...and so we dogs make it to our emigration day. It's this afternoon Dad drives us all to North Wales and the Irish Ferries boat and tonight at silly o'clock we sail away to Ireland, headed for the welcoming residence of the Silverwoods. Dad will stay with us there till the end of November, but then he'll fly back without us for the final days in England before returning with Mum, the 2CV and trailer, and the Fiat in convoy. We are not involved in that bit, so effectively tonight is the moment we become Irish residents.
So we feel a bit like a secret radio transmitter behind enemy lines. This is our last transmission from Pud Lady's before we dismantle the 'transmitter', load it into the car and move it to a new location. We've quite enjoyed our stay here and all the nice new walks we have discovered; the Old Town, St Helen's Woods, the Fire Hills, Old Roar Gill, Alexandra Park and the Archery Field etc, although Dad has gone a bit barmy with the games of scrabble with Pud Lady (Series score 32:32 after 64 games. We suspect Dad might have 'thrown' a few games to keep it that neat but we don't want to get embroiled in another betting scandal like the Pakistani cricket lads, so we're keeping schtum.
We enjoyed our final weekend in the caravan with Mum and Dad together, which included inviting Diamond and John (and Rags) round for a supper of pork-bellies on the Saturday. Dad is now off the anti-biotics and has had his stitches out, so he could have a beer or two. Rags loves the caravan and the boat yard just like I do - plenty of places to amble about and sniff, so we're all allowed off leads and we still stick around the caravan as a base. John is especially taken with the place and has been asking questions around how do you come to own or rent a bit of it.
The weather finally gave out - our lovely succession of being able to sit outside of an evening gave way to wind and rain - but no worries. Llew has rigged up a wood burning stove inside the caravan with a welded tube chimney out the side and up to roof height. It even has an inverted saucepan on an aluminium tube bungee'd to the side which you can lower over the chimney when not in use to keep the rain off. Warm as toast, we were.
On the way 'home' we call by the Cambria and agree with Boss-of-Volunteers, Basil, that Dad can sleep aboard when he's back over in December. There is a possible issue with the timings of the sanding and varnishing of the hold 'floors'- actually bizarrely called ceilings in a barge; the floors are the horizontal frames running east-west under what you'd think were the floor planks (and galley floor). He may have to vacate the barge during that process, but there's always the caravan.
Ah well, time now to switch off and take the computer to bits ready to be packed into the car after breakfast for the trip back to Faversham where Dad, at lunchtime, is invited to a screening of the new Mike Maloney barge film "Red Sails" which the Cambria lot have been involved in the making of. From there. later on, the drive NW towards Holyhead and the sail Ireland. Next time I 'talk' I will be an Irish doggie!