation. Unfortunately, I don't have that spontaneous an imagination. Most of my humour comes from having thought about something and then editing it until it works. Or not - I'm no Terry Pratchett.

Julie, on the other hand, is almost the very epitome of spontaneity. Put her in a situation, and BAM! Out comes a cracking remark. Sometimes it is funny, other times, it is a keen observation on what has been going on.

Of course, these off-the-cuff remarks can arise from something only she was aware of; such as when other people are not looking in the same direction as her.

Such as when I am driving, and Julie has seen something off to one side - or even just inside her own head.

My father always got on famously with Julie; once those two started off on one of their bizarre dialogues, there was little chance of anyone keeping up to speed.

Dad approached this mindset from a slightly different direction to Julie. He had always been a fan of The Goons, and in later years began to have a fascination with abstract art and some of the more way-out types of jazz music.

I have pointed out many times before that our family - like many others, I imagine - have a lot of in-jokes, silly remarks that make absolutely no sense to other folk. Apple strudel, postboxes, burn rubber. Apparently random words and phrases, but they all are strong memory triggers for us.

Dad appeared to be something of a catchphrase generator, mostly when he was driving; I think it may have been a way of breaking up a silence and keeping himself awake. One of these phrases was a 'bloody obvious' comment - like most of them;

"It's uphill, this bit."

And yes, he would be driving up a hill at the time.

The thing is, it was catching. We now say these things ourselves, for pretty much the same reason. Of course, when Julie is involved, things can take on a new life of their own...

All I could think of was this...

Rear-view cycling

CAUTION - THIS POST IS SLIGHTLY NSFW, DUE TO A FEW NAKED BUMS.

Some years ago, I used to work in a dairy. It was a fair journey, 27 miles each way - more, if there was some kind of trouble en route. When you factor in the fact we worked twelve-hour shifts, four days a week, it got to be rather tiring. In fact, not all our partners understood why we never felt up to doing much when we got home and invariable ended up in bed before 9pm.

One of my colleagues became fed up with his girlfriend moaning about just this issue, so he issued her the challenge of getting up when he did and doing things all the time and not really resting until he did at the end of the day. Two days in, she folded.

Another colleague, very much single, was one of those wiry men that seemed to have loads of energy - right up to the point a can of beer magically appeared in his hand. I nicknamed this one 'Skippy', since he had had a dodgy hip and then an operation to have a new one implanted.

Skippy lived in the next town up from us, so it made sense for me to act as a taxi service for those times our shift patterns overlapped. It was handy for me, too; on far too many occasions, I parked up at the dairy and sat there in the realisation that I had absolutely no recollection of the journey. I don't do mornings too well. You can have me up early or bright, but not normally both.

The drive home, during the warmer months, was usually quite pleasant. Music on, windows down and a nice chat. And nice views; especially if it was warm enough that ladies decided to shed a layer or two of clothing.

For my part, my normal reaction would be pursed lips and an appreciative nod.

Well, it was.

Skippy, for his sins, introduced me to the practice of uttering the word 'sausage' with varying volume upon seeing a nice pair of.. legs...

The idea was that it's a relatively safe thing to call out, since it seems like a random word. I mean, to anyone hearing it, you might as well be shouting 'billiards'.

Unless you shout it at a man. It becomes a lot less subtle at that point. Not that Skippy nor I did this. Nope, this was all Julie.

The first time she did it, she shouted it at a cyclist as we were overtaking him. It didn't help that Julie had forgotten her window was wound down... Mind you, it didn't help me, either; I was laughing so hard I could barely see to drive.

I know, I know - we're childish, aren't we?

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

Skip forward some years and a veritable string of sausages to the Saturday just gone.

We had been out for a nice long walk with Roxy, and were taking a scenic route home. We were moving slowly, since there was a cyclist up ahead. As we drew up behind him, we saw that his clothing could have benefited with being a size or two larger. He was wearing a pair of shorts which were doing their job adequately, but his t-shirt was riding up to reveal a pale expanse of lower back.

If that's all she wanted, she could just go to one of those special events that take place occasionally...

Long and wrong

The weather in the southern parts of Britain have not been what you could call clement lately. In fact, to paraphrase Robin Williams' character in Good Morning Vietnam, it has been (and apparently will be for at least a couple of weeks more) "wet and pissy with outbreaks of increasingly windy, wet and pissy."

(Real quote:
[imitating Walter Cronkite]
Adrian Cronauer: I just want to begin by saying to Roosevelt E. Roosevelt, what it is, what it shall be, what it was. The weather out there today is hot and shitty with continued hot and shitty in the afternoon. Tomorrow a chance of continued crappy with a pissy weather front coming down from the north. Basically, it's hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut.)

If you haven't seen that film, do so.

Back in Eastbourne, the weather continues to be windy enough to go straight through you, rather than bothering to go around. And, because it's that time of year in the northern hemisphere,* it's a tad on the chilly side. That means that driving is a little cool on the hands - until the heating warms up enough that the steering wheel doesn't try and give you frostbite.

Yes, I have gloves. Yes, I have been wearing them. After a while, when things are a bit warmer, I take the gloves off and, if Julie is with me, pass them to her to look after while I do the driving.

Last night, we realised shopping was necessary - never mind us, the dog food was running low. Since Roxy enjoys going for a ride in the car, we took her with us and took the long way to Tesco. Eventually, the inside of the car reached a temperature that my fingers considered to be comfortable, so I doffed the gloves and gave them to Julie.

I may have been concentrating on driving, but I was vaguely aware that Julie was fiddling with my gloves; I never gave it much thought, to be honest.

After a moment of silence, just as I was about to drive us onto a junction, Julie announced this...

NOT what you want to hear as you attempt to negotiate a busy junction. I do have to admit, though, that I was most impressed with the way Julie managed to begin with a basic malapropism and then stutter her way into a snippet from Gilbert and Sullivan...

Again, many thanks to the internet, where almost any image you search for is but a few clicks away. Googling 'tentacles and testicles' yielded this beauty.

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* by the way, please spare a thought for people in the southern hemisphere. While Britain is being blown about and drowned, and the US and Canada are having ridiculously low temperatures, places like Australia are suffering with forest fires and the like. And when they have fires, they don't muck about. Be safe, my antipodean friends.

Born old birdie

This is a young seagull. It has this dappled colouring until it gets older - it's a defensive camouflage thing. Living in Eastbourne, we see a lot of these. And hear them. Ye gods, the keening of a young gull as it tries to blag food from a parent seriously gets on your ti... er, nerves.

The thing about knowledge, if I may digress slightly, is that until you learn or are told of a nugget of information, it will completely elude you. Furthermore, if you are not interested in certain things, then there is a strong chance that facts pertaining to those things will remain forever beyond your ken.

Julie, until I entered her life, didn't have much interest in natural wildlife. Now, she is just as keen as I am in seeing plenty of it both in the flesh and on TV. However, in the early days of our relationship, Julie was unaware (ie didn't care one way or another) that the speckled birds and the white ones were in fact of the same species. They were both bloody nuisances, that's all that mattered.

When we were out for a walk along the seafront one day, I pointed out one bird very similar to the one pictured above, and commented that it was merely a young seagull. Julie interpreted 'young' as 'baby'.

I'll take your word for that, love.

A right dog's dinner.

Out and about with Roxy, we have discovered that the most annoying thing for us is an excitable dog, one that is not on a lead ("Oh, he's ever so well behaved, and really friendly!").

Far too many people don't realise that while their dog may* well be a friendly dog, to have it dash up to you, a young child, or a nervous dog under your control can be a fraught situation.

Fortunately, while Roxy is a little naive about the outside world (after three years in a rescue centre, she's bound to be out of touch), she is also generally very friendly and very placid. However, since idiots abound, we are obliged to walk her in public with a muzzle.

Taking our new friend out for her evening walk one day, the three of us encountered wave after wave of hyperactive, noisy dogs, none of which could have been larger than a bowling ball. All of which apparently oscillated between 'happy-yappy' and 'Come on! I'll f***in' have ye!' with not a lot of changeover time.

Understandably, Roxy was more than a little unsettled by it all and tended to cling to us more than the most insecure of shower curtains. Most of the time. Finally driven to snapping point (literally), Roxy lunged for a very noisy toupee, only to be brought short by us; we'd been ready for this.

I was about to say something fairly regrettable, when Julie, having sensed my mood as well as Roxy's, beat me to it.

Win.

An uncertain end

Way back when, before we had a dog, we were out having a stroll. Just a stroll, no real destination (although if we happened to pass a cafe, well...). The weather was dry, but not particularly warm - it was just one of those unremarkable days, if you know what I mean.

After some time, I became aware of a sound which was jogging a memory. In fact, I quickly realised, it was really two different sounds, that of an ice cream van and a police car. Me being me, there was an instant musical connection made in my unconscious mind which had me humming a tune...

Julie got into the theme, and we began talking about all things KLF; Timelords, burning money, dead sheep... the normal kind of thing - for the KLF, that is. We also talked about the eighties vogue for bringing classic singers from different genres into contemporary pop tunes - Sandie Shaw (The Smiths),Petula Clark (Pet Shop Boys) and Tammy Wynette as you can see in the video above.

And then Julie asked me a question.

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.

The Tea Room Trilogy part 2: Dogged by innuendo.

So there we were in Duddleswell Tea Rooms, on their last day of opening for the year. Looking at the menu, I was reminded and again gratified to see a wide variety of teas - including my favourite, Lapsang Suchong. Unfortunately, they didn't have any soy milk, so I had to opt for either a green tea or a herbal infusion... Hm... gunpowder green tea, methinks...

Julie is a lot less fussy when it comes to tea; tea, milk & sugar, and that's it. Just tea. No fancy stuff. Especially no smelly ones.

Another thing the tea rooms are good for are their cakes. There was some massive meringue concoction in the chiller cabinet, which looked very inviting, but we decided to be sensible and go for a scone.
OK, Julie was sensible.
I had a slice of cherry, apricot & almond tart with a small jug of pouring cream. Very nice.

Unfortunately, tea has a side-effect; it's a diuretic - it makes you pee more. No sooner had the last sip been taken than Julie was off to the loo, leaving me to eye up the cakes - and the waitresses, of whom more on Friday.

When Julie returned, she sat down with a happy sigh and a little smile. I laughed, and asked her:

Yes, we were heading on to Last Chance Animal Rescue afterwards, but the schoolboy in me just went straight for the 'dogging' joke.

The Tea Room Trilogy, part 1: The short arm of the wotnot

I love it when a single day out results in a plethora of Gems. Even better - and rarer - is when I can cull a week's worth of Gems from about an hour's time in a tea room.

Visit http://www.duddleswelltearooms.co.uk/ for more information.

Duddleswell Tea Rooms are in Ashdown Forest, Kent (UK). You need to be concentrating on your surroundings though, as it is the epitome of 'blink and you'll miss it'. We were lucky; today was their last day of opening before closing for the winter period. It's a very friendly place, and the food is home cooked and locally sourced. They don't do soy milk, though, so you will need to take your own. The tea rooms are very pet-friendly, and will bring out a saucer with a couple of doggy treats should you decide to stop for a cuppa while out on 'walkies'.

We decided to stop for a drink on our way to Last Chance Animal Rescue to discuss fostering a dog. It was relatively quiet; the staff nearly outnumbered the customers. After sitting at a table by the window, we ordered our drinks - gunpowder green tea for me, as I forgot the 'no-soy' thing.

Chatting away, I became aware that Julie was having a problem with the table. She was trying to lean her elbows on the top so she could have her cup held by her mouth. Unfortunately, every time Julie moved slightly, one elbow or the other would slip off the edge of the circular table.

Uh. If you insist, love.

If you are in the area and fancy dropping in for a drink and a bit of cake (after they reopen), you can search for it on Google maps. Here's a little bit of map for you to get started...

Cartography or Anatomy?

I love place names, and how you can almost read a history of the place within that name, if you know a little about words and older languages. Of course, many places in Britain have certain endings, such as '-ham', '-ton', or '-bourne'. The first of these two indicate a township, and the last the location of the settlement, a small river. Other place names refer to specific landmarks (such as windmills), events (Battle, for example), or even people (Birmingham originates from 'Beorma's hamlet'. Which still doesn't explain why the residents are known as 'Brummies').

I'm at a loss, though, to explain the name of the Oxfordshire town of Kingston Bagpuize. Oh, I've no doubt it's easily found out, but I think I would rather not, unless guaranteed it was not to be mundane (and yes, I am aware 'Kingston' is easily divined).

With that in mind, let us return to our little day out last Saturday for this week's final Gem.

Driving home, I am pleased to say that the weather was not nearly as bad as it had been. Wet and dark is not a good combination.* This meant that we were better able to enjoy our surroundings and take in details - such as this road sign.

Obviously, to me and Julie, this was easy entertainment, what with our propensity for wordplay - or mangling, as the case may be.

For the record, and I did say this to Julie after I managed to stop laughing, my first thought had been to change the second word to 'Borstal'.

As a little extra, here's a picture of a pub in Painters Forstal.

The Alma in Painters Forstal

I came across this while I was researching the place and found this picture quite amusing. I don't know if it's just me, but it looks like the builders of the pub got carried away and suddenly found they had crossed the kerb and were on the road... It's just me, isn't it... Oh well. See you next week!


* Stop giggling.

Fancy a stiff one?

Last weekend, me and Julie visited Sissinghurst Castle.

OK, if you want to be precise, we didn't go inside - that costs money, since we're not members of The National Trust. The main reason we visited were the grounds (free!) and the fact there was a craft fair taking place that day.

It's also apparently a good place to take your dogs for a walk around the lakes. As you can imagine, I was completely fine with this idea, as it meant I could make a fuss of a steady stream of gorgeous canines. My favourites were a black Labrador and a Jack Russell terrier, both part of the same family. The terrier was living up to its reputation though and was leading his companion astray by taking him off to hunt for rabbits for hours.

But I digress.

The day before, Julie and myself had engaged in  some gardening. Unfortunately, neither of us are in peak condition, so all the bending down, kneeling and stretching left us feeling somewhat less than flexible. It wasn't too bad on that evening, but when we got up to have our day out, our backs and legs were definitely showing signs of displeasure.

Nevertheless, the got a picnic together and folded our frames into the car and headed off.

Everything was fine and dandy for the journey there. It was only when we reached the castle and parked up that our problems began. Specifically, trying to get out of the car when our legs were protesting. Julie put it well, but a little confusingly:

Well, that told me.