Waking Ned

This is the old railway line, decommissioned in the 1960's, thanks to Dr Beeching.  A local farmer owns this stretch of it, dog walkers use it.

I used to walk along there four times a day.   That was when we first came to live in Parsonage Cottage.  We had three dogs.   Pip, Toby, and Ned.

This is Ned, he was a very large dog.   He belonged to my daughter and son-in-law, but as they were at work all day it fell to me to look after him.   Somehow that looking after him also meant that we fed him and he slept here, too...    He was a rescue dog, of course.    

He was deaf and hadn't had suitable training.   His deafness made life quite difficult for him.   Eventually I managed to teach him some hand signals, simple commands, which made life a little easier, although he still got very easily startled by things 'suddenly happening'.    He was a heavy sleeper and had to be gently woken.  That pesky deafness.

On one occasion we had to put all the dogs in kennels as we had to attend a family funeral at the other end of the country.   I had explained to them about his deafness and special needs, was assured that they would handle him carefully.  When we picked him up the young girl who fetched him delighted in telling me how she'd spooked him when she took him his breakfast and again later in the day.     He was never put into kennels again.  

He'd just follow his 'pack' - and given that they were led by Pip, a very intelligent and manipulative terrier, you can probably imagine that it was bedlam at times.

Pip was a little older and extremely bright.  She got me turned out of a dog class once, so that the trainer could show how well trained and intelligent she was.  She was the bright star of the class, as long as I wasn't with her.

I learned my lesson.   

We didn't return to class.

The third member of the pack was my little Toby.  Sweetest dog ever, though he thought he was a love machine when we first got him from the rescue kennels.   He was a kind-natured dog, loved travelling, wanted only to be with his humans.

Walks were - interesting.   

I found out the hard way, that I simply wasn't strong enough to hold all three on their leads when Pip got some mischief in her head.   

On one memorable occasion I had let them run free at a wild and deserted bit of seaside and then clipped their leads on to walk down the side of a quiet canal on the way back to the car.   I always chose my time carefully, normally we didn't meet anyone, but I was constantly scanning the horizon.

So was Pip.

She saw someone in the distance with a Yorkshire Terrier and set up such a hullabaloo, setting the two boys off.  She began to run towards her bit of mischief, so did the others.   I managed to hang on to the leads but lost my footing and was dragged along behind them.

Try picking yourself up with dignity after that!

The only consolation was that I hadn't let go of the leads.  I still had three dogs and we were quite a lot nearer the car.   I swear Pip laughed all the way home.

Then we moved to Parsonage Cottage.  Walks changed.  No need to bundle all the dogs into the car to find somewhere quiet to walk.  We are surrounded by quiet walks.

Just one problem.  To get to the nearest one, the old railway line, I have to walk about a hundred yards down a quiet lane.   Walking the three dogs together was simply not an option, even down a quiet lane.   

So I had to split them into two.  First I would walk Pip with Toby, that pairing worked because Toby was much slighter and more obedient.  

Then I would walk big Ned with Toby.  That pairing worked because Ned would follow Toby's lead and Toby wasn't being led astray by Pip.

Twice a day we'd perform this ritual, the rest of the time the dogs made do with our gardens and woodland.    Toby and I got very fit with all our walks.

That bit of old railway line became very familiar to me.

This week, I walked it with my daughter-in-law, Poppy.   It was fascinating to see it through her fresh eyes and to hear her enthusing over all the things which I used to find so exciting.

The acorns, berries, fungi, animal burrows, the birds.

It was truly wonderful.  She transformed something which has become so ordinary back into something magical and exciting.  I am very grateful to her.

(Dobson enjoyed her company, too.  Dobson is a single dog.  I know my limitations.)

We found a couple of ancient puffball mushrooms, it is difficult to tell from this snap but it is the size of a football.

We collected some acorns, simply because they are so pretty and plenty of blackberries.

Sloe gin to the left, Bramble/Blackberry Vodka to the right.  

This week has also seen our granddaughter start school, suddenly he brother seems so much older.    Now we have two for tea and fun.

Dobson loves his job as chief floor cleaner.   

This, that and the other.

As we parked at the top of the hill,  next to the castle and the cathedral, the clock began striking the hour, loud and sonorous.

It was cold, but bright and dry, perfect for walking down Steep Hill and into the High Street.   A short walk along the canal and then cut along the side of the High Bridge.
It's the oldest bridge in UK which still has buildings on it.  It was built around 1160 AD.
This photograph shows the back of the building.

We were heading out for a quick look at the marina.

It was good to see that narrowboats are also moored here, so perhaps The Writer may be able to bring his narrowboat across the country and moor here one day soon.    This would be a lovely place to meet up and perhaps go for a jolly jaunt along the canal.

Max disappeared to a bookshop/coffee shop, a good place to rest quietly while I got down to a little light shopping.

I was in M&S with an armful of items which I wanted to try on, when a fellow customer asked me whether I had a voucher... she gave me a 20% discount voucher which can be used multiple times over the next few days, it can even be handed on to friends and family for them to take advantage of the discount!

I was very chuffed indeed.    I still stuck to buying the two jumpers which were on my list, great to find that I got them discounted by so much though.   So kind of her.

We had lunch out - it was pleasant, but that is about the best I can say.  The food was very average, the coffee was tepid and the service was poor.    Oh, well, can't win them all.  We took a steady walk back up Steep Hill (which is VERY steep, by the way, a one in seven gradient for one section) and for once we didn't take any breaks for a breather.

Dobson and the cats had been well looked-after by Hector and Merry, they'd played so much 'fetch' with him that eventually he picked up the ball and asked to be let back into the house!

*     *     *

This afternoon we hosted a little tea party.   Max and I have been married 40 years this month.   He's not in the best of health at the moment, so a holiday is not really on the cards.  Still, we wanted to celebrate so we invited Alice, Richard, their children, plus The Writer to afternoon tea.

When we said the children could eat the food in any order they liked, their faces were wreathed in big grins.

There were smoked salmon sandwiches, cucumber sandwiches and ham sandwiches for the carnivores, along with a bacon and egg flan, like Grandma used to make, and lots of very naughty cakes.   The custard slice was mine - I just love that combination of custard and pastry.

Tomorrow is definitely a day for light food and lots of exercise!

These two little tykes ate heartily, so did the rest of us.     It was fascinating to see how,  given the freedom to pick and choose, the children ate lots of the raw vegetables as well as sandwiches, cakes, etc.  

Then we all got stuck into a game of charades.   Little Merry had a very sketchy understanding of what was required but that made it all the more fun.

She had us in stitches over her interpretation of Jungle Book.    She pretended to be Balloo the Bear and scratched her back on the table leg...         She followed it up with a repeat performance,  but got very cross when we suggested that she was miming Balloo, she insisted that this time it was Bagheera scratching his back ...of course!

We all had a wonderful time.

Perhaps we can have something of a re-run when you two come back home?
xxx

How many inches in a Narrowboat?

My younger brother, The Writer,  has just bought himself a narrowboat - a very handsome one.   He plans to live and work from this vessel.   I haven't seen it yet because it is berthed on the other side of the country in Cheshire, just a couple of miles down the road from our older brother!

I had the pleasure of looking after Hector yesterday, he'd been sick in the night and although his schoolteacher parents are generally pretty strict about sending him in, they decided that he wasn't quite well enough for school.

He was wan and pale, but a walk in the clean cold air, with Dobson, soon had roses in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes.

He had a lovely breakfast of eggybreads made using eggs laid by his favourite hen,  King Oliver, (formerly known as Shaggy) and a glass of milk.    He was refreshed and energised and could really have been in school - but I'm not complaining, I had the pleasure of his company all day.

We fell to talking about The Writer's boat, particularly how long it is.    Fifty-seven feet four inches from stem to stern.   Difficult enough for me to visualise, never mind Hector.   Out came my trusty tape measure and a piece of chalk, and we set to work measuring it off against the length of Parsonage Cottage........which is a long house.

This simple task involved using our multiplication tables and lots of calculations as we converted feet to inches, etc.  we had to measure off 688 inches - so that was from the front rain barrel, right the way along the building, almost to where the conservatory begins... seven lengths of the tape measure.

I could nip out and take a photograph but the weather is wild, wet, windy.   This sketch will give you the idea - the boat stretches from the scented roses right the way along to near the conservatory.

Hector was very impressed, in a way which he hadn't been with just the numbers.

So we did reading, maths and lots of exercise as we later took Dobson out again down to the fishponds, you can see the Old Parsonage just through the trees.

It was chilly,  windy, dry.   We had a great time and so did the dog.

We got Dobson from the RSPCA almost three years ago.   He hasn't been an easy dog to work with and there have been times when I despaired.   However, this photograph tells me all I need to know.   See how well he is walking with Hector - confident enough to leave me behind, not pulling on the lead - and best of all, on a walk which is well out of his normal comfort zone.

Hello to my Shanghai Two xxx

Dear Poppy and Miles,

As promised, some photographs of our Christmas breakfast.    Two whirling dervish children came across the garden at 8.30am, their parents were just moments behind them.   They, and The Writer, joined us for gift opening and breakfast.   It was chaotic and fun.  Everyone got fed and everyone seemed happy with their gifts.

We had a simple, kitchen breakfast, but everyone got something they enjoyed.  Eggs in pots for Alice, while Hector and Richard opted for bacon rolls, one on granary, the other white, sauteed mushrooms and garlic on bruschetta for The Writer, while Merry opted for cereal.    Everything was washed down with orange juice, Prosecco, Bucks Fizz, or blackcurrant juice according to taste.  

Hector adored the Christmas crackers and took delight in reading out all the corny jokes, something he couldn't quite achieve last year.

The Writer took lots of photographs, so did Max.   I have hopes that most of The Writer's do not feature me because unfortunately, Max's do...sorry.

For a while everything was a blur of wrapping paper being whipped off and exclamations of delight or puzzlement.

Hector was thrilled with his Monopoly, Star Wars Edition.

While young Merry was thrilled with her dolls house furniture.  She played for a long time, ignoring everything else, lost in her own little world.

It has been a fun-filled morning.    Now everyone has gone home, the dishes have been done.  Order restored.  The rest of the day is our own.

Max and I plan to chill out, read our new books, walk the dog, have a little more Prosecco and relax.
We miss you both so much - but we'll do something fun in the summer!
Love to you,
Mum and Dad
xxx

I am Leading a Double Life and it comes so easily!

It is slightly worrying that this new persona of mine,

Felicity Parsons,

seems to be a cloak which I feel so comfortable in wearing.

Does this mean that I am a natural-born liar, a cheat, a fraudster?

Crumbs!  I hope not.

Dishonest, false and shallow people are a pet hate of mine.

I prefer people to be real, warts and all,

I cannot abide the superficial and the glib

the polished and 'perfect'.

So, why am I hiding behind Felicity

and pretending to live in a tiny village called Little Bunting

when my real name is ******

and I live in the tiny village of ******?

It all comes down to the reasons why I write a blog,

I do it because I enjoy it, a form of online diary

notes of things which are happening in my life.

I have family living far away,

who like to see the photographs

and catch up on events back home.

Ditto, friends.

All my previous blogs (and I have had a few) have been on the same lines

foolishly, I used my real name, etc.

Several years down the line,

blog scrapers came along and copied hundreds of my posts

and 

re-posted them on their own fake blogs,

for whatever purpose.

I went through a protracted process of getting many of them taken down,

but Blogger seems less than enthusiastic about helping.

Eventually,

I abandoned my old blogs, put all my posts back into draft form,

so that I can still look back on them

after all,

 they still read back to me like a diary

of my life.

I was furious with the blog scrapers, vowed never to blog again...

Time passed and I found I missed the process.

I came up with the idea of using a different name,

for everyone and everything

and that is how it goes,

it makes me feel a little protected (an illusion, of course!).

So, what happens as I get even older

and, perhaps, begin to get confused...?

Will there come a point in my life where I call my husband 'Max' instead of ******?

The grandchildren by their new names of Hector and Merry?

Even the cats, the dog, the horse have fake names...

though I did draw the line at re-naming the six hens!

People could think I am going slightly mad, whereas I would simply be using their 

bloggy monikers - is that the same thing?

Oh dear, the complications!

Right, I'm heading off to feed ******   I mean Benedict...

fliss&max/******/******

xxx