Well, hello again.
I have unable to blog for a long time, partly because I was sulking as my archives had disappeared & partly as I couldn't be bothered to read all the Blogger-spiel about how to re-format my template to find them again. A wet Sunday today has given me the perfect excuse to remain indoors long enough to have a bash at it.
Hence the new-look Blog.
Thing(s) I am happy with
1. Photos look great against black.
Things I am not happy with
1. It's a standard blogger template
2. I've lost the 'Spirit Horse' background which Murray did for me but it was either that or no archives.
3. My larger photos have been cropped now and because my attention span has been taken by the theme music for Mission:Impossible I can't be bothered to investigate re-sizing them so for now - it stays.
Any comments on font/colour/ease of readability ?
Cx
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Thursday, December 07, 2006
New Zealand 2006 (cont.)
Location : Tanner’s dining Room
Date : Thursday 7th December
Time : 1830
Eric & Milky : On the deck going through camping gear
Alice, Michelle & Harri : In the kitchen.
Alice is telling a story about baseball (I think) and an injury. Harri is silent which means she is reading. Michelle is making tea.
Friday 1st December – Arrival at Cedar Lodge
As we drove into Cedar Lodge the first thing to hit me was the delicious scent of eucalyptus from the trees. The new arrivals were pointed out to us on the driveway in the form of 3 geese & a gander (goosers in Tanner-speak). 2 of the geese were sitting on eggs. Michelle explained that she didn’t have high hopes of one clutch hatching, partly because she inadvertently electrocuted the Mummy (not as cruel as it sounds, it involved some fencing) and partly because the same Mummy seems oblivious to the fact that her eggs keep rolling down the hill, despite Michelle’s best efforts in replacing them.
For the rest of the day we had an easy day of it, unpacking, doing the farm tour, noting sites of interest and re-enacting burning stories for Milky’s benefit. When an almost unrecognisable be suited Eric returned home, we sat down to a dinner of Hugh F-W’s Oriental Pork and rice. Very tasty too.
Milky and I were doing quite well until we adjourned to the sitting room for the evening. I remember reading that The Tanners had swapped the rooms around & it works so much better like this. The squashy green sofas which were in the other room, have now been shifted to the room with windows around 2/3rds of the wall space and one can enjoy the fabulous views to the side of Cedar Lodge. Once we were ensconced in the sofas, time got blurry and in the end with Michelle’s ‘for heavens sake – you can go to sleep you know’ ringing in our ears, we transferred ourselves into ‘My Flat’ which was exactly as I recalled. Thank you Harri for cleaning the flat prior to our arrival and thank you Michelle for ‘helping’ Harri.
Saturday 2nd December – Baptism of Fire
Wide awake with a ping at 0515. Travelling to NZ always does that to me. After enjoying an early cup of tea on the deck serenaded by birdsong,
Dawn at Cedar Lodge
I hopped back into bed and listened to a talking book supplied by Michelle. These form a large part of my NZ enjoyment and The Tanners always have a copious supply. Shift work at home ensures I listen to no more than a couple of minutes per night, whereas here I can listen during that wonderful concept - a lie-in. The current one is ‘Just One look’ by Harlan Coben, an author I was unfamiliar with before coming here. It’s just getting very interesting (to me anyway) Milky is totally lost, having slept through Disc One. Every now and then he’ll say ‘Who’s this ?’ or ‘How did they know that was the suspect ?’ and I’ll have to rack my brains to answer.
During our frequent pre-holiday e-mail exchanges, Michelle had asked if Milky would be adverse to assisting with ‘doing a cow’. Contrary to what you may have envisioned, ‘doing’ is Michelle’s more genteel reference for ‘slotting’ which is Eric’s description of slaughtering a beast. Milky told me he wouldn’t mind assisting at all, which, when duly reported to Michelle produced the reply ‘I was only joking, we wouldn’t put him through that.’ Hmmm.
During the day Michelle and Eric headed off to the paddock where the sheep were binned up. Milky, Alice and I wandered down for a nosey. Eric had spotted a couple with fly-strike and wanted to get closer look. One in particular, was in a really bad way, her rear end soaked in urine (her own – I’m guessing) and ridden with maggots happily eating the flesh. If it sounds disgusting – I promise you it was. Whilst Michelle restrained the animal, Eric set to work with the clippers. The idea was to take off the most disgusting parts of the fleece, then to douse the sheep with ‘Maggo’ to deter the beasties. Unfortunately, as work progressed, it became apparent that the sheep was in no fit state for the proceedings. She was very skinny and so weak that when Michelle asked me to restrain her for a while, she simply lay down, no strength even to stand. It was decided the kindest thing was to end her suffering and so Eric was despatched for the knife. In deference, I suspect to his guests, he also brought back the rifle. I’m guessing he thought the gun would be a less distressing conclusion, not for the sheep, who was beyond caring, but for us townies.
With the minimum of fuss, the deed was done and I am happy to report neither of us disgraced ourselves with screaming, crying or fainting fits.
‘Poor Milky’ remarked Michelle, as we began up the drive ‘that was a bit of a baptism of fire.’
In the evening our choice was ‘Footrot Flats’ at the local theatre in Putaruru or Harri’s pizza and a slouchy evening. Michelle thought we should go to the theatre & she was right – seeing Footrot Flats would have been classic Kiwiana. However in the end, sloth won out and a doing nothing evening it was. Whilst Milky dozed, Eric, Michelle and I caught up with a very long talk about The Archers. Michelle gets the Archers e-mailed to her but is something like 350 episodes out of date at the minute. It was lovely to sit and swap news and ‘ooh did she reallys ?’ about the only soap I care about.
We toddled off to bed with a promise of a trip to The Mount the following day.
Sun 3rd December – The Mount, Papamoa, Fish & Chips
Ping. 0520 – slightly better.
Spent the day at Mount Maunganui,
walked around the base of The Mount,
'Onwards - what do you mean your backpack's heavy ?'
finishing with a ‘nice-cream’ on the beach, a game of eye-spy (the rules of which some people are prone to bending)
'...something beginning with ...'
and then headed for a lovely long soak in the Hot Pools. Once we had gathered our belongings and played ‘Who had the reddest face ?’ (I won easily) we headed off for a game of boules and delicious fish and chips on the beach at Papamoa. It was allegedly Cardinal fish, to be quite honest I wouldn’t have known otherwise if you’d told me it was haddock. Those long time Tattlers amongst you will know The Tanners’ first meal in New Zealand was fish and chips in Papamoa whilst contemplating the sunset. On the exact date of the anniversary it rained heavily and we felt very privileged to take part in their slightly belated anniversary dinner.
Our journey home was broken by a flying visit to the Scott-Mackie’s in Tauranga. After coffee, chat and gooey cakes, courtesy of Hannah, we trundled over the Kaimais in the dark. I set up the talking book to listen to as I fell asleep and didn’t hear a single word.
Mon 4th December – Carry On Camping (supplies)
Ping. 0610 – a big improvement.
Headed to Matamata to buy camping supplies in The Warehouse. Caught, looking guilty by Michelle, who said ‘No. Stop. Put those back.’ when she caught sight of the pair of self-inflating mattresses she had seen us planning to buy. She went onto explain that they had a double lilo, an accompanying footpump and that we didn’t need half the items we had chosen. Oh well.
In the evening Eric did us proud with barbecued ‘every type of meat’ to go with the home grown veg picked and prepared by Michelle. We had silver beet, broad beans, broccoli, potatoes all from the veg plot. I’m getting fatter by the day.
Tue 5th December – Rust gains a fan
Ping. 0615 (almost a lie-in)
Today is remarkable if only for the lack of things achieved. We collected Harri from her skive-day at college then took Rust to the vets.
Guard dog.
Rust is the Tanners boisterous and very friendly chocolate Labrador. Since our arrival he has had a poorly front left paw & holds it up routinely for examination and sympathy. It wasn’t improving after rest and so Michelle booked an appointment for him, warning us that he may not be a particularly good patient. If he’s not supposed to be socialised then no-one told Rust. He’s a powerfully-built dog so Milky was put on lead-duty. Once freed from the back of the car, Rust dragged Milky into the vets whereupon he set about trying to sniff all the displays (Rust that is, not Milky)
Each new person was greeted with a happily wagging tail and a sniff and a lick. He was the total opposite of Barley who sits shaking pathetically and producing copious, sweaty paw-prints on the floor. The only time her demeanour changes is when the door opens and then she makes a desperate, choking lunge for it. All rather embarrassing and overly dramatic.
By contrast, Rust awaited his appointment with calm decorum and was the model of co-operation once in the consultation room itself. The only slightly manic behaviour displayed was his determination to gain access to the surgery itself. Pushing his nose against the swing door he spied a large, unconscious Huntaway undergoing surgery on the table. Eric’s theory is Rust loves any kind of human attention and seeing at least 3 people simultaneously touching this dog, Rust assumed whatever the procedure, it must be worth it.
Nigel quickly diagnosed a nailbed infection, dispensed some antibiotics and wished us a good holiday. What did impress me was that he didn’t give Rust any more treatment than he needed. A vet in England would have given, as a matter of course, an anti-inflammatory injection ‘to get to work straightaway’ on the infection. Naturally, the bill would have reflected this. If that sounds harsh, I’m speaking from experience, I used to be a vet nurse until I had to earn grown up money.
We both agreed that Rust had been a pleasure to take to the vets and I think I saw the beginnings of a mutual appreciation society between Milky & Rust. When I commented as such to Eric he said ‘Oh yes, Rust likes anyone’ I don’t think he meant it to come out like that but then again, maybe he did ?
'Rust likes anyone but Inca's a gun dog.' - c.Eric Tanner
Wednesday 6th December – Hamilton, Hire Car, The Stokes and The Scotts
Ping. 0700. Almost back to normal.
Go to Hamilton to collect hire car which we have until our last day. We have plumped for Waikato Car Rental for 3 reasons 1) They were recommended by friends of Michelle 2) They’re local, we could collect from Hamilton and drop off at Auckland airport and 3) All the big companies didn’t have any station wagons (estates) left. Remembering how fantastic Bill’s station wagon was during my last camping trip I had hoped we could get one this time. Our white Mazda 626 ain’t pretty, but she’s big and she’s comfy.
On the way into Hamilton we stopped in to see the Stokes’, or at least Kevin and Juliet (the girls were at school). We had a lovely, long, tea and muffin break in their sunny garden whilst catching up on news and admiring their new (to me) chocolate Labrador ‘Coco’. She makes 3 now, in addition to Bella (yellow) & Jazz (black) – so they have the full set. Juliet is expecting another addition to the family ; a human, rather than canine one, so whilst she and Michelle caught up on the wonders of scans on dvd’s these days, Kevin recommended ‘Things To See And Do’ and enabled us to do some of these a little easier – thank you Kevin. See you all Boxing Day (as long as Milky’s not in traction)
After a lamb-shank supper, we made for the Scotts ; nearby dairy farmers, a lovely family and good friends of the Tanners. If Robyn comes to see us, it means we don’t see Richard (or vice versa as one or other must do the milking) so armed with the remnants of the previous night’s overly large rhubarb crumble we descended on their happy household. Both girls, Sarah and Catherine were there and we were introduced to the menagerie which includes, as well as Millie the pony, Faith the fox terrier, Bonnie the golden Labrador, Speedy the pale ginger cat, Charlie the rich ginger cat (purrs like a motorbike) and Bella the tabby cat. I could live in a house like that.
The growed-ups chatted around the lovely, big kitchen table whilst the kids got into their swimming togs and ran shrieking around and around the pool. Occasionally they even got in. Faith also ran barking round and round the pool to add to the melee. It’s a measure of how cool the evening was that Milky witnessing all the kids in swimming gear asked ‘They’re not going swimming are they ?’ I must be more tolerant over here, that level of noise would have driven me to distraction in the UK, over here last night, engrossed in catching up with Richard & Robyn, I barely noticed it.
I don’t know how public it is yet and I would hate to jinx things, so I’ll just say to the Scotts, you won’t get rid of The Tanners that easily. Hope to see you again before we go.
Thursday 7th December - Which brings us up to date … ‘You can’t say that’
No ping. 0800. Normal service is resumed.
The big news here is that a couple of days ago the goosers produced a baby. (Michelle has pictures, my memory card packed up at the crucial moment) From 2 clutches of approximately 10 eggs, just one solitary gosling has hatched. There may be more to come, but given the amount of interest displayed in this one gosling by the adults, somehow I doubt it. This baby has baby-sitters to spare. It’s every footstep is overseen by 3 geese and one gander. With many a honk and a reassuring stoop to touch beaks, the 5 of them progress in stately fashion like a winged litter.
This afternoon, as we arrived home, the little family weren’t in their customary position on the driveway. With heavy hearts, we looked around, expecting the gosling to have gone and the adults to be searching for it. It wasn’t until I was taking in washing from a high vantage point, some 20 minutes later, that I heard a faint honking on the breeze. Looking down and over the paddocks which look towards the Hinuera stones, I caught sight of a familiar five-some trooping through the long grass. Calling Milky, who was naturally accompanied by Rust, the 3 of us perched in the sun, on the hilltop, watching the odd little family below. The gosling could barely be seen over the grass and so all that was visible was oddly self-parting grass, reminiscent of Michael Bentine’s Potty Men. (Ask your Mum if you don’t remember)
With the excuse of watching the baby, we spent a very happy 20 minutes time-wasting and commenting on how lovely Cedar Lodge and the environs are.
My other news is that today I saw my filly ‘You Can’t Say That’ race at Matamata.
My baby - all growed up.
When I said I was going to watch ‘my filly’ race, Michelle asked me what her name was. ‘You Can’t Say That’ was my reply. ‘Say what ?’ she said ‘I haven’t even said anything.’ Those of you with exceptionally good memories will recall that I prepared a filly called ‘What Can I Say’ for the sales when I worked at Trelawney during 2003-2004. Those of you with even better memories will recall that young racehorses are known by their dam’s name until they are given their own race name. ‘What Can I Say’ or ‘Watties’ as she was known, was by no means the easiest of my charges, but like most people in life, it’s the slightly difficult ones who grow on you isn’t it ?
I will confess to sobbing when I had to say goodbye to Watties in April 2004 after she had been sold. I wished her good luck, told her to always try her best and that I would try to see her again someday. In the meantime I have stayed in touch with someone from the NZ Bloodstock Agency. He has kindly kept me up to date with how my ex-babies have been doing and when I said I was coming to NZ in December he promised to keep me posted with any upcoming meetings.
With something like fate, I received an e-mail on the 4th informing me that my favourite filly was to be racing in Matamata (15 min drive away) today.
I cannot tell you how my heart was pounding as we arrived. I know it sounds ridiculous but she hadn’t done too well in her previous races and I was worried at how I would find her. I almost thought it was better to remember her as a baby than to see her as a failed racehorse.
I cast around in the stalls prior to her race, hoping for a glimpse. I didn’t for one minute expect to be allowed anywhere near her before the race, but this being NZ, not only did I find her, but was able to have a chat with her trainer Ross Elliot and the lady who exercises her. In true Kiwi fashion, they were open and unreserved and told me lots of stories about her. It would appear she hasn’t changed much is still ‘difficult to do’ and ‘does things only when she’s ready to’. As I looked at her before the race it was slightly unnerving, she had the shakes and looked unhappy and tense. I went to the paddock wondering how she would acquit herself but put 10 dollars on her each way as a mark of faith and for old times’ sake.
I wouldn’t have wanted to be the girl who had to lead her around the paddock,
Ever seen a more beautiful backdrop to a racecourse ?
she was up on her toes, anxious and flighty. On the plus side, out of the stall and without her covers I got a better look and saw a horse, who though small was good-looking and had hard muscle in all the right places.
I also noticed that as soon as her jockey (gutsy girl) was on board, they wasted no time in leaving the paddock and heading out onto the track which was a sure sign that hanging around would only have exacerbated things.
I dragged Milky as close to the track as we could physically get, some 100 metres before the finish line and feeling as nervous as I’ve felt in a long time. The race was run over a mile and it was some time before the horses came into view. I was desperately scanning the field (15) for her jockey’s blue & red colours as the commentator hadn’t mentioned her for most of the race. Immediately prior to the finish I became aware of a flash of red and blue excruciatingly close to the front. As the first 3 sped over the line she was placed 3rd and I promptly blubbed all over Milky.
Heading back to the washing-off area, I saw a totally different horse. She was happy and relaxed, messing about with her water bucket and generally being made much of. It made my day. I thanked the trainer, asked if I could stay in touch and bid my farewells, much happier leaving than I was arriving.
There – that covers all ‘the stuff’ and we head off camping for 2 weeks tomorrow.
I’m aware that I haven’t done much touchy-feely stuff but that’s because I just wanted to record the ‘doing’. The ‘thinking’ will be recorded elsewhere, later on. The Tanners have, very kindly offered me a laptop so hopefully, if I can get to a power-point, I can at least record if not publish, on a daily basis.
It’s been good to write again, stay safe, wherever you are, photos to come, in the morning, after some sleep, but for now, time for bed.
Cx
Location : Tanner’s dining Room
Date : Thursday 7th December
Time : 1830
Eric & Milky : On the deck going through camping gear
Alice, Michelle & Harri : In the kitchen.
Alice is telling a story about baseball (I think) and an injury. Harri is silent which means she is reading. Michelle is making tea.
Friday 1st December – Arrival at Cedar Lodge
As we drove into Cedar Lodge the first thing to hit me was the delicious scent of eucalyptus from the trees. The new arrivals were pointed out to us on the driveway in the form of 3 geese & a gander (goosers in Tanner-speak). 2 of the geese were sitting on eggs. Michelle explained that she didn’t have high hopes of one clutch hatching, partly because she inadvertently electrocuted the Mummy (not as cruel as it sounds, it involved some fencing) and partly because the same Mummy seems oblivious to the fact that her eggs keep rolling down the hill, despite Michelle’s best efforts in replacing them.
For the rest of the day we had an easy day of it, unpacking, doing the farm tour, noting sites of interest and re-enacting burning stories for Milky’s benefit. When an almost unrecognisable be suited Eric returned home, we sat down to a dinner of Hugh F-W’s Oriental Pork and rice. Very tasty too.
Milky and I were doing quite well until we adjourned to the sitting room for the evening. I remember reading that The Tanners had swapped the rooms around & it works so much better like this. The squashy green sofas which were in the other room, have now been shifted to the room with windows around 2/3rds of the wall space and one can enjoy the fabulous views to the side of Cedar Lodge. Once we were ensconced in the sofas, time got blurry and in the end with Michelle’s ‘for heavens sake – you can go to sleep you know’ ringing in our ears, we transferred ourselves into ‘My Flat’ which was exactly as I recalled. Thank you Harri for cleaning the flat prior to our arrival and thank you Michelle for ‘helping’ Harri.
Saturday 2nd December – Baptism of Fire
Wide awake with a ping at 0515. Travelling to NZ always does that to me. After enjoying an early cup of tea on the deck serenaded by birdsong,
Dawn at Cedar Lodge
I hopped back into bed and listened to a talking book supplied by Michelle. These form a large part of my NZ enjoyment and The Tanners always have a copious supply. Shift work at home ensures I listen to no more than a couple of minutes per night, whereas here I can listen during that wonderful concept - a lie-in. The current one is ‘Just One look’ by Harlan Coben, an author I was unfamiliar with before coming here. It’s just getting very interesting (to me anyway) Milky is totally lost, having slept through Disc One. Every now and then he’ll say ‘Who’s this ?’ or ‘How did they know that was the suspect ?’ and I’ll have to rack my brains to answer.
During our frequent pre-holiday e-mail exchanges, Michelle had asked if Milky would be adverse to assisting with ‘doing a cow’. Contrary to what you may have envisioned, ‘doing’ is Michelle’s more genteel reference for ‘slotting’ which is Eric’s description of slaughtering a beast. Milky told me he wouldn’t mind assisting at all, which, when duly reported to Michelle produced the reply ‘I was only joking, we wouldn’t put him through that.’ Hmmm.
During the day Michelle and Eric headed off to the paddock where the sheep were binned up. Milky, Alice and I wandered down for a nosey. Eric had spotted a couple with fly-strike and wanted to get closer look. One in particular, was in a really bad way, her rear end soaked in urine (her own – I’m guessing) and ridden with maggots happily eating the flesh. If it sounds disgusting – I promise you it was. Whilst Michelle restrained the animal, Eric set to work with the clippers. The idea was to take off the most disgusting parts of the fleece, then to douse the sheep with ‘Maggo’ to deter the beasties. Unfortunately, as work progressed, it became apparent that the sheep was in no fit state for the proceedings. She was very skinny and so weak that when Michelle asked me to restrain her for a while, she simply lay down, no strength even to stand. It was decided the kindest thing was to end her suffering and so Eric was despatched for the knife. In deference, I suspect to his guests, he also brought back the rifle. I’m guessing he thought the gun would be a less distressing conclusion, not for the sheep, who was beyond caring, but for us townies.
With the minimum of fuss, the deed was done and I am happy to report neither of us disgraced ourselves with screaming, crying or fainting fits.
‘Poor Milky’ remarked Michelle, as we began up the drive ‘that was a bit of a baptism of fire.’
In the evening our choice was ‘Footrot Flats’ at the local theatre in Putaruru or Harri’s pizza and a slouchy evening. Michelle thought we should go to the theatre & she was right – seeing Footrot Flats would have been classic Kiwiana. However in the end, sloth won out and a doing nothing evening it was. Whilst Milky dozed, Eric, Michelle and I caught up with a very long talk about The Archers. Michelle gets the Archers e-mailed to her but is something like 350 episodes out of date at the minute. It was lovely to sit and swap news and ‘ooh did she reallys ?’ about the only soap I care about.
We toddled off to bed with a promise of a trip to The Mount the following day.
Sun 3rd December – The Mount, Papamoa, Fish & Chips
Ping. 0520 – slightly better.
Spent the day at Mount Maunganui,
walked around the base of The Mount,
'Onwards - what do you mean your backpack's heavy ?'
finishing with a ‘nice-cream’ on the beach, a game of eye-spy (the rules of which some people are prone to bending)
'...something beginning with ...'
and then headed for a lovely long soak in the Hot Pools. Once we had gathered our belongings and played ‘Who had the reddest face ?’ (I won easily) we headed off for a game of boules and delicious fish and chips on the beach at Papamoa. It was allegedly Cardinal fish, to be quite honest I wouldn’t have known otherwise if you’d told me it was haddock. Those long time Tattlers amongst you will know The Tanners’ first meal in New Zealand was fish and chips in Papamoa whilst contemplating the sunset. On the exact date of the anniversary it rained heavily and we felt very privileged to take part in their slightly belated anniversary dinner.
Our journey home was broken by a flying visit to the Scott-Mackie’s in Tauranga. After coffee, chat and gooey cakes, courtesy of Hannah, we trundled over the Kaimais in the dark. I set up the talking book to listen to as I fell asleep and didn’t hear a single word.
Mon 4th December – Carry On Camping (supplies)
Ping. 0610 – a big improvement.
Headed to Matamata to buy camping supplies in The Warehouse. Caught, looking guilty by Michelle, who said ‘No. Stop. Put those back.’ when she caught sight of the pair of self-inflating mattresses she had seen us planning to buy. She went onto explain that they had a double lilo, an accompanying footpump and that we didn’t need half the items we had chosen. Oh well.
In the evening Eric did us proud with barbecued ‘every type of meat’ to go with the home grown veg picked and prepared by Michelle. We had silver beet, broad beans, broccoli, potatoes all from the veg plot. I’m getting fatter by the day.
Tue 5th December – Rust gains a fan
Ping. 0615 (almost a lie-in)
Today is remarkable if only for the lack of things achieved. We collected Harri from her skive-day at college then took Rust to the vets.
Guard dog.
Rust is the Tanners boisterous and very friendly chocolate Labrador. Since our arrival he has had a poorly front left paw & holds it up routinely for examination and sympathy. It wasn’t improving after rest and so Michelle booked an appointment for him, warning us that he may not be a particularly good patient. If he’s not supposed to be socialised then no-one told Rust. He’s a powerfully-built dog so Milky was put on lead-duty. Once freed from the back of the car, Rust dragged Milky into the vets whereupon he set about trying to sniff all the displays (Rust that is, not Milky)
Each new person was greeted with a happily wagging tail and a sniff and a lick. He was the total opposite of Barley who sits shaking pathetically and producing copious, sweaty paw-prints on the floor. The only time her demeanour changes is when the door opens and then she makes a desperate, choking lunge for it. All rather embarrassing and overly dramatic.
By contrast, Rust awaited his appointment with calm decorum and was the model of co-operation once in the consultation room itself. The only slightly manic behaviour displayed was his determination to gain access to the surgery itself. Pushing his nose against the swing door he spied a large, unconscious Huntaway undergoing surgery on the table. Eric’s theory is Rust loves any kind of human attention and seeing at least 3 people simultaneously touching this dog, Rust assumed whatever the procedure, it must be worth it.
Nigel quickly diagnosed a nailbed infection, dispensed some antibiotics and wished us a good holiday. What did impress me was that he didn’t give Rust any more treatment than he needed. A vet in England would have given, as a matter of course, an anti-inflammatory injection ‘to get to work straightaway’ on the infection. Naturally, the bill would have reflected this. If that sounds harsh, I’m speaking from experience, I used to be a vet nurse until I had to earn grown up money.
We both agreed that Rust had been a pleasure to take to the vets and I think I saw the beginnings of a mutual appreciation society between Milky & Rust. When I commented as such to Eric he said ‘Oh yes, Rust likes anyone’ I don’t think he meant it to come out like that but then again, maybe he did ?
'Rust likes anyone but Inca's a gun dog.' - c.Eric Tanner
Wednesday 6th December – Hamilton, Hire Car, The Stokes and The Scotts
Ping. 0700. Almost back to normal.
Go to Hamilton to collect hire car which we have until our last day. We have plumped for Waikato Car Rental for 3 reasons 1) They were recommended by friends of Michelle 2) They’re local, we could collect from Hamilton and drop off at Auckland airport and 3) All the big companies didn’t have any station wagons (estates) left. Remembering how fantastic Bill’s station wagon was during my last camping trip I had hoped we could get one this time. Our white Mazda 626 ain’t pretty, but she’s big and she’s comfy.
On the way into Hamilton we stopped in to see the Stokes’, or at least Kevin and Juliet (the girls were at school). We had a lovely, long, tea and muffin break in their sunny garden whilst catching up on news and admiring their new (to me) chocolate Labrador ‘Coco’. She makes 3 now, in addition to Bella (yellow) & Jazz (black) – so they have the full set. Juliet is expecting another addition to the family ; a human, rather than canine one, so whilst she and Michelle caught up on the wonders of scans on dvd’s these days, Kevin recommended ‘Things To See And Do’ and enabled us to do some of these a little easier – thank you Kevin. See you all Boxing Day (as long as Milky’s not in traction)
After a lamb-shank supper, we made for the Scotts ; nearby dairy farmers, a lovely family and good friends of the Tanners. If Robyn comes to see us, it means we don’t see Richard (or vice versa as one or other must do the milking) so armed with the remnants of the previous night’s overly large rhubarb crumble we descended on their happy household. Both girls, Sarah and Catherine were there and we were introduced to the menagerie which includes, as well as Millie the pony, Faith the fox terrier, Bonnie the golden Labrador, Speedy the pale ginger cat, Charlie the rich ginger cat (purrs like a motorbike) and Bella the tabby cat. I could live in a house like that.
The growed-ups chatted around the lovely, big kitchen table whilst the kids got into their swimming togs and ran shrieking around and around the pool. Occasionally they even got in. Faith also ran barking round and round the pool to add to the melee. It’s a measure of how cool the evening was that Milky witnessing all the kids in swimming gear asked ‘They’re not going swimming are they ?’ I must be more tolerant over here, that level of noise would have driven me to distraction in the UK, over here last night, engrossed in catching up with Richard & Robyn, I barely noticed it.
I don’t know how public it is yet and I would hate to jinx things, so I’ll just say to the Scotts, you won’t get rid of The Tanners that easily. Hope to see you again before we go.
Thursday 7th December - Which brings us up to date … ‘You can’t say that’
No ping. 0800. Normal service is resumed.
The big news here is that a couple of days ago the goosers produced a baby. (Michelle has pictures, my memory card packed up at the crucial moment) From 2 clutches of approximately 10 eggs, just one solitary gosling has hatched. There may be more to come, but given the amount of interest displayed in this one gosling by the adults, somehow I doubt it. This baby has baby-sitters to spare. It’s every footstep is overseen by 3 geese and one gander. With many a honk and a reassuring stoop to touch beaks, the 5 of them progress in stately fashion like a winged litter.
This afternoon, as we arrived home, the little family weren’t in their customary position on the driveway. With heavy hearts, we looked around, expecting the gosling to have gone and the adults to be searching for it. It wasn’t until I was taking in washing from a high vantage point, some 20 minutes later, that I heard a faint honking on the breeze. Looking down and over the paddocks which look towards the Hinuera stones, I caught sight of a familiar five-some trooping through the long grass. Calling Milky, who was naturally accompanied by Rust, the 3 of us perched in the sun, on the hilltop, watching the odd little family below. The gosling could barely be seen over the grass and so all that was visible was oddly self-parting grass, reminiscent of Michael Bentine’s Potty Men. (Ask your Mum if you don’t remember)
With the excuse of watching the baby, we spent a very happy 20 minutes time-wasting and commenting on how lovely Cedar Lodge and the environs are.
My other news is that today I saw my filly ‘You Can’t Say That’ race at Matamata.
My baby - all growed up.
When I said I was going to watch ‘my filly’ race, Michelle asked me what her name was. ‘You Can’t Say That’ was my reply. ‘Say what ?’ she said ‘I haven’t even said anything.’ Those of you with exceptionally good memories will recall that I prepared a filly called ‘What Can I Say’ for the sales when I worked at Trelawney during 2003-2004. Those of you with even better memories will recall that young racehorses are known by their dam’s name until they are given their own race name. ‘What Can I Say’ or ‘Watties’ as she was known, was by no means the easiest of my charges, but like most people in life, it’s the slightly difficult ones who grow on you isn’t it ?
I will confess to sobbing when I had to say goodbye to Watties in April 2004 after she had been sold. I wished her good luck, told her to always try her best and that I would try to see her again someday. In the meantime I have stayed in touch with someone from the NZ Bloodstock Agency. He has kindly kept me up to date with how my ex-babies have been doing and when I said I was coming to NZ in December he promised to keep me posted with any upcoming meetings.
With something like fate, I received an e-mail on the 4th informing me that my favourite filly was to be racing in Matamata (15 min drive away) today.
I cannot tell you how my heart was pounding as we arrived. I know it sounds ridiculous but she hadn’t done too well in her previous races and I was worried at how I would find her. I almost thought it was better to remember her as a baby than to see her as a failed racehorse.
I cast around in the stalls prior to her race, hoping for a glimpse. I didn’t for one minute expect to be allowed anywhere near her before the race, but this being NZ, not only did I find her, but was able to have a chat with her trainer Ross Elliot and the lady who exercises her. In true Kiwi fashion, they were open and unreserved and told me lots of stories about her. It would appear she hasn’t changed much is still ‘difficult to do’ and ‘does things only when she’s ready to’. As I looked at her before the race it was slightly unnerving, she had the shakes and looked unhappy and tense. I went to the paddock wondering how she would acquit herself but put 10 dollars on her each way as a mark of faith and for old times’ sake.
I wouldn’t have wanted to be the girl who had to lead her around the paddock,
Ever seen a more beautiful backdrop to a racecourse ?
she was up on her toes, anxious and flighty. On the plus side, out of the stall and without her covers I got a better look and saw a horse, who though small was good-looking and had hard muscle in all the right places.
I also noticed that as soon as her jockey (gutsy girl) was on board, they wasted no time in leaving the paddock and heading out onto the track which was a sure sign that hanging around would only have exacerbated things.
I dragged Milky as close to the track as we could physically get, some 100 metres before the finish line and feeling as nervous as I’ve felt in a long time. The race was run over a mile and it was some time before the horses came into view. I was desperately scanning the field (15) for her jockey’s blue & red colours as the commentator hadn’t mentioned her for most of the race. Immediately prior to the finish I became aware of a flash of red and blue excruciatingly close to the front. As the first 3 sped over the line she was placed 3rd and I promptly blubbed all over Milky.
Heading back to the washing-off area, I saw a totally different horse. She was happy and relaxed, messing about with her water bucket and generally being made much of. It made my day. I thanked the trainer, asked if I could stay in touch and bid my farewells, much happier leaving than I was arriving.
There – that covers all ‘the stuff’ and we head off camping for 2 weeks tomorrow.
I’m aware that I haven’t done much touchy-feely stuff but that’s because I just wanted to record the ‘doing’. The ‘thinking’ will be recorded elsewhere, later on. The Tanners have, very kindly offered me a laptop so hopefully, if I can get to a power-point, I can at least record if not publish, on a daily basis.
It’s been good to write again, stay safe, wherever you are, photos to come, in the morning, after some sleep, but for now, time for bed.
Cx
Briggsy’s big day out
I am having a big day out at the moment. I am in NZ and it is Sunny. I have lesbian shoes now. I had scrambled eggs on toast this morning. I like the green grass. I like the cows, and dogs, and magic pies. I am happy in NZ. I cannot sleep in, in NZ. My pyjamas are clean. I cooked lamb shanks. I am a bit farty at the minute. I am going to book the ferry today. My bank card works here and it did not last time. Our hire car is a Mazda. I want to go in a cop cop. I will write again soon. Luv Brisskgly x
I am having a big day out at the moment. I am in NZ and it is Sunny. I have lesbian shoes now. I had scrambled eggs on toast this morning. I like the green grass. I like the cows, and dogs, and magic pies. I am happy in NZ. I cannot sleep in, in NZ. My pyjamas are clean. I cooked lamb shanks. I am a bit farty at the minute. I am going to book the ferry today. My bank card works here and it did not last time. Our hire car is a Mazda. I want to go in a cop cop. I will write again soon. Luv Brisskgly x
New Zealand Dec 2006
The above entry was written for me by Milky, I suppose I should pad it out a little more.
It’s 1144 on Thu 7th Dec and we are in New Zealand.
I had hoped to write this entry on the deck but alas this laptop has no battery power so I am writing this in the Tanner’s dining room with Milky next to me chattering away. I am not listening, but this does not deter him.
I had hoped to blog before now (we’ve been here for 7 days now) but in truth it’s been so lovely not using a computer on a daily basis that I’ve been a little remiss.
So, a little bit of a catch up on events is in order, I feel.
We were dropped at Heathrow on Wednesday 29th, very smartly dressed (suits no less) and hoping for an upgrade. Which never materialised. Note to self, do not travel for 24 hours in 3 inch heel, knee high leather boots. We were flying (not without some hesitation) with Korean Air. I had hoped to be travelling with Singapore Airlines whose service makes even long haul enjoyable. Unfortunately, they were unable to fly us on the dates we had wanted and so after a risk assessment from MTM ‘I’m sure you’ll be ok’ - we took the plunge & booked.
I hadn’t been particularly excited in the approach to the holiday, partly because I wasn’t at all sure it would happen & partly because I’d had so much to do beforehand. Being away over Christmas, I’d thought I could just ignore the whole thing but those more mature than I, namely Milky, pointed out that I would be able to fit in all my visits in November instead – and I almost managed it. I felt a strange, sick, glow as I posted my cards in November – even lovely Angie doesn’t do it that early.
Sitting down on the plane, able to catch a breath for the first time in a month, happy that I had everything ‘tickets, passport, money’ I finally believed I was going. The first 12 hours were on a par with Singapore Airlines, individual tv’s in each headrest, lots of room (not a full flight) decent food, sleep towels, hot eye masks, socks with toothpaste, you know the drill.
There was a slightly disappointing selection of films ( I was hoping to see ‘Casino Royale’ again ; never thought I’d say that about a Bond movie) the best of which was ‘Talladega Nights ; The Ballad of Ricky Bobby’. Don’t watch this movie if either a) you like sophisticated humour or b) someone’s trying to sleep with their head in your lap (not as bad as it sounds honest – it’s just my stifled sniggers kept waking him). However, if ‘Dodgeball’ or ‘Anchorman : The Legend of Ron Burgundy’ float your boat then ‘Talladega Nights’ will have you giggling. Look out for his first tv interview.
After 6 hours of frequently broken sleep, we arrived at Incheon airport in Seoul which though not as glamorous as Singapore, still makes Heathrow look like a slum. After more sleep in the departure lounge we were decanted into a smaller, older airplane (I’ve no idea what make/model/engine size/colour - poss a 767 ?) for leg 2 of the journey. It was on this one that Milky made a foray, albeit inadvertently into World Cuisine. The hostesses, whilst every bit as beautiful as those with Singapore Airlines, had a limited grasp of English. I should admit that my Korean extends to er .. well nothing actually and so I’m not in a position to point the finger.
The stewardess offered us 2 dishes for breakfast, I distinctly heard her say ‘omeret’ as she gestured at one dish and did indeed end up with an omelette. Less happily, Milky thought he heard the word ‘mushroom’ as she indicated the other dish. Suspecting he was to be served some variation on a theme of a cooked breakfast he confidently asked for ‘mushroom’ To be served with mushroom porridge and shredded seaweed. Oh how we laughed. Well I did anyway. He ate it stoically, remarking that it was ‘surprisingly tasty’. He asked if I would like to share his dessert of ‘rice cakes’. They looked innocuous, 2 slightly flattened, 50 pence size, squishy balls, in the same pink & white colours of Western marshmallows and so I bit into one. Only to discard it hurriedly into my napkin as the taste became evident. Milky had been watching this performance & it is to his credit that he still tasted his. Missing the mark by some wide degree I felt, he offered up the analysis ‘Nnngh – not very nice are they ?’
Feeling surprisingly well rested we arrived at Auckland in heavy rain, bang on schedule at 1030 on the 1st December. If you understand time lines you’ll know that we were actually arriving at 2230 on the 30th November as far as we were concerned. If you’re like Eric, don’t worry your pretty little head worrying about it. Knowing Michelle, I had expected her to be there as we came through Arrivals and her absence threw me somewhat. Thoughts of the ‘They’ve forgotten about me/don’t love me anymore/insert appropriate motorway pile-up disaster scenario’ flooded my head and by 1035 I was suggesting to Milky that we hire a car & make our way South. Milky counselled against this with the advice ‘We’ve only been here 5 minutes’ which, in hindsight’ seems sensible.
Sure enough, as he headed off for refreshments I suddenly spotted Michelle and Alice and we had a big, huggy hello. Alice has grown at least 3 inches, shed a lot of weight and has now acquired the mannerisms of a young woman rather than a girl. I now understand how awful it must be for a child going through puberty to endure the amazed ‘You’ve grown’ comments from friends and relatives. It feels hackneyed and clichéd, but you just can’t help but say it.
After a quick coffee-break, by which time in true NZ fashion, the sun had come out, we trotted over to the Mistral, loaded it up & headed for the Waikato. Even in the built up car park, I was immediately aware of tasting wonderfully clean air and noting the painfully bright colours, which led me to realise I’d forgotten my baseball cap, without which I am constantly squinting. I deliberately hadn’t told Milky much about the geography & history of NZ, knowing that Michelle would do a much better job. She didn’t disappoint and as we listened, I gazed around me & soaked up the sights. Everywhere that we’ve been in the meantime, I’ve been trying to see things through Milky’s eyes.
That’s the end of my post for now, as we’re heading off for the races shortly, I’ll finish this tonight…
Cx
The above entry was written for me by Milky, I suppose I should pad it out a little more.
It’s 1144 on Thu 7th Dec and we are in New Zealand.
I had hoped to write this entry on the deck but alas this laptop has no battery power so I am writing this in the Tanner’s dining room with Milky next to me chattering away. I am not listening, but this does not deter him.
I had hoped to blog before now (we’ve been here for 7 days now) but in truth it’s been so lovely not using a computer on a daily basis that I’ve been a little remiss.
So, a little bit of a catch up on events is in order, I feel.
We were dropped at Heathrow on Wednesday 29th, very smartly dressed (suits no less) and hoping for an upgrade. Which never materialised. Note to self, do not travel for 24 hours in 3 inch heel, knee high leather boots. We were flying (not without some hesitation) with Korean Air. I had hoped to be travelling with Singapore Airlines whose service makes even long haul enjoyable. Unfortunately, they were unable to fly us on the dates we had wanted and so after a risk assessment from MTM ‘I’m sure you’ll be ok’ - we took the plunge & booked.
I hadn’t been particularly excited in the approach to the holiday, partly because I wasn’t at all sure it would happen & partly because I’d had so much to do beforehand. Being away over Christmas, I’d thought I could just ignore the whole thing but those more mature than I, namely Milky, pointed out that I would be able to fit in all my visits in November instead – and I almost managed it. I felt a strange, sick, glow as I posted my cards in November – even lovely Angie doesn’t do it that early.
Sitting down on the plane, able to catch a breath for the first time in a month, happy that I had everything ‘tickets, passport, money’ I finally believed I was going. The first 12 hours were on a par with Singapore Airlines, individual tv’s in each headrest, lots of room (not a full flight) decent food, sleep towels, hot eye masks, socks with toothpaste, you know the drill.
There was a slightly disappointing selection of films ( I was hoping to see ‘Casino Royale’ again ; never thought I’d say that about a Bond movie) the best of which was ‘Talladega Nights ; The Ballad of Ricky Bobby’. Don’t watch this movie if either a) you like sophisticated humour or b) someone’s trying to sleep with their head in your lap (not as bad as it sounds honest – it’s just my stifled sniggers kept waking him). However, if ‘Dodgeball’ or ‘Anchorman : The Legend of Ron Burgundy’ float your boat then ‘Talladega Nights’ will have you giggling. Look out for his first tv interview.
After 6 hours of frequently broken sleep, we arrived at Incheon airport in Seoul which though not as glamorous as Singapore, still makes Heathrow look like a slum. After more sleep in the departure lounge we were decanted into a smaller, older airplane (I’ve no idea what make/model/engine size/colour - poss a 767 ?) for leg 2 of the journey. It was on this one that Milky made a foray, albeit inadvertently into World Cuisine. The hostesses, whilst every bit as beautiful as those with Singapore Airlines, had a limited grasp of English. I should admit that my Korean extends to er .. well nothing actually and so I’m not in a position to point the finger.
The stewardess offered us 2 dishes for breakfast, I distinctly heard her say ‘omeret’ as she gestured at one dish and did indeed end up with an omelette. Less happily, Milky thought he heard the word ‘mushroom’ as she indicated the other dish. Suspecting he was to be served some variation on a theme of a cooked breakfast he confidently asked for ‘mushroom’ To be served with mushroom porridge and shredded seaweed. Oh how we laughed. Well I did anyway. He ate it stoically, remarking that it was ‘surprisingly tasty’. He asked if I would like to share his dessert of ‘rice cakes’. They looked innocuous, 2 slightly flattened, 50 pence size, squishy balls, in the same pink & white colours of Western marshmallows and so I bit into one. Only to discard it hurriedly into my napkin as the taste became evident. Milky had been watching this performance & it is to his credit that he still tasted his. Missing the mark by some wide degree I felt, he offered up the analysis ‘Nnngh – not very nice are they ?’
Feeling surprisingly well rested we arrived at Auckland in heavy rain, bang on schedule at 1030 on the 1st December. If you understand time lines you’ll know that we were actually arriving at 2230 on the 30th November as far as we were concerned. If you’re like Eric, don’t worry your pretty little head worrying about it. Knowing Michelle, I had expected her to be there as we came through Arrivals and her absence threw me somewhat. Thoughts of the ‘They’ve forgotten about me/don’t love me anymore/insert appropriate motorway pile-up disaster scenario’ flooded my head and by 1035 I was suggesting to Milky that we hire a car & make our way South. Milky counselled against this with the advice ‘We’ve only been here 5 minutes’ which, in hindsight’ seems sensible.
Sure enough, as he headed off for refreshments I suddenly spotted Michelle and Alice and we had a big, huggy hello. Alice has grown at least 3 inches, shed a lot of weight and has now acquired the mannerisms of a young woman rather than a girl. I now understand how awful it must be for a child going through puberty to endure the amazed ‘You’ve grown’ comments from friends and relatives. It feels hackneyed and clichéd, but you just can’t help but say it.
After a quick coffee-break, by which time in true NZ fashion, the sun had come out, we trotted over to the Mistral, loaded it up & headed for the Waikato. Even in the built up car park, I was immediately aware of tasting wonderfully clean air and noting the painfully bright colours, which led me to realise I’d forgotten my baseball cap, without which I am constantly squinting. I deliberately hadn’t told Milky much about the geography & history of NZ, knowing that Michelle would do a much better job. She didn’t disappoint and as we listened, I gazed around me & soaked up the sights. Everywhere that we’ve been in the meantime, I’ve been trying to see things through Milky’s eyes.
That’s the end of my post for now, as we’re heading off for the races shortly, I’ll finish this tonight…
Cx
Friday, November 03, 2006
I'd forgotten my blog password ...
That's not strictly true but I'm very rusty with the thing.
I'm at the Dairy on a day off, Barley's at my feet and Milky's on kitchen duty so I thought I'd do a quick catch-up entry. Listening to Snow Patrol's 'Eyes Open' which I had on repeat when missing Milky in The Lakes. Last night was chicken pasta with coriander and 'The Inside Man' with Denzel Washington, Jodie Foster & Clive Owen. It's a heist movie with a twist which I recommend. I've never been a fan of Owen who Mummeh would say is 'too full of himself' but Washington and Foster are good. Foster's legs, in particular, are mesmerising - how do you get legs like that ?
'Why no blog Briggsy '? you may be wondering. 'What have you been up to ?' 'Will you ever post properly again ?'
For a brief explanation, see below.
In June I moved into the country. Since then it's been work, riding, Barley, riding, Milky, riding, work and riding. I confessed to someone the other day that I didn't know what I'd done to deserve living where I do, but I'm making the most of it before anyone finds me out. The cottage is what the Americans would call 'quaint' and we call 'small' and there is no way my computery gubbins will fit in my sitiing room, hence they are in the loft.
I'm hoping Santa will bring me a laptop (or some money towards one) which will fit in my sitting room and then I will blog again. Winter, with it's dark evenings & reduced riding hours must surely be more conducive to blogging than Summer ? I know of at least one other blogger who loves to blog from their bed on cold winter mornings - don't you Michelle ?
All funds recently have been diverted to the NZ holiday fund. If I haven't told you (lucky you) Milky & I visit NZ for the whole of Dec. Rough plans are ...
1) Stay with Tanners, farm-tour, point out sites of historical interest (seat of fire, slotting of No 47 etc) Introduce Milky to Cedar Lodge Sundowner G & T's
2) Tour North (car & tent)
3) Go South, visit Murray, Mal & Mike, Bridget's Mum
4) Tour South
5) Do outdoorsy stuff, neddy pestering (Milky can't wait) white/black water rafting, kayakking, helicopter ride over the glaciers and all the stuff I didn't have the funds for when I was last there.
6) Christmas/New Year with The Tanners
7) Don't do a bungee jump
In the meantime life is busy but stress-free. Work is interesting, 2 new additions to the team have altered the dynamics radically. One is Andy who I like more than I thought I would. Andy is a Grafter, that capital G is intentional. One, who shall, for reasons of tact, shall remain nameless, I like less than I thought I would. Milky and I are now working slightly different shifts (we knew it had to come) So far we seem to be managing to share some rest days, spending December together will be a luxury though.
I've had Barley since the end of September & she holidayed with Mummeh and I in The Lakes in October. On a minimum of 2 walks a day, she's looking good and is disgustingly fit. When I'm not around she spends her time with June's dogs and I'm pleased to note she has a new playmate in the form of Cassie, a bouncy red Viszla of indefatigable energy. Barley's never really had a playmate before, the last dog she spent a lot of time with was Jasper, who spent a lot of time trying to hump her. Dirty boy.
Last weekend we hijacked Weeny's weekend, foisting ourselves on her and husband for 2 days. It's their fault for being so goddamn sociable. What started off as an Indian meal, morphed into the next day at Bushy Park and a lamb shank dinner. Their, until now, purely feline house guests have been nicely balanced out with the addition of 2 black labrador pups, Gin & Stirling. We met them at 15 weeks of age and utterly enchanting they are. Mummeh - you would have been transfixed. Lots of photos to follow.
Yesterday we spent the day with Angie, feeding the aminals then heading off for a long walk with the dogs before a pub lunch. The weather has been extraordinary lately, up until 2 days ago, it was mild, sunny and warm and we hadn't had a frost. For the last 3 days it has been picture book perfect Autumn weather, sharp overnight rime frosts, thawing to clean cobalt days. England looks beautiful.
I've discovered a special place to dog-walk & spend at least an hour a day there with Hilde, Cassie and Barley stretching their limbs. It's called, rather uninspiringly, Banstead Common which conjures up a very different mental image to the reality. If you have Google Earth, take a look. Since returning from NZ it's the biggest stretch of uninterrupted sky I've seen, no buildings, no metalled roads, just woodland, heathland and lots and lots of sky. It's quite simply the best antidote to working indoors there could be. Vaulting skies are my cathedral.
On that note, I'l leave you for now. Next time I'm here, I'll share recent foties with you.
For now I'm away to catch up on some blogs. Speaking of which, that camera was a stroke of genius Stan, it's nice to see your images are starting to focus on life, rather than death.
Bye for now, stay safe whatever you're doing,
Cx
That's not strictly true but I'm very rusty with the thing.
I'm at the Dairy on a day off, Barley's at my feet and Milky's on kitchen duty so I thought I'd do a quick catch-up entry. Listening to Snow Patrol's 'Eyes Open' which I had on repeat when missing Milky in The Lakes. Last night was chicken pasta with coriander and 'The Inside Man' with Denzel Washington, Jodie Foster & Clive Owen. It's a heist movie with a twist which I recommend. I've never been a fan of Owen who Mummeh would say is 'too full of himself' but Washington and Foster are good. Foster's legs, in particular, are mesmerising - how do you get legs like that ?
'Why no blog Briggsy '? you may be wondering. 'What have you been up to ?' 'Will you ever post properly again ?'
For a brief explanation, see below.
In June I moved into the country. Since then it's been work, riding, Barley, riding, Milky, riding, work and riding. I confessed to someone the other day that I didn't know what I'd done to deserve living where I do, but I'm making the most of it before anyone finds me out. The cottage is what the Americans would call 'quaint' and we call 'small' and there is no way my computery gubbins will fit in my sitiing room, hence they are in the loft.
I'm hoping Santa will bring me a laptop (or some money towards one) which will fit in my sitting room and then I will blog again. Winter, with it's dark evenings & reduced riding hours must surely be more conducive to blogging than Summer ? I know of at least one other blogger who loves to blog from their bed on cold winter mornings - don't you Michelle ?
All funds recently have been diverted to the NZ holiday fund. If I haven't told you (lucky you) Milky & I visit NZ for the whole of Dec. Rough plans are ...
1) Stay with Tanners, farm-tour, point out sites of historical interest (seat of fire, slotting of No 47 etc) Introduce Milky to Cedar Lodge Sundowner G & T's
2) Tour North (car & tent)
3) Go South, visit Murray, Mal & Mike, Bridget's Mum
4) Tour South
5) Do outdoorsy stuff, neddy pestering (Milky can't wait) white/black water rafting, kayakking, helicopter ride over the glaciers and all the stuff I didn't have the funds for when I was last there.
6) Christmas/New Year with The Tanners
7) Don't do a bungee jump
In the meantime life is busy but stress-free. Work is interesting, 2 new additions to the team have altered the dynamics radically. One is Andy who I like more than I thought I would. Andy is a Grafter, that capital G is intentional. One, who shall, for reasons of tact, shall remain nameless, I like less than I thought I would. Milky and I are now working slightly different shifts (we knew it had to come) So far we seem to be managing to share some rest days, spending December together will be a luxury though.
I've had Barley since the end of September & she holidayed with Mummeh and I in The Lakes in October. On a minimum of 2 walks a day, she's looking good and is disgustingly fit. When I'm not around she spends her time with June's dogs and I'm pleased to note she has a new playmate in the form of Cassie, a bouncy red Viszla of indefatigable energy. Barley's never really had a playmate before, the last dog she spent a lot of time with was Jasper, who spent a lot of time trying to hump her. Dirty boy.
Last weekend we hijacked Weeny's weekend, foisting ourselves on her and husband for 2 days. It's their fault for being so goddamn sociable. What started off as an Indian meal, morphed into the next day at Bushy Park and a lamb shank dinner. Their, until now, purely feline house guests have been nicely balanced out with the addition of 2 black labrador pups, Gin & Stirling. We met them at 15 weeks of age and utterly enchanting they are. Mummeh - you would have been transfixed. Lots of photos to follow.
Yesterday we spent the day with Angie, feeding the aminals then heading off for a long walk with the dogs before a pub lunch. The weather has been extraordinary lately, up until 2 days ago, it was mild, sunny and warm and we hadn't had a frost. For the last 3 days it has been picture book perfect Autumn weather, sharp overnight rime frosts, thawing to clean cobalt days. England looks beautiful.
I've discovered a special place to dog-walk & spend at least an hour a day there with Hilde, Cassie and Barley stretching their limbs. It's called, rather uninspiringly, Banstead Common which conjures up a very different mental image to the reality. If you have Google Earth, take a look. Since returning from NZ it's the biggest stretch of uninterrupted sky I've seen, no buildings, no metalled roads, just woodland, heathland and lots and lots of sky. It's quite simply the best antidote to working indoors there could be. Vaulting skies are my cathedral.
On that note, I'l leave you for now. Next time I'm here, I'll share recent foties with you.
For now I'm away to catch up on some blogs. Speaking of which, that camera was a stroke of genius Stan, it's nice to see your images are starting to focus on life, rather than death.
Bye for now, stay safe whatever you're doing,
Cx
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
10 Go Mad in Wales - return to Llyn-y-Celyn.
Roger said it was the toughest walk he had ever done …
which makes it slightly more bearable.
We decided to do things a little differently. Usually we meet at oh-stupid hundred hours, set off for Wales & arrive for a 1000 walk start time. This time, the length of the walk demanded an 0730 start on Monday, so we met at Paul’s at 1600 on Sunday for a 1930 meet at Magor services and then onwards to the hostel.
We were the usual suspects, minus Claire who was celebrating her birthday in the Bahamas. Wales ? Bahamas ? – tough choice. Tom, who was to join us for the first time, cried off last minute. He obviously knew something we did not.
We arrived at the hostel for 2130 and after a couple of ‘Red Dragons’ and a chinwag we were ready to hit the hay.
I woke up feeling tired the next morning, partly due to waking every hour to check I hadn’t slept in (the way I do for early turn) and partly because when I did sleep, I had a very odd dream about being a super-hero involved in a 90 million heist. After lots of running, jumping, fighting and ducking laser beams, I left the money – doh !
My choice of subconscious getaway car worries me too. Not for me a sleek, sexy Batmobile, no, my choice of car was a VW Bora. For which, I had a remote control that I didn’t know how to operate. I eventually left the scene of my crime standing on the bumper, whilst an unknown person operated the controls. Dream analyst anyone ?
Our schedule was an 0715 breakfast, for an 0730 start. There are no ifs or buts with Roger, it’s his job you see. Stuart was made oic packed lunches the night before and had placed our order for 6 packed lunches in time for the morning, as the blackboard stipulated. There was a choice of LP (lunchpack) 1, or LP 2, the numeral indicating the number of sandwiches.
Dave, who likes to know what’s what, was heard to enquire ‘Is a sandwich, 2 slices of bread with a filling ?’ in the manner of a recently arrived alien visiting Earth. We knew exactly what he meant, but in the way of people who work for the Met, derived much humour from this up to and beyond the point when it was no longer amusing (to him)
At 0715 we were despatched to our rooms to get ready, for parade at 0730.
It was therefore very amusing to see Roger’s face at 0729, when the chap at the hostel (whose name escapes me) wandered casually into the breakfast room to announce vaguely that he was ‘Here to check the sandwich order.’
Roger, who couldn’t trust himself to speak, indicated Stuart. Stuart, who is ever the diplomat, explained that he had placed the order the night before and that we were sort of hoping for the packed lunches to be ready to join us on
our walk.
‘No problem’, came the casual reply ‘now then, what does this LP2 indicate ?’ which seems a reasonable question until I tell you that LP1 & LP2 were the codes used by the hostel themselves.
With the far from reassuring ‘We’re short of bread but I’ll see what I can do’ off he sauntered to commence the catering arrangements. I shouldn’t be too harsh on him because breakfast was supposed to be served between 0800 & 0830 & Stuart had persuaded him to serve it much earlier for our benefit.
We met outside the hostel, garbed in various, rustling waterproofs (did I mention it was raining ?) for the obligatory pre-walk group pictures*
(l-r) Me, Dave, Ed, Elaine, Roger, Guy, Paul, Stuart, Debs and George.
and then began the pain, I mean walk.
Roger had promised an easy first hour to ‘allow breakfast to settle’. Knowing there is no such thing with Roger, I was in no way surprised to find myself glowing pinkly, having speed-walked to the base of the first ascent.
See that cloud ? It never shifted.
After a 30 second stop for everyone to take on water and lose/add layers, it was go, go, go to the first climb. A little while and much snot later I found myself in a whole different world to the calm, mild valley I had left behind. On the tops, the wind was an unearthly banshee, which whipped at our clothing and drove horizontal sleet into our faces.
And that was pretty much it for 22 miles and 11 hours and 30 minutes.
The End.
I jest of course, but that’s pretty much what I remember.
Here are the ‘highlights’. I use that word advisedly really, they’re the bits I recall.
Seeing Roger, who is not a little person, being repeatedly blown of his feet whilst traversing a hilltop. Any rumours that the group were hoping for him to be blown off the ridge are strictly untrue.
Being saved by Elaine’s walking pole (left mine in my car). Hers is the super duper lightweight version of mine (don’t want mine anymore). Whilst skidding down scree alongside a waterfall, when all bar Dave, fell repeatedly, I started to fall face first down the slope. I dug the pole into the ground in front of me and leant my entire weight on the pole to stop my slide. The pole described a perfect ‘c’ shape, at which point Roger who was behind me, confessed he was waiting to see me catapulted off the hill, in the manner of a pole-vaulter.
The pole absorbed the weight, resumed its original shape and lo – I was saved.
Lunch. We walked for 22 miles in unspoilt countryside, yet when it came to lunch, the only shelter we could find was the grounds of a disused pumping station. Ed took refuge from the rain in a little shed. The rest of us, observing the discarded hypodermics, excrement and used condoms, guessed Ed had found the TraveLodge for Welsh junkies and elected to consume our lunch standing. In the rain. Did I mention it was raining ?
George’s chocolate caramels – perfect morale boosters.
Quotes of the day.
Dave – ‘Is a sandwich 2 slices of bread ?’
Dave - ‘That bridge isn’t actually a suspension bridge’
George - (about Roger and said wistfully) – ‘He’s got newer software than me’ – GPS envy.
George (about Dave’s head) – ‘He’s caught the sun’ – there was none. Did I mention it was raining ?
Roger – ‘We were never lost’
'And that's my house over there ...'
Roger – ‘That was a 70 mile an hour wind’
Me – ‘How do you know’ (wondering if he had an anometer on his GPS)
Roger – ‘Cos I know what a 50mph wind feels like and that was worse
Roger – ‘Stuart, I need a recce’
Roger - ‘Come on everyone, it’s this way’ – After sending Stuart in the opposite direction.
All – ‘STUART ! Was that you ?’
Mental
Something interesting occurred prior to ascent 5. At 18 miles Roger advised us of a slight change to the planned route. He had decided to skip one climb due to the monumental wind. We were to skirt around the base of the peak, same distance but less risk of losing a tired walker off a ridge. I was probably the happiest of the group to receive the news but if anyone was disappointed to be skipping the climb, they hid it well.
Stuart was sent ahead to recce the path ‘We are looking for one that doesn’t go up, but along and round’ were the instructions. Unfortunately, due to visibility of less than 30 feet, the path we started on did exactly that for a little while. By the time we had realised we were again climbing a short mutiny broke out. Nobody wanted to retrace their steps and so there we were, climbing again, over large, uneven red boulders.
Although my legs were doing what my mind told them, I realised my biggest problem was my psyche. I had unknowingly relaxed when told there were no more climbs ahead and trying to get my resisting body to do what I wanted was mentally more than physically difficult. I guess I’ve a way to go before emulating my heroes. I’d be rubbish on those selection courses where they shout at you whilst making you run up and down the same hill. ‘You do it’ I can imagine sobbing.
To make a long story longer, we finally recognised the valley containing our beds for the night.
After discussing an alternate, shorter, more direct, but potentially boggy route back to the hostel, we (Roger) decided on the indirect and safe but lengthier walk along the valley. It was at this point, there was almost a splinter breakaway faction by 4 of us who fancied our chances off-piste. Dave suggested we raise our spirits by singing a song at this point ‘NO’ was the unanimous reply ‘Let’s not’.
The last few miles everyone was thoroughly chilled, footsore, hallucinating about dry clothes and showers and we didn’t hang about.
Silly hat competition - a clear winner.
The chaps very chivalrously offered the showers to the girls first and soon, we all met, pink-faced and warm in the kitchen to chat to and get in the way of Debs who rustled up a gorgeous chilli with garlic bread.
It was decided, over dinner that our walks are like childbirth. The pain is soon forgotten and we think we enjoyed the event until next time. Those of us with no experience of childbirth relied upon what friends had told us.
We were due to play drinking games in the evening but each of us admitted later that by 2300, we were ready for our beds.
Old people glad not to be playing drinking games.
Us girls retired to our room, then spent an hour, discussing life, men and things. I slept poorly again, despite being tired, missing someone and looking forward to seeing him again.
…rinse and repeat
I don’t know if you recall but I did this walk last year in unbearable heat and struggled all the way around.
I battled to keep up on the flat, wanted to die on the ups ; repeatedly stopping (whether the group stopped or not) and was only comfortable on the downs. The only thing which stopped me sitting down and crying was that it was my first walk with the group and I only knew Roger.
Things were a little different this year. I still struggled to keep up on the ups and the others had to stop for me to catch up.
The only photo of me not at the back on a climb.
However, whenever they waited for me, it was because I was walking slowly rather than being stationary. I was fine on the flats and good on the downs. Which of course means only one thing – lots more ups on days off. The good news there is I will be living on the South Downs and will of course prance past all of them next May when we do the 3 Peaks having spent lots of days off scampering up and down hills.
The other good news was I finished with no knee or back pain, both of which niggled last time.
Honourable mentions …
Go to Debs, Dave, Ed and especially Stuart.
All of whom assisted on the ups.
Debs gave me hankies on climb one when my snot was becoming unmanageable. Yes, I had a large white cotton hanky with me and yes, it was in my bag back at the hostel.
On climb number 2, Dave assured me all the way up that we were ‘nearly at the top’ bless him, either his eyesight’s poor or he’s the eternal optimist.
On climb 5 when my legs were operating on empty, Ed offered to carry my rucksack, which I assured him, had it been at all heavy, I would have gladly let him take. Ed was also cheering to follow, because he takes such large strides I could convince myself it was less distance if I followed him.
Huge thanks to Stuart, who on the same climb noticed a gust of wind catch me off-balance. As I started to topple over the edge, he gave me a hefty shove in the right direction. He waved away my thanks explaining that it was too cold to wait around for the Chinook to scrape up my jammy remains.
Stuart also hoisted me to my feet after I fell, hands first into
a knee-deep black peat bog. It would have been nice had he waited for my feet to touch the floor, before pulling me in a forward direction, but it’s the thought that counts. It was Stuart too, who, noticing my dead-person’s bare hands, insisted I take the gloves that he had previously borrowed from Elaine (who was fantastically growed-up and had 2 pairs – wow) and he waited on an icy summit whilst I put on another layer whilst Roger cheerfully led everyone else off before checking we were all ready.
Speaking of bare hands, I lost my amber ring on the walk, having taken it off when my fingers swelled painfully in the cold. I stupidly put it in the pocket of my waterproof trousers and it wasn’t there when I next looked. It was the ring I bought in Nelson market during my stay with Murray in Dec 2004 and it perfectly matched the amber necklace which Lovely Angie found for me.
I am very sad to have lost it and this of course means I’ll have to do that walk again at some time, looking only at the floor - no change there.
My biggest thank you goes to Milky, for accompanying me on all the boring up and down hill stuff we did prior to me going to Wales. Without that preparation, there would have been no point me attempting the walk.
Next time.
We feel we’ve ‘done’ Wales now, having been there 3 times and suggestions are welcomed for our next trip. It has to be reached in one day and walked the same, so Scotland is out. I’ve suggested Yorkshire and wherever it is, Roger promises an ‘easy’ one – only 8 hours walk time.
The next morning we met for breakfast, discussed our aches and pains and stood, outside the hostel, squinting into the bright, morning sunshine for the obligatory goodbye team photo.
'Until next time.'
Cx
* Stuart was oic photos, I'll insert them as soon as I receive them.
Roger said it was the toughest walk he had ever done …
which makes it slightly more bearable.
We decided to do things a little differently. Usually we meet at oh-stupid hundred hours, set off for Wales & arrive for a 1000 walk start time. This time, the length of the walk demanded an 0730 start on Monday, so we met at Paul’s at 1600 on Sunday for a 1930 meet at Magor services and then onwards to the hostel.
We were the usual suspects, minus Claire who was celebrating her birthday in the Bahamas. Wales ? Bahamas ? – tough choice. Tom, who was to join us for the first time, cried off last minute. He obviously knew something we did not.
We arrived at the hostel for 2130 and after a couple of ‘Red Dragons’ and a chinwag we were ready to hit the hay.
I woke up feeling tired the next morning, partly due to waking every hour to check I hadn’t slept in (the way I do for early turn) and partly because when I did sleep, I had a very odd dream about being a super-hero involved in a 90 million heist. After lots of running, jumping, fighting and ducking laser beams, I left the money – doh !
My choice of subconscious getaway car worries me too. Not for me a sleek, sexy Batmobile, no, my choice of car was a VW Bora. For which, I had a remote control that I didn’t know how to operate. I eventually left the scene of my crime standing on the bumper, whilst an unknown person operated the controls. Dream analyst anyone ?
Our schedule was an 0715 breakfast, for an 0730 start. There are no ifs or buts with Roger, it’s his job you see. Stuart was made oic packed lunches the night before and had placed our order for 6 packed lunches in time for the morning, as the blackboard stipulated. There was a choice of LP (lunchpack) 1, or LP 2, the numeral indicating the number of sandwiches.
Dave, who likes to know what’s what, was heard to enquire ‘Is a sandwich, 2 slices of bread with a filling ?’ in the manner of a recently arrived alien visiting Earth. We knew exactly what he meant, but in the way of people who work for the Met, derived much humour from this up to and beyond the point when it was no longer amusing (to him)
At 0715 we were despatched to our rooms to get ready, for parade at 0730.
It was therefore very amusing to see Roger’s face at 0729, when the chap at the hostel (whose name escapes me) wandered casually into the breakfast room to announce vaguely that he was ‘Here to check the sandwich order.’
Roger, who couldn’t trust himself to speak, indicated Stuart. Stuart, who is ever the diplomat, explained that he had placed the order the night before and that we were sort of hoping for the packed lunches to be ready to join us on
our walk.
‘No problem’, came the casual reply ‘now then, what does this LP2 indicate ?’ which seems a reasonable question until I tell you that LP1 & LP2 were the codes used by the hostel themselves.
With the far from reassuring ‘We’re short of bread but I’ll see what I can do’ off he sauntered to commence the catering arrangements. I shouldn’t be too harsh on him because breakfast was supposed to be served between 0800 & 0830 & Stuart had persuaded him to serve it much earlier for our benefit.
We met outside the hostel, garbed in various, rustling waterproofs (did I mention it was raining ?) for the obligatory pre-walk group pictures*
(l-r) Me, Dave, Ed, Elaine, Roger, Guy, Paul, Stuart, Debs and George.
and then began the pain, I mean walk.
Roger had promised an easy first hour to ‘allow breakfast to settle’. Knowing there is no such thing with Roger, I was in no way surprised to find myself glowing pinkly, having speed-walked to the base of the first ascent.
See that cloud ? It never shifted.
After a 30 second stop for everyone to take on water and lose/add layers, it was go, go, go to the first climb. A little while and much snot later I found myself in a whole different world to the calm, mild valley I had left behind. On the tops, the wind was an unearthly banshee, which whipped at our clothing and drove horizontal sleet into our faces.
And that was pretty much it for 22 miles and 11 hours and 30 minutes.
The End.
I jest of course, but that’s pretty much what I remember.
Here are the ‘highlights’. I use that word advisedly really, they’re the bits I recall.
Seeing Roger, who is not a little person, being repeatedly blown of his feet whilst traversing a hilltop. Any rumours that the group were hoping for him to be blown off the ridge are strictly untrue.
Being saved by Elaine’s walking pole (left mine in my car). Hers is the super duper lightweight version of mine (don’t want mine anymore). Whilst skidding down scree alongside a waterfall, when all bar Dave, fell repeatedly, I started to fall face first down the slope. I dug the pole into the ground in front of me and leant my entire weight on the pole to stop my slide. The pole described a perfect ‘c’ shape, at which point Roger who was behind me, confessed he was waiting to see me catapulted off the hill, in the manner of a pole-vaulter.
The pole absorbed the weight, resumed its original shape and lo – I was saved.
Lunch. We walked for 22 miles in unspoilt countryside, yet when it came to lunch, the only shelter we could find was the grounds of a disused pumping station. Ed took refuge from the rain in a little shed. The rest of us, observing the discarded hypodermics, excrement and used condoms, guessed Ed had found the TraveLodge for Welsh junkies and elected to consume our lunch standing. In the rain. Did I mention it was raining ?
George’s chocolate caramels – perfect morale boosters.
Quotes of the day.
Dave – ‘Is a sandwich 2 slices of bread ?’
Dave - ‘That bridge isn’t actually a suspension bridge’
George - (about Roger and said wistfully) – ‘He’s got newer software than me’ – GPS envy.
George (about Dave’s head) – ‘He’s caught the sun’ – there was none. Did I mention it was raining ?
Roger – ‘We were never lost’
'And that's my house over there ...'
Roger – ‘That was a 70 mile an hour wind’
Me – ‘How do you know’ (wondering if he had an anometer on his GPS)
Roger – ‘Cos I know what a 50mph wind feels like and that was worse
Roger – ‘Stuart, I need a recce’
Roger - ‘Come on everyone, it’s this way’ – After sending Stuart in the opposite direction.
All – ‘STUART ! Was that you ?’
Mental
Something interesting occurred prior to ascent 5. At 18 miles Roger advised us of a slight change to the planned route. He had decided to skip one climb due to the monumental wind. We were to skirt around the base of the peak, same distance but less risk of losing a tired walker off a ridge. I was probably the happiest of the group to receive the news but if anyone was disappointed to be skipping the climb, they hid it well.
Stuart was sent ahead to recce the path ‘We are looking for one that doesn’t go up, but along and round’ were the instructions. Unfortunately, due to visibility of less than 30 feet, the path we started on did exactly that for a little while. By the time we had realised we were again climbing a short mutiny broke out. Nobody wanted to retrace their steps and so there we were, climbing again, over large, uneven red boulders.
Although my legs were doing what my mind told them, I realised my biggest problem was my psyche. I had unknowingly relaxed when told there were no more climbs ahead and trying to get my resisting body to do what I wanted was mentally more than physically difficult. I guess I’ve a way to go before emulating my heroes. I’d be rubbish on those selection courses where they shout at you whilst making you run up and down the same hill. ‘You do it’ I can imagine sobbing.
To make a long story longer, we finally recognised the valley containing our beds for the night.
After discussing an alternate, shorter, more direct, but potentially boggy route back to the hostel, we (Roger) decided on the indirect and safe but lengthier walk along the valley. It was at this point, there was almost a splinter breakaway faction by 4 of us who fancied our chances off-piste. Dave suggested we raise our spirits by singing a song at this point ‘NO’ was the unanimous reply ‘Let’s not’.
The last few miles everyone was thoroughly chilled, footsore, hallucinating about dry clothes and showers and we didn’t hang about.
Silly hat competition - a clear winner.
The chaps very chivalrously offered the showers to the girls first and soon, we all met, pink-faced and warm in the kitchen to chat to and get in the way of Debs who rustled up a gorgeous chilli with garlic bread.
It was decided, over dinner that our walks are like childbirth. The pain is soon forgotten and we think we enjoyed the event until next time. Those of us with no experience of childbirth relied upon what friends had told us.
We were due to play drinking games in the evening but each of us admitted later that by 2300, we were ready for our beds.
Old people glad not to be playing drinking games.
Us girls retired to our room, then spent an hour, discussing life, men and things. I slept poorly again, despite being tired, missing someone and looking forward to seeing him again.
…rinse and repeat
I don’t know if you recall but I did this walk last year in unbearable heat and struggled all the way around.
I battled to keep up on the flat, wanted to die on the ups ; repeatedly stopping (whether the group stopped or not) and was only comfortable on the downs. The only thing which stopped me sitting down and crying was that it was my first walk with the group and I only knew Roger.
Things were a little different this year. I still struggled to keep up on the ups and the others had to stop for me to catch up.
The only photo of me not at the back on a climb.
However, whenever they waited for me, it was because I was walking slowly rather than being stationary. I was fine on the flats and good on the downs. Which of course means only one thing – lots more ups on days off. The good news there is I will be living on the South Downs and will of course prance past all of them next May when we do the 3 Peaks having spent lots of days off scampering up and down hills.
The other good news was I finished with no knee or back pain, both of which niggled last time.
Honourable mentions …
Go to Debs, Dave, Ed and especially Stuart.
All of whom assisted on the ups.
Debs gave me hankies on climb one when my snot was becoming unmanageable. Yes, I had a large white cotton hanky with me and yes, it was in my bag back at the hostel.
On climb number 2, Dave assured me all the way up that we were ‘nearly at the top’ bless him, either his eyesight’s poor or he’s the eternal optimist.
On climb 5 when my legs were operating on empty, Ed offered to carry my rucksack, which I assured him, had it been at all heavy, I would have gladly let him take. Ed was also cheering to follow, because he takes such large strides I could convince myself it was less distance if I followed him.
Huge thanks to Stuart, who on the same climb noticed a gust of wind catch me off-balance. As I started to topple over the edge, he gave me a hefty shove in the right direction. He waved away my thanks explaining that it was too cold to wait around for the Chinook to scrape up my jammy remains.
Stuart also hoisted me to my feet after I fell, hands first into
a knee-deep black peat bog. It would have been nice had he waited for my feet to touch the floor, before pulling me in a forward direction, but it’s the thought that counts. It was Stuart too, who, noticing my dead-person’s bare hands, insisted I take the gloves that he had previously borrowed from Elaine (who was fantastically growed-up and had 2 pairs – wow) and he waited on an icy summit whilst I put on another layer whilst Roger cheerfully led everyone else off before checking we were all ready.
Speaking of bare hands, I lost my amber ring on the walk, having taken it off when my fingers swelled painfully in the cold. I stupidly put it in the pocket of my waterproof trousers and it wasn’t there when I next looked. It was the ring I bought in Nelson market during my stay with Murray in Dec 2004 and it perfectly matched the amber necklace which Lovely Angie found for me.
I am very sad to have lost it and this of course means I’ll have to do that walk again at some time, looking only at the floor - no change there.
My biggest thank you goes to Milky, for accompanying me on all the boring up and down hill stuff we did prior to me going to Wales. Without that preparation, there would have been no point me attempting the walk.
Next time.
We feel we’ve ‘done’ Wales now, having been there 3 times and suggestions are welcomed for our next trip. It has to be reached in one day and walked the same, so Scotland is out. I’ve suggested Yorkshire and wherever it is, Roger promises an ‘easy’ one – only 8 hours walk time.
The next morning we met for breakfast, discussed our aches and pains and stood, outside the hostel, squinting into the bright, morning sunshine for the obligatory goodbye team photo.
'Until next time.'
Cx
* Stuart was oic photos, I'll insert them as soon as I receive them.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
'Sorry ... he doesn't like hats'
Today I left a sleeping Milky and headed towards Headley to do some more walking. The idea I have is to check out some new bridleways on foot prior to taking the horses on them. This has 2 benefits. Firstly, I've checked out the route in advance so there are no surprises and secondly I am able to 'tell' the horse where we're going. This may sound odd but there's a problem with exploring new bridleways on horseback. If you're not sure where you're going, the horse picks up on this, which is fine if you're on a steady old neddy. If however, you're on a fit, younger horse and you're asking them to turn away from home at a point at which the ride would normally be ending, you're storing up trouble.
Today I aimed for a 2 hour circular walk, beginning and ending at Mickleham gallops. As I set out, there were heavy showers but I didn't want to take a coat, as I always get too warm with one. Luckily, most of the walk was covered with trees so they kept the worst of the rain off.
With about 30 minutes to go I was walking along a particularly muddy bridleway when I saw the perfect nuclear family running towards me. Mum, Dad, 2 kids and 2 black labradors. I moved aside to let them through and admired the dogs as they ran past, off their leads. One dog gave me a toothy grin as he went past but the facial expression of the other gave cause for concern. He was staring very intently at my face & not emitting happy vibes at all.
As we came level I felt his teeth snap just short of my hand. The temptation to snatch my hand away was overwhelming but they love that don't they ? Just makes it more of a game. I looked towards Dad who began calling the dog. Alas for me, doggy was more interested in me than Dad. He followed me up the bridleway, barking and lungeing and snapping at where my bottom had always just been.
I couldn't have been more surprised, I love most dogs and have a particular affinity for black labs as they've always been a firm favourite with Mummeh. If someone told me a black lab had gone for them unprovoked, I'd nod sympathetically, then wonder what they had unknowingly done to surprise/antagonise the dog.
As Dad caught up with and grabbed him he shouted at my rapidly retreating form 'Sorry about that - he doesn't like hats you see' meaning the light blue Musto cap which I am never without when outdoors. I giggled a little manically to myself thinking that it ranked as one of the weirdest excuses I've heard for an animal misbehaving. Then I thought, we all do it don't we - make excuses for when our animals act in a less than appropriate fashion.
All the horses have their own particular fears. For Patrick it is foals ; especially the palamino ones nearby us, for Hippo it is white vans and Coco is rendered terrified by the groups of soldiers* we see yomping in the woods ; their rucksacks in particular. In CB's case it's donkeys and motorbikes (only singles though, he's fine with anything else). Woody's nemesis is hosepipes (snakes) and for Hannah, nothing is scarier than feeling tree branches brushing against her rider, not her, she's fine with that but if she feels resistance on her rider, she just wants to head for home toute de suite. Snippit is struck rigid by baby buggies, odd really given how many kids Cocky has.
Some things are universally terrifying to the horses. I pass through lots of golf courses during my rides and golf buggies hold a particular terror. Many's the time I've had to shout to a bemused golfer 'Could you please stand still and not pull your buggy' whilst my mount pirouettes, shaking with fear, under me.
The scariest thing for me is crossing the M25 on horseback, the noise is indescribable and the mesmerising lure of watching 6 lanes of 90 mph plus traffic has me almost catatonic. My fear is that the horse will play up and somehow dump me over the barriers to my jammy doom. My coping method is to talk to the horse all the way over which ensures that I keep breathing. Horses know when you're not breathing, and become more anxious. Soon the two of you become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Thinking about it, I don't talk, I shout as otherwise the horse would not hear me - so there I am bellowing 'Good Boy' at the top of my lungs whilst trying not to let the horse look anywhere other than straight ahead.
I once discussed my fear of crossing the M25 with Cocky as we had just crossed it. 'Can you imagine anything worse' I asked, '... than being dumped over those railings and knowing that after the drop you're going to be hit by a car ?' 'Oh yes', she replied, with typical Cocky logic '.. it would be much worse for me watching it happen to you. You'd be dead, nothing to worry about but I'd have to watch it and then catch your horse.' Thanks Cocky.
With rewarding synchronicity, my walk ended as the rain began in earnest. I climbed wearily into the car & set off for the caravan on Headley Heath for a much anticipated cup of tea and something hot. Having only 2 pound coins, I decided honesty was the best policy. 'What can I get for this ?' I asked, holding aloft a coin in either hand & wearing what I hoped was my most beseeching look. 'Well, you can have a cornish pasty, a sausage roll or some chips' answered the lovely lady who works there. 'Would I have enough for a cup of tea as well ?' I asked pathetically, knowing I wouldn't. 'Don't worry, of course you can have some tea, here, it's a large one.'
It's these small, random acts of kindness that give you a glow isn't it ?
As I sat holed up in the car, consuming my food and free tea, with the heater on to dry my trousers, the feeling of post-exercise well-being was immense. I watched a village cricket match and listened to Radio 4's 'Any Answers'. As the rain pounded on the windscreen, the callers to the programme discussed how best the Government could legislate for this, the worst drought since 1976.
Cx
* They are not really soldiers, they are RAF personnel who are recuperating, based in nearby Headley Court but I don't know what you call RAF people, other than pilots ? And they're not all pilots are they ? I've asked Milky & James & they came up with these possibilities ; aircrew, servicemen, RAF ground based operatives. Any advance on those ?
Today I left a sleeping Milky and headed towards Headley to do some more walking. The idea I have is to check out some new bridleways on foot prior to taking the horses on them. This has 2 benefits. Firstly, I've checked out the route in advance so there are no surprises and secondly I am able to 'tell' the horse where we're going. This may sound odd but there's a problem with exploring new bridleways on horseback. If you're not sure where you're going, the horse picks up on this, which is fine if you're on a steady old neddy. If however, you're on a fit, younger horse and you're asking them to turn away from home at a point at which the ride would normally be ending, you're storing up trouble.
Today I aimed for a 2 hour circular walk, beginning and ending at Mickleham gallops. As I set out, there were heavy showers but I didn't want to take a coat, as I always get too warm with one. Luckily, most of the walk was covered with trees so they kept the worst of the rain off.
With about 30 minutes to go I was walking along a particularly muddy bridleway when I saw the perfect nuclear family running towards me. Mum, Dad, 2 kids and 2 black labradors. I moved aside to let them through and admired the dogs as they ran past, off their leads. One dog gave me a toothy grin as he went past but the facial expression of the other gave cause for concern. He was staring very intently at my face & not emitting happy vibes at all.
As we came level I felt his teeth snap just short of my hand. The temptation to snatch my hand away was overwhelming but they love that don't they ? Just makes it more of a game. I looked towards Dad who began calling the dog. Alas for me, doggy was more interested in me than Dad. He followed me up the bridleway, barking and lungeing and snapping at where my bottom had always just been.
I couldn't have been more surprised, I love most dogs and have a particular affinity for black labs as they've always been a firm favourite with Mummeh. If someone told me a black lab had gone for them unprovoked, I'd nod sympathetically, then wonder what they had unknowingly done to surprise/antagonise the dog.
As Dad caught up with and grabbed him he shouted at my rapidly retreating form 'Sorry about that - he doesn't like hats you see' meaning the light blue Musto cap which I am never without when outdoors. I giggled a little manically to myself thinking that it ranked as one of the weirdest excuses I've heard for an animal misbehaving. Then I thought, we all do it don't we - make excuses for when our animals act in a less than appropriate fashion.
All the horses have their own particular fears. For Patrick it is foals ; especially the palamino ones nearby us, for Hippo it is white vans and Coco is rendered terrified by the groups of soldiers* we see yomping in the woods ; their rucksacks in particular. In CB's case it's donkeys and motorbikes (only singles though, he's fine with anything else). Woody's nemesis is hosepipes (snakes) and for Hannah, nothing is scarier than feeling tree branches brushing against her rider, not her, she's fine with that but if she feels resistance on her rider, she just wants to head for home toute de suite. Snippit is struck rigid by baby buggies, odd really given how many kids Cocky has.
Some things are universally terrifying to the horses. I pass through lots of golf courses during my rides and golf buggies hold a particular terror. Many's the time I've had to shout to a bemused golfer 'Could you please stand still and not pull your buggy' whilst my mount pirouettes, shaking with fear, under me.
The scariest thing for me is crossing the M25 on horseback, the noise is indescribable and the mesmerising lure of watching 6 lanes of 90 mph plus traffic has me almost catatonic. My fear is that the horse will play up and somehow dump me over the barriers to my jammy doom. My coping method is to talk to the horse all the way over which ensures that I keep breathing. Horses know when you're not breathing, and become more anxious. Soon the two of you become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Thinking about it, I don't talk, I shout as otherwise the horse would not hear me - so there I am bellowing 'Good Boy' at the top of my lungs whilst trying not to let the horse look anywhere other than straight ahead.
I once discussed my fear of crossing the M25 with Cocky as we had just crossed it. 'Can you imagine anything worse' I asked, '... than being dumped over those railings and knowing that after the drop you're going to be hit by a car ?' 'Oh yes', she replied, with typical Cocky logic '.. it would be much worse for me watching it happen to you. You'd be dead, nothing to worry about but I'd have to watch it and then catch your horse.' Thanks Cocky.
With rewarding synchronicity, my walk ended as the rain began in earnest. I climbed wearily into the car & set off for the caravan on Headley Heath for a much anticipated cup of tea and something hot. Having only 2 pound coins, I decided honesty was the best policy. 'What can I get for this ?' I asked, holding aloft a coin in either hand & wearing what I hoped was my most beseeching look. 'Well, you can have a cornish pasty, a sausage roll or some chips' answered the lovely lady who works there. 'Would I have enough for a cup of tea as well ?' I asked pathetically, knowing I wouldn't. 'Don't worry, of course you can have some tea, here, it's a large one.'
It's these small, random acts of kindness that give you a glow isn't it ?
As I sat holed up in the car, consuming my food and free tea, with the heater on to dry my trousers, the feeling of post-exercise well-being was immense. I watched a village cricket match and listened to Radio 4's 'Any Answers'. As the rain pounded on the windscreen, the callers to the programme discussed how best the Government could legislate for this, the worst drought since 1976.
Cx
* They are not really soldiers, they are RAF personnel who are recuperating, based in nearby Headley Court but I don't know what you call RAF people, other than pilots ? And they're not all pilots are they ? I've asked Milky & James & they came up with these possibilities ; aircrew, servicemen, RAF ground based operatives. Any advance on those ?
Friday, May 19, 2006
I've been hesitating to blog about this for fear of jinxing myself ...
but as of 1st June this will be the view from my front door.
For those of you who didn't get much sleep last night, yes those are horses & yes I'm moving to the stables. Or, to a cottage within the grounds of the stables, to be a little more accurate. Can you imagine ? Horses, dogs, pigs, goats, a donkey and tractors - I will be a pig in poo.
I've alluded to this before, but something my time in NZ taught me was not to worry about 'stuff' too much. I don't mean small stuff, I'm quite happy to worry about that, I mean big stuff, relationships, houses, jobs, emigration - if it's supposed to be, it will be.
For the 1st four months of this year I was being mucked about something rotten at home. I didn't know from one week to the next where I was going to live. It was at this time that the lady whose horses I exercise mentioned that the cottage was to become vacant. If I told you that same cottage hasn't been vacant in the ten years I've been riding there, you'll understand how symbiotic the news was.
Initially when I was showed around it was with the words, 'It's a little grubby so imagine it with a coat of paint and those skylights replaced.' Since then, the kitchen and bathroom have been refurbished and every room has has several coats of immaculate white paint. I am moving to the countryside at the beginning of Summer. Headley Heath is on my doorstep and I will be able to ride every day. How lucky can one person be ? I cannot wait to move in. Photos to follow.
Wales - Part III - Revenge of the Brecon Beacons.
Regular readers will know that occasionally I venture to the land of the druids with other like-minded souls for a walk which I am always woefully ill-equipped to complete. For months now Roger has been warning me that this Monday's walk will be our hardest to date. These are the facts.
1) The distance is 21 miles
2) We start at 0730 (sharp)
3) It starts to get dark at 2030 and he usually has us finishing an hour before it
starts to get dark.
This means he's anticipating us taking 11 hours to do 21 miles.
The hardest walk I've ever done was the 3 Peaks which took 12 hours for 25 miles.
That says one thing to me ... ascents, lots of them.
In February, Milky and I did a really tough week of walks in the Lakes and I told myself I would do 3 hill walks a week to prepare from then on. Did I ? Did I buggery. So, what have I done by way of preparation ? 5 days around Box Hill, no worries.
Again, photos to follow.
St.Alan of the Titchmarsh
Tonight Milky went off to night duty whilst I had my once-monthly domestic blitz. I ironed whilst watching an hours worth of gardening programmes on BBC2. When I was in NZ these were the kind of programmes which I really missed. No-one does horticulture like BBC2. Firstly we were treated to St.Alan, teaching us how to be a gardener and then after that it was sausage-fingered Monty Don. I've never taken to Mr.Don & I can't really explain why, perhaps he's too upper crust to be a real horny-handed son of the soil. It may be just this ; you're either an Alan lady or a Monty lady. Oh yes - and Monty is horse's name, not a mans.
'Don't get mashed or killed'
I get jittery when Milky does nights without me and it's not without reason - he was stabbed during a night duty and no matter how irrational it is, I cannot shake the feeling that had I been there, it wouldn't have happened. We make light of it, but at the beginning of every shift I say the same thing to him - 'Don't get mashed or killed'. I can't imagine being without him now.
On that note, I've been thinking a lot about blogging lately. I see Bloo has knocked his blog on the head and I understand why, though I'm sorry to see it go. For myself, blogging when you're single is straightforward, 'I, me, I, me'. That changes when you start to share your time with someone. It becomes more complicated. Even if your partner gives you carte blanche to blog about them, you become aware that you're opening them up to scrutiny.
On one of my bloglinks, Roxy writes in great detail about her feelings and love life and I've always admired her openness. Her style wouldn't suit me though, I'm much too cowardly to open myself up to strangers like that. She's also had to cope with unwanted attention from people she would rather not, reading her blog. When her current boyfriend found it, he responded admirably but all I was thinking was 'he knows everything about how she feels about him now' and the thought of that scared the hell out of me. Come to think of it, that says more about me than him.
I'm aware that my blog has morphed from 'I think this about this' to 'I went here and did this' and I've considered not posting any more. There came a second prod recently when the Metropolitan Police said in unequivocal terms that they would be unimpressed with any employee found to be posting inappropriate things about the job. I never post about operational matters and, although it's massively tempting I try and steer clear of personal attacks (at least until he resigns) However, 'inappropriate' is such a catch-all, I'm sure it doesn't take too much imagination amongst you to believe that the Met could happen to view just about anything as inappropriate.
Have I decided what to do ? Yes and no.
You may have noticed that I changed the strapline at the top of Q4A a little while ago, to reflect the fact that this is no longer just about documenting my search for employment with horses in NZ during a career break. However, I do see this as an excellent way of keeping in touch with people (especially those whose day is starting as mine is ending)
I've been thinking about which blogs I read and why. Some are by people who interest me. I don't agree with a lot of what they say & reading their blogs exercises my brain & sometimes my fury. Some are by people I miss and I love hearing what they're up to. Some are by people better travelled & more learned, in this way I avoid disappointing holidays to political hotspots. Some are by people I admire. One is by someone who detests their flatmate so much I count my blessings. One is a collection of amusing anecdotes from someone who if they didn't blog would surely spontaneously combust. One is purely a rant against women and the author's continued lack of success with them. You get my drift. The point being, I read different blogs for different reasons so if I can't tell everything I'd like to on mine, I'm sure you'll find one where someone can. Perhaps being anon is the way to go ?
The plan is this. Q4A will run until I do or don't get to NZ. If they say no, I'll consider that the natural end. If I get in, I'll carry on, if only to continue posting pictures of the most beautiful place on earth.
Cx
but as of 1st June this will be the view from my front door.
For those of you who didn't get much sleep last night, yes those are horses & yes I'm moving to the stables. Or, to a cottage within the grounds of the stables, to be a little more accurate. Can you imagine ? Horses, dogs, pigs, goats, a donkey and tractors - I will be a pig in poo.
I've alluded to this before, but something my time in NZ taught me was not to worry about 'stuff' too much. I don't mean small stuff, I'm quite happy to worry about that, I mean big stuff, relationships, houses, jobs, emigration - if it's supposed to be, it will be.
For the 1st four months of this year I was being mucked about something rotten at home. I didn't know from one week to the next where I was going to live. It was at this time that the lady whose horses I exercise mentioned that the cottage was to become vacant. If I told you that same cottage hasn't been vacant in the ten years I've been riding there, you'll understand how symbiotic the news was.
Initially when I was showed around it was with the words, 'It's a little grubby so imagine it with a coat of paint and those skylights replaced.' Since then, the kitchen and bathroom have been refurbished and every room has has several coats of immaculate white paint. I am moving to the countryside at the beginning of Summer. Headley Heath is on my doorstep and I will be able to ride every day. How lucky can one person be ? I cannot wait to move in. Photos to follow.
Wales - Part III - Revenge of the Brecon Beacons.
Regular readers will know that occasionally I venture to the land of the druids with other like-minded souls for a walk which I am always woefully ill-equipped to complete. For months now Roger has been warning me that this Monday's walk will be our hardest to date. These are the facts.
1) The distance is 21 miles
2) We start at 0730 (sharp)
3) It starts to get dark at 2030 and he usually has us finishing an hour before it
starts to get dark.
This means he's anticipating us taking 11 hours to do 21 miles.
The hardest walk I've ever done was the 3 Peaks which took 12 hours for 25 miles.
That says one thing to me ... ascents, lots of them.
In February, Milky and I did a really tough week of walks in the Lakes and I told myself I would do 3 hill walks a week to prepare from then on. Did I ? Did I buggery. So, what have I done by way of preparation ? 5 days around Box Hill, no worries.
Again, photos to follow.
St.Alan of the Titchmarsh
Tonight Milky went off to night duty whilst I had my once-monthly domestic blitz. I ironed whilst watching an hours worth of gardening programmes on BBC2. When I was in NZ these were the kind of programmes which I really missed. No-one does horticulture like BBC2. Firstly we were treated to St.Alan, teaching us how to be a gardener and then after that it was sausage-fingered Monty Don. I've never taken to Mr.Don & I can't really explain why, perhaps he's too upper crust to be a real horny-handed son of the soil. It may be just this ; you're either an Alan lady or a Monty lady. Oh yes - and Monty is horse's name, not a mans.
'Don't get mashed or killed'
I get jittery when Milky does nights without me and it's not without reason - he was stabbed during a night duty and no matter how irrational it is, I cannot shake the feeling that had I been there, it wouldn't have happened. We make light of it, but at the beginning of every shift I say the same thing to him - 'Don't get mashed or killed'. I can't imagine being without him now.
On that note, I've been thinking a lot about blogging lately. I see Bloo has knocked his blog on the head and I understand why, though I'm sorry to see it go. For myself, blogging when you're single is straightforward, 'I, me, I, me'. That changes when you start to share your time with someone. It becomes more complicated. Even if your partner gives you carte blanche to blog about them, you become aware that you're opening them up to scrutiny.
On one of my bloglinks, Roxy writes in great detail about her feelings and love life and I've always admired her openness. Her style wouldn't suit me though, I'm much too cowardly to open myself up to strangers like that. She's also had to cope with unwanted attention from people she would rather not, reading her blog. When her current boyfriend found it, he responded admirably but all I was thinking was 'he knows everything about how she feels about him now' and the thought of that scared the hell out of me. Come to think of it, that says more about me than him.
I'm aware that my blog has morphed from 'I think this about this' to 'I went here and did this' and I've considered not posting any more. There came a second prod recently when the Metropolitan Police said in unequivocal terms that they would be unimpressed with any employee found to be posting inappropriate things about the job. I never post about operational matters and, although it's massively tempting I try and steer clear of personal attacks (at least until he resigns) However, 'inappropriate' is such a catch-all, I'm sure it doesn't take too much imagination amongst you to believe that the Met could happen to view just about anything as inappropriate.
Have I decided what to do ? Yes and no.
You may have noticed that I changed the strapline at the top of Q4A a little while ago, to reflect the fact that this is no longer just about documenting my search for employment with horses in NZ during a career break. However, I do see this as an excellent way of keeping in touch with people (especially those whose day is starting as mine is ending)
I've been thinking about which blogs I read and why. Some are by people who interest me. I don't agree with a lot of what they say & reading their blogs exercises my brain & sometimes my fury. Some are by people I miss and I love hearing what they're up to. Some are by people better travelled & more learned, in this way I avoid disappointing holidays to political hotspots. Some are by people I admire. One is by someone who detests their flatmate so much I count my blessings. One is a collection of amusing anecdotes from someone who if they didn't blog would surely spontaneously combust. One is purely a rant against women and the author's continued lack of success with them. You get my drift. The point being, I read different blogs for different reasons so if I can't tell everything I'd like to on mine, I'm sure you'll find one where someone can. Perhaps being anon is the way to go ?
The plan is this. Q4A will run until I do or don't get to NZ. If they say no, I'll consider that the natural end. If I get in, I'll carry on, if only to continue posting pictures of the most beautiful place on earth.
Cx
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