Pub Quizzing and Extreme(?) Archery

Snow flurries are very fashionable this week

With Storm Doris now a memory and her successor (Ewan) a comparatively mild (though very wet) one I should have been able to report by now all the damage repaired and secured and the mess tidied away. Sadly, the weather has lately been a succession of wet, windy days featuring a bitingly cold NW wind and flurries of snow and sleet and hail storms. The ground is very wet underfoot and we have returned to puddles everywhere. We have been rather pinned down and not keen to go out and do garden stuff, so the entertainments have all been indoor flavoured.

The ewes in a sleet-flurry

Liz got back involved in our much-loved Kent-days hobby of pub-quizzing. The 'Centre' (really the 'Village Hall') where she works, organise a table quiz annually as a fund raiser for the Hall and Liz, in her 'admin' role was looking at doing 'scorer'. I had cried off on the grounds that the questions would all have an Irish flavour and leave me feeling foolish in my ignorance of Irish history, politics, geography, GAA/sports and so on. At the 11th hour another scorer volunteered and Liz was free to join a table and compete.

New dark green tarp turns white in the wet snow.

In the event it was a hugely successful night and Liz had a great time. Her table came 4th behind the winning (Chairman's) gang and 2nd placed table Captained by her boss, so appropriate, politically correct decorum was maintained! The questions were not very Irish at all, so my fears were groundless and I regretted not going - I have put my name down for the next one. In fact, Liz won a decent meat-voucher in the raffle, so she came out of the night in profit. Everyone's a winner!

Assembling the target 'tug' - that little
Mercedes by Paul's right foot.

My indoor entertainment came in the form of a rather silly fun-shoot at archery, jokingly called "Extreme Archery, Moving Targets" on Sunday. Club coach (Con) had decided we should all shoot at balloons towed behind a radio controlled, battery operated toy car which he would drive up and down in front of the big, arrow-stopping, target 'butts'. Helium balloons would be used to hold up the ends of the tow-rope and the shoot-able balloons would be tied on half way up this. That way, the car would zoom across the range dragging all the targets in its wake like an upside-down bridal wedding train. Mad? It was.

Three archers start shooting as the yellow balloon (sorry,
 barely visible in this pic) enters the top right corner of the
killing zone. 

Just in time we established a rule that you could only shoot at targets while they were in front of the butts. That way we should get fewer arrows embedded in the nice, clean, new plastered walls.

About to let fly. 

You were very rarely able to hit the helium balloons because these only trailed down into the zone when the car was going full speed, straight across the range. I finally nailed those (both with one arrow!) late in the game and we found that the one remaining helium one was not buoyant enough to hold up the train. The game was over and we had to go back to serious target-shooting. It was all very silly but good fun.

Warming Winter food - roast chicken 'saddles' and 'champ'

Which brings us to pancake day. As I sit here and write this, I am comfortably full of pancakes expertly cooked, as ever, by the Lady of the House. Liz is long established as the best pancake cook 'we' know and we spent many a Shrove Tuesday with Diane and John. plus D's step-father Denis consuming Liz's output so fast that she had to put her foot down at the end and save some for herself, or she'd have used up all the batter watching us hoover them up. For me, the ONLY WAY is lemon juice and sugar but Liz does occasionally sneak a 'Nutella' one down.

Liz is off tonight at the latest play rehearsal while she digests hers - these days 'we' let all the pancakes get cooked and stacked in the warm oven before either of 'us' starts one. I don't suppose I actually could keep up with her 2-pan cookery but it'd be fun trying. Pass me the next lemon and the jar of vanilla sugar, now.

Long Weekend

This long weekend is turning into one of those glorious holidays where you seem to have done so much and had so many days off already, but still you have plenty left and it's nowhere near the end. Perhaps it's because it all started way back last Thursday with the arrival of Mazy-Lou as house guest, 4 sleeps ago.

Turns out, by the way, that Mazy, daughter of vicar, grew up in a vicarage, loves a bit of 'church brass' to clean. The very best treat apparently, if the children were really good, was that they were allowed to Silvo an ancient and venerable, heirloom chalice and platter set which vicars of old would take round to houses of parishionners who were unable to attend church, in order to "do" (administer? celebrate?) communion in their homes. So there's nothing Mazy likes more than a bit of therapeutic Brasso-ing. Step forward, then, the Denis Memorial sundial currently languishing, tarnished and unloved on its Denis Memorial bay tree stump. Look at it now! Thanks Mazy!

Mustn't forget, in all the adventures of the weekend that Pud Lady's Birthday was 1st May (luckily we didn't forget! Dad made the phone call, chatted happily about gardens, comparing the progress of Spring in Hastings and in North Kent and making final prep for the imminent gathering of the clan in celebration of Pud Lady's big day. Happy Birthday, Pud Lady.)

Incidentally, Pud Lady gives us a westie calendar every year and we just want to draw attention to the rather superb photo now open for May 2011 - none of your cutesie, twee westiedom here. This is a low angle action shot of a chunky dog strutting across the field of view, seen from the "port-bow". It has all the masculinity and strength of a good 'heavy horse' shot, solid compact legs, head held high....... be still my beating heart.

So, the humans continue to enjoy their various adventures and we dogs are getting some good walks, nice and early in the morning. For some reason, Dad's been waking up at 06:30 ish, fresh as a daisy, quick cup of coffee, then out for 06:45 and back by about 8 before anyone else is up. Dad's had a couple of days painting down at Cambria, Mum and Mazy have been off shopping or exploring, either with Diamond and her two remaining guests (Kim and Joan) or on their own. They've done Whitstable, Canterbury, Faversham, taking in tapas lunches, the superb "Goods Shed" farm shop in Canterbury, Macknades, charity shops and so on. We've eaten well and drunk well (and sensible, this time - must be getting all mature and growed up!). We've lazed on the terrace reading the papers and got a fair mileage out of the Royal Wedding and newspaper write-ups there of.

It's been a blast. Now, as I write this, we are just back from this morning's rather blustery walk and chilling out on the sofa and waiting for the ladies to stir.

Deefs

Unveiling

Here it is, then, the Denis N Memorial Sundial, formally unveiled yesterday at a nice wine-and-nibbles "do" laid on by Mum in the garden. Den was toasted with Champagne and Diamond said a few words about what Den would have thought of it and probably said... ("Shoot ooop, ya blooody silly woman!" and so on).

Diamond suggested that I was only making a fuss of her because she hadn't brought Rags along (there is this outrageous suggestion that I am not the best hostess where Rags is concerned).

Our heatwave continues and we get buzzed off with Dad's No 2 blade (4mm) after breakfast. This makes Haggis's neck, back, flanks and rump look like they are covered with white felt, so dense is his coat. I get a finish which is just as smooth but silkier and grey/silver looking where my coat is nothing like so dense. We will both be all the cooler for that.

So hot is it, that Dad wakes early and heads for the allotment at 06:30 for some digging before it heats up. The soil is dry as dust on top and only mildly darker and crumby at spade-depth. Dad is not alone - quite a few allotmenteers are up and about at that time (and we later find John had been at his since 05:45. We are told it is the driest hottest first-half-of-year for 80 years down here in the SE and that is even with the cold and wet which is now just a distant memory from ?? April.

Hot dogs

Deefski

Timey Wimey

No, don't worry - we're not getting all Doctor Who on you. Remember, though that we used to have the Denis N Memorial bay tree in the garden, but it was blocking out the light, so Diamond's John and his trusty chain-saw reduced it to the Denis N Memorial Stump (pictured), onto the top of which will be attached the Denis N Memorial Sundial (picture soon). Well, that's now arrived and Mum and Dad, not satisfied with any old sundial, went for a "proper" one.

They had no idea what this would entail, but chose a shiny brass one and filled in all the details on the form, this just for the design proofs. They had to give latitude and longitude and there is a place for some bigger-script words (we chose "For Denis") and another for a suitable quote or, for example, biblical text. Mum chose "The garden is a lovesome thing, God wot" from a favourite poem.

The dial has now arrived and the setting up is quite a pallaver, especially as John's chain saw cut was not... um.... how shall we put it..... exactly horizontal. The disc of the dial has to sit exactly horizontal (spirit level job) so that meant a bed of putty with suitable sized stones embedded. It then has to be exactly aligned to the meridian.

Amazingly (we learned), the sun's movements relative to earth are not exactly regular - the 24 hours is only an average - in fact the apparent position of the sun at each hour varies by +15 to -15 minutes depending on month (14.20 minutes "slow" by a sundial on 12th Feb, 16.23 mins fast on 3rd November, almost correct on 16th April, 14th June, 2nd Sept and 25th Dec) I kid you not - it's called the "Equation of Time". Neither the sundial nor the clock are "wrong", they are just measuring different versions of time.

The need for latitude (we are 51 degrees, 20 minutes North) is so that the "finger" of the dial (called a "gnomon) can point exactly at the North Star.

And then, of course, there's the fact that the dial is calculated and configured to GMT, so for all the Summer it's an hour wrong.

And then Mum decided she didn't like it just perched on the stump, but would prefer it to have some kind of "table" on which to sit, so a suitable flagstone was bought, the thing dismantled, and the re-assembled with the flag twixt stump and brass.

That's all human stuff - I'm only interested in Breakfast Time, Dinner Time, walk time and bed time

Deefer

Denis

It's the anniversary of the passing away of our old chum Denis, "Dad" of Ragworth, so Mum takes herself off to Mass to pay her respects and "cover for" Diamond, who is still in hospital. Dad is on call this weekend, so he has to work the Saturday and his life is ruled by the mobile phone and text messages.

With a certain inevitability, Friday night sees a 3 lorry pile up on the M25 close by the firm's Waltham Point site, so it's never going to be an easy one as the operation makes adjustments and rescues itself from the chaos.

In the middle of all this we get a buzz-cut. Yes, readers, all those lovely flowing locks of the previous posting are gone, and I am a felty-bodied, narrow faced animal which looks more like a lamb than a westie. Cooler though - and this is the final Autumn cut. We are now allowed to grow ever more shaggy and warmer through the Winter, round to out April cut.

Dad is doing his stint on the Sailing Barge (SB) Cambria today, so more photo's of that soon. Either side of that we get the new format double walk. In the morning a gentle one to the rec with Meggie, where we get very wet froma surprise shower of rain. Then when Dad's back from Cambria, Haggis and I get a good circuit through town and past Cambria, round the creek bank and back here.

Very satisfying
Rest in Peace, Den
Deefer

Vigil

A warm but breezy weekend should be a chance to chill out, but regular readers will be sad to know that our good friend Diamond has taken a bad turn in Hospital, and things are looking very grim. Just a few days ago she was allowed out for the afternoon and we were all sitting chatting on the back terrace in the sun, while Diamond heartily ate some of Mum's pasta. This was the first good appetite she'd showed for a while, and things were looking up.

This weekend then, we are a bit of a hub of visitors coming to see Diamond - friends from London, family and family friends from Stockton on Tees (where she and the late Denis hail from). Friday night turned into a bit of a vigil, as we all sat out on the terrace in the gathering gloom, candles burning, wine, chat, food, we dogs mooching about checking out the night noises and smells.

Today has been lots of comings and goings as people visit in relays.

It's a worrying time. Hang in there Diamond.

Deefski

Gnashers

Denis (the late Dad to rags and step-dad to Diamond) was something of an artist, and had accumulated during his living in this town, a goodly pile of artist's equipment - fine papers, pallet knives, paints, pastels, crayons, pencils, brushes and a brilliant elabourate easel. To add to these, during the last years before he got really ill, he used to walk down in to town every day while Diamond was at work and visit the market and the shops.

He was always buying "bargains" and reporting back to Diamond what a good deal he had got. We may have already told you that when the humans cleared his shed and took the contents to a boot sale, they had crates and buckets of "tool shop" purchases - hinges still in their packets, mint condition tools, packets of screws and nails etc.

Well, the same applied to artist's stuff - so in his painting cases and boxes there were huge bundles of un-used brushes and untouched paints, and, as he knew what he was doing quality-wise, they were all top drawer stuff.

When he passed away, and Diamond started to clear this stuff, the only other artist we know is "The Artist", husband of the "Late Lady" (No, she's not dead - she's "late in the other sense, being the most "manana", lacksadaisical, relaxed timekeeper we know.) in Portmarnock, Co. Dublin, a very good friend of Mum from when she lived there (and still now when we all visit).

So, when we went over to Ireland this time, we took the crates, easel and other artistic goodies to "The Artist", en route. He was delighted - completely blown away by the bounty. All fantastic quality, he said. keep him amused for the next 30 years! We dropped the stuff and drove on down to Silverwood's. On the way back we dropped in again to collect a painting by "The Artist" for Mum. We sat down and were offered coffee and soon became aware that The Artist had a twinkle in his eye and was dying to tell us something funny.

Turns out that in among all the paints and brushes, he had found a complete set of Denis's old false teeth!

Deefer

Sad News

Sad news to bring you, I'm afraid. Denis, step-father of Diamond and owner of Rags (Asbo, our old mate) passed away at 5 o'clock this morning. Our thoughts are all with Diamond and the family. Mum stays round there today to lend moral support, and Dad takes us in the 2CV down to Hastings to see the Pud Lady and the Stamp Man.

Out of nowhere, the South East of England is finally having an Indian Summer, so it's a chance for Dad to don shorts and sandals and roll the roof down on the 2CV for the run down (and back). Gotta catch up on the Poros tans somehow - just a shame we couldn't have had decent sunshine for narrow boating, or Duncombe Park, or any other of the wet windy events we've been involved in this "Summer"

We have great fun feretting about in Pud Lady's mature woodland garden. Pud Lady is convinced they have seen a rat, so we are put to work a-sniffing. Dad knows that if there are rats hiding anywhere, Meggie's unfailing nose will sniff them out and we will all "point" - noses pressed to a hole, ears pricked, tails up, sniffing and darting about in prey-focus mode. No such luck. We wander about aimlessly, with no sign of the little varmints. False alarm this time, Pud Lady, unless they're scentless rats!

Deepest sympathies to Diamond
Deefer

The Girls are Back

...ahhh that's better. We tried to post on here last night, and the auto-save kept killing us. Just a big red and yellow stripe, and no news!...

All is returned to normality here (well nearly). Diamond and Mum are back from their 10 days in the Greek island of Poros, and to prove it, here is a shot Mum took on her new camera, of a Greek octopus-fisherman beating 7 bells out of an octopus to tenderise it.

I say "nearly" - all is in fact not well with young Denis, Diamond's dad and Rags's owner. He's in hospital at the moment, so we are thinking of them.

Dad's bought steak and fizz to celebrate Mum's return (crawler!) so we get a small amount of that. Everybody's tired out though what with all the overnighting and whizzing to and from airports, so we all crash out at just gone 8pm, like a couple of old gits!

These old ones - no stamina!

Deefs

A shining example

Everyone is completely amazed and delighted by the "revelation" that is Asbo (Rags) as a hospital visitor. Daimond's Dad, Denis is now pretty much confined to hospital and he misses the daily contact he used to have with Rags, so Diamond agreed with the staff of the section where Denis is currently living, to be allowed to bring Rags in on a visit.

Everyone involved was very trepidatious about this - he's not got his Asbo for no reason (all be it , lately the humans have rescinded it). There was no limit to the chaos he could have caused, racing about, doing um... presents, annoying patients, wrecking the place.

He was let in the first time under the strictest controls, on the lead and for a pre-arranged limited time, supervised by the nursing staff.

He was, as I said, a "revelation" ! The perfectly behaved dog! Delighted to see Denis (and vice versa) but in a restrained, non-mad way, and everyone's idea of the best behaved dog you'd want in a hospital wing. Now, a few visits down the line he is let off the lead. He makes a bee-line for Denis and a fuss of him, but then trots obediently towards any of the other patients who call him over, never fussing them too much, never out-staying his welcome, leaving alone the ones who don't want to talk to him, never ever leaving those "gifts".

Everyone's idea, in fact, of the perfect "PAT" (Pets as Therapy) dog. The boy has found his niche, and we're dead proud of him, Denis Healey eyebrows an' all !

Deefs

Disreputable

Here. Just to prove Rags (aka "Asbo") has not always been such a disreputable looking bandit, with his Lawson eyebrows, is a pic of him as a pup.

OK - gone a bit downhill from there, maybe, but we still love him.

Meanwhile, real-Mum (Mollie) was back off to the vets, and is being kept on the antibiotics and anti-inflammatories for the moment. As the weird sores continue to heal and scar over they are a bit itchy for her, and if she's not careful she could make it all flare up again with her scratching

..and our chum Bugsy, the Bichon is now being joined by an 11 week old baby brother. he's not been allowed out in public yet as he's only 11 weeks, but we'll look forward to meeting him. Being "Show" people and ex Afghan breeders, only the best pedigree will do for them, and I gather that they are paying sensible-ish money only because this very well bred boy is for "pet" use only (ie you enter an agreement not to breed with him, verbal only maybe, but still kept to as a matter of homour among breeders). Full on pedigree bichons from this source are upwards of £700 these days!!! How much? Something to be said for disreputable maybe.......... Good ol' Ragster

Deefer

ASBO - a reformed character

Regular readers will remember "Asbo", also known as "Ragworth", Patterdale terrier of Diamond and ol' Denis. You won't have seen much of him lately in these pages, since there was a problem on one of his visits, with the late Felix, our black and white cat, and Diamond has not felt safe bringing him since.

Well, lots of water has flowed under the bridge since then, Felix has gone, Rags has grown up a bit and Denis is now in hospital. So today, Rags is spruced up, shampood, combed and made to look a picture of non-asbo-ness, fluffed and clean (see first picture). Off he goes to hospital in our car as good as gold, trots obediently in, visits Denis, makes a big fuss of him, allows Denis to show him off round the day-room, meeting other patients. He is perfectly behaved, sociable, a credit to Diamond.

Then they adjourn back here for a roast lamb meal. We barely have time to take the first picture, before he rediscovers the "frog pond" (see 2nd picture). He emerges as ever covered in smelly water and duckweed, mush to the exasperation of poor Diamond.

Do we re-instate the "asbo", we ask?

Deefs