Pembertons

Tonight's post is very strong on the 2CV theme following the camp at the weekend. The grassy picture is taken at the 2CV camp and shows, as regular readers will be aware, Dad's and Andy's 'project car' Mademoiselle, one time twinning gift from La Chapelle d'Armentieres to the N Kent town of Birchington.

Behind Mmle are two kit cars derived from 2CV mechanicals, known as "Pembertons". Although three wheelers, they are based on 2CV running gear and suspension fixed to a 'space-frame' chassis, bodied in sheet aluminium with the engine left mostly exposed at the nose to aid air cooling but also to give the car a 30's Bugatti feel. Dad will verify how much work these guys have to do to build them - the nearer car is owned and was built by one of Dad's mates, Ian, who was one of the four who built Mmle but then sold out his share to buy this kit about 3 years ago - he's been building the Pemberton ever since.

Mind you (says Dad) he is the world's most fussy perfectionist and takes all the time in the world to make sure every pop rivet is exactly aligned and at an exact spacing from its neighbours, and that every widget and grommet is just so. He took Dad out for a blat in it and Dad can also attest to how scary this is, how exposed you feel with no bodywork around you, how exciting the exhaust noise even at 50 and how hot the exhaust is if you lean out like a sidecar rider and rest your elbow on the straight-through tail pipe.

My other picture is, you will also have spotted, one of Dad's and 2CV Pete's 2CVs as seen through a bow fairlead on the good old SB Cambria. More on a possible Cambria development soon.

Day Erroll minus two and counting

Deefs

Hoppers 2011

Did you miss me? We've been away with Dad to the 2011 version of the annual 2CV club camp organised by the local group of 2CVGB, Kentish Hoppers, at 'our' farm in Preston village, just east of Wingham, near Canterbury. This is a quiet little relaxed camp as these things go, with none of yer wild partying, loud music of heavy drinking, just lots of sitting around in the sun, checking out the Citroen cars which show up, reading, chatting and (for some) plinking away on the ukuleles which seem to be taking over one corner of the site. Lots of chillin'.

We also coincide with the Preston Steam Rally, which is a big meet of traction engines locally, so that campers can, if they wish, walk the 10 minutes across the fields to visit that with all its hoots, whistles and fairground noise, classic cars and bikes, olde agricultural amd military kit, stalls and trade stands, like a mini Kent Show.

We dogs get to drive around in a variety of old 2CVs, including Dad and Andy's "Mademoiselle" car and this bizarre one painted up like a Sebastian Loeb rally C4 (no competition parts - just the paint job!). We sleep with Dad in his little tent and we join in with the chilling out. More on all this though, over the next couple of days. It seems I rolled in a bit too much horse poo and wiped my back down a few too many oily 2CV sumps (I go under them to get out of the sun), so although I did get washed immediately in one of the horse drinkers with just washing up liquid, I am due a proper shampoo.

Byeee.... splosh

Deefs

Holiday Romance

Ahhhhhh.... 'tis smitten I am, blown to bits by a holiday romance. Our absence over the last few days has been because Dad has been away with Haggis and I to the annual 2CV camp down in Preston (Kent), just east of Canterbury, north of Wingham. It's been bakingly, stultifyingly hot (which is unusual for a 2CV camp, where Force 8 and driving rain is the norm, coinciding, as it does, usually with Glastonbury weekend).

This camp takes place in a field which is normally a horse paddock, so there was poo to roll in and smear all over my neck (We'd only been there 10 minutes, so Dad was cross) and the heat meant I had to lie up under (oily, old, leaky) cars for shade, so I very quickly got my usual camp oil-slick down my back, only partly removed by an emergency bath in a fire bucket with Fairy liquid as shampoo!

At this camp, Dad met old friends from many camps including J+J, who turn up this year with a new dog, a brown long-haired German pointer of great beauty and youth. He has the old-French name of Artous, as befits a 2CV-dog if not a German pointer. See my picture. Well, the campers could get on with it as far as I was concerned - my mission was straight away to tease him and get him to play, which he was quite happy to do, and which meant I could zip about out-manouvring him and nipping under cars to lose him, but then letting him find me again. There were comments from humans about "outrageous flirting" and being a "tease" and a "tart" but I was lost to all reason.

More on all this tomorrow.

Ahhhh... Artous... will you remember me? Will you write?

Deefski

Super-Grass

A nice pic of the "chuck wagons" around the camp site at night, but then this one. I was trying so hard to keep this quiet but it's just too priceless to let go by, possibly even beating the "Dad falls in canal" story. Yup, we were heading home from the camp and Dad beginning to celebrate the fact that we looked , for the first time ever, to be likely to complete the journey to/from a distant camp without breakdown or incident.

But we were only about 15 miles from home and getting down to the vapour on the petrol tank, so we were forced to stop in the old Farthing Corner (now Medway) services on the M2, where (so goes the excuse put about by Dad) the pumps were unfamiliar BP ones (we always use Shell, because Dad has a loyalty card). Also, allegedly he was tired and winding down nearly home.

Only faintly registering the £1.159 price per litre we fire up and carry on when, 2 miles down the road the car starts to misfire and make all sorts of choking noises. We pull off the motorway, that sinking feeling hitting us. Parked by the side of the M2 Dad realises the horrible truth - he's just put £22's worth of premium diesel in the car. Now a 2CV can run on all sorts of rough old low grade fuels, but diesel isn't one of them.

There is nothing for it but to call the AA for a lift for the last 15 miles or so to home, push the car up onto the drive and call 2CV-Doctor Lew. When he's finished laughing he relieves us all by saying that no permanent damage has been done, but we need to drain off the diesel, drop the tank to flush it out with petrol, take the top off the carb to dry out the float chambers and blow through the whole lot with his compressor. All of that we do last night, and Clara is back in the pink of good health.

It's the other way round you do the damage - petrol in a diesel car, we're told - not only can it strip all the lubrication off the high-pressure pumps and sieze them, it can also detonate when the 27:1 compression ratio goes to work on it. We just had a bad case of indigestion. Dad is philosophical and taking all the gales of laughter in good part, but I suspect he'll be a bit more careful choosing his fuel pump nozzles in the future....

Poor ol' Dad!

Deefski

St Ives Cowboy Theme

Give them a theme and they'll run with it. At the St Ives camp, the theme was the "Wild West" (actually the wild East, being Cambridgeshire, but that hardly seemed to matter. The humans were "away on a hack" running with the theme.

The entrance to the camp was a mocked up shack, complete with papier-mache-faced man in blue check shirt, jeans and boots, outside with a big double barrelled gun (a safe mock up, let me say, with a wooden stock with two bits of one inch diam black plastic pipe attached). All around were signs such as the one shown, with a Ciroen Ami van with buffalo horns attached, or the totem pole adorned with many mysterious Citroen double-chevron runes and a dubious looking 2CV in blue on top.

Everywhere, the theme was taken up. The food area became the "chuck wagon" place, with the food wagons being cowboy related - mexican street food (Delicious said Dad - spicy chicken in a wrap with a salsa made with toms and onions plus green limes, and pumpkin seeds), cowboy food (pork and beans etc). The "flea market" became the "Trading Post". All the "streets across the camping site fields between the blocks of tents were named with wild west names - indian tribes like souix, mohawk and apache, or film-related names (boot hill, the crick).

In the barn set up for the live music and entertainment the stage area was, inevitably, the "Deadwood Stage". Even more Citroen related - there's a car called the Ami 6 Saloon, so that was the name given to the bar, and there's a range of 2CV's called the "AK"s, so the main arena was called the "AK Corrall". They must have enjoyed themselves thinking up all the puns and in-jokes for the programme. The quiet camping area was signposted the "Stockade", and the boundaries to the site were signposted "The Badlands".

Ah - before I sign off though for today a quick "Hello" to Em-J. Sorry I missed you, ol' mate. I didn't realise you were on an early flight Sunday, or I would have said a proper "goodbye" on Thursday morning. Hope you enjoyed the rest of your stay with "Mum". See you again soon.

Deefski

2CV camp St Ives

Hi guys. We're just back from the latest 2CV camp, this one organised by the National club (2CVGB) in St Ives, Cambridgeshire (Not the one in the far South West).

It has, as ever, been a blast. Lovely hot sunny weather so plenty of chilling out, and a "Wild West" theme, so plenty of opportunity for the humans to go loopy. Haggis is still traumatised, we think, by the sight of a grown man in a black and white cow suit, with an inflated rubber glove in an appropriate place, for the udder. More than a poor impressionable young man can take.

We made loads of friends, as well as meeting up again with most of the gang who go to the Kent Camps. Just one quick pic for now, a shot from inside the tent where I (centre) and Haggis (right) have taken cover from the heat, and Megan is resolutely basking in the sunshine outside (left). Lots of adventures to describe but we're all too tired just now, so tonight, just a quick catch up like this

Look after yourselves.

Deefski

H Vans and a Scammell

2 more nice pics from the 2CV camp, and the associated Preston Steam Rally. The grey beast is the Citroen H Van mentioned yesterday, and the blue and red beast is considerably heavier, being a low loader / heavy haulage puller/pusher, the Scammell. Both lovingly restored and I am sure much cherished. Dad says he loves the name, but that might be something to do with Theakestone's beers.

My but it's hot. Dad's getting home at a sensible hour but no-one feels like walking till about 9 pm. The car's dashboard thermometer read 35 degrees at 3pm, admittedly in a sun-trap car park, but even moving under normal conditions we were still getting 31 degrees. Too hot to walk, too hot to type.

Love though, to Diamond, not at all well in hospital at present. Rags has been sent away "on his holidays" (a place up on the A2 owned by chums of Diamond, where Rags goes when she's in Greece. He loves it there - big garden and people around all the time to make a fuss of him and be with him. Thinks all his Birthdays and Christmasses have come at once. Won't want to come home!

Deefski

Socks and a Ukulele

2 more pics from the 2CV camp. A couple of the campers who we know well, and who turn up with Collie brother and sister, Ben and Nellie (14) have lately got keen on playing the Ukulele.

The guy in particular has bought several on Flea-Bay and "done them up" with amusing paint-jobs etc (One was in two-tone and covered in pics of ska bands and stuff). He is also a bit of a genius woodworker and , being also mad keen on the old corrugated steel Citroen vans called "H" vans, has even made a Uke whose body is the same shape as an H van grille. I will dig out an H van pic so you can see (just imagine a corrugated iron shed on wheels).

This one has several amusing and imaginative features - the number plate says "Uke", the paint work has been deliverately "distressed" at the bottom and on the neck, the sound-holes are the Citroen chevrons, and inside is a fake sticker saying "Made by Citroen USA in 1958". The coffee mug in the pic is also H-van inspired, as within Dad's club there is an un-official spoof sub-group called "Scum" (Societe Citroen Utilite Moteurs) - or some such.

The next pic is another dog we know well from many many camps - "Socks" who appears with Mick and his good lady Charlie. Socks belongs to Charlie and here she (Charlie) is caught facing the wrong way in their H-Van driving seat and trying to screw her head round to see who is calling her through the window (It's Dad). Disorganised ears or what?

Deefski

Madge is a bloke

We've mentionned before, I'm sure, a westie we met in the Rec, who was, then quite a young pup. We met again the other day, and had quite a nice run around. The owner was slightly anxious in case "Madge" got a bit too excited and killed us three, but there was no danger and we charged about giving as good as we were getting. Dad spotted that "Madge" appeared to have bits undernieth not appropriate to a dog named "Madge". "Madge?" he quizzed the owner. "Umm.... it's short for 'Majic' but it does confuse people!" she said

The Kentish Hoppers 2CV group are back up to their camping tricks, but it's windy and showery and not at all good camping weather. Dad (and Megan), still a bit fed up with wet windy camping after Yorkshire, is not at all sure we will pitch this time - we may wuss out and just do day-visit.

Today, anyway, we had to get the 2CV round to 2CV-Llew's to drop the fuel tank out and cure the sucking-air leak. Excellent opportunity for we dogs to meet up with tea-drinking, beer-slurping Jack Russell, "Rosie", and to chase about Llew's out-buildings and old abandonned commercial greenhouses looking for rats

From there we headed for the camp site, there to help the guys erect the big party-tent marquee, rig up power cabling and set out safety notices and what not. Excellent opportunity for me, as usual, to get sump oil all up my back, horse poo well smeared into my chin, cheeks, neck and chest, and that general camping-westie grubbiness. Unfortunately, because we are not pitching tonight, when Dad comes home for supper, I get bathed back to innocent whiteness. Mum will never know!

...and Dad's friend Shirley, who sadly lost her Westie "Penny" a good year ago now, is getting a new pup - picked it up last night. Always intending this to be another westie, they fell in love with a cute westie x sheltie cross, which "looks a bit like a chav westie, in a pale biscuitty brown". (So says Shirley). We have yet to see any pics of this dog, which is named "Poppy", but Poppy, if you're collected yet and now "with us" we look forward to meeting you.

There's always tomorrow
Deefski.

Chasing Cars

A couple of final Duncombe shots just to box that off. Nice one of the sun coming up over the house Saturday morning and Megan doing her "Can I get in the car now because you'll want to be going home today won't you...." look

A nice one of me, exhausted, crashed out on a camping bag, and a nice one of Megan enjoying the back home warm and dry, and Mum's luvverly vase of lilies.

Bank Holiday this morning, so Dad's in work briefly but gets all afternoon off and takes us to the Rec. here. a couple of lads have parked a humungous Japanese 4x4 (one of those crew-cab silver Isuzu Warrior type ones). They are setting up a small replica of same - a £400 (we asked) radio controlled toy one, with high revvin', nitro-fuelled, glow plug engine which buzzes like a demented wasp and races along at what looks like about 45 mph. Amazing miniaturised technology - long-travel springs and dampers, automatic 2-speed gearbox etc.

Not many people about , so the guys were able to really gun it round the Rec in a series of sweeping figure-8's and (luckily) knew how to control it so they could whizz past reasonably close to us out walking (slowing down as they approached, growling past, accelerating away). This was too much like temptation for me, and for a young female Staffie called Missie, so we charged after it in all directions. It was too fast for us though, so we'd soon give up and wait for it to come back past.

Now there's a thing (said Dad) - First impressions - owner of the Staffie was one of those "yoofs" you'd sneer sideways at (or you would if you were as prejudiced as Dad!) - baggy trousers, shirt hanging out, walking his Staffie (!) at midday with a half-finished can of Special Brew in his hand all the way round. They got talking about the toy car, and then dogs, and he turned out to be a nice bloke - intelligent, very knowledge-able about Staffies, he'd got her for quite a lot of money from an abuser - Missie had cigarette burns on her where the "bad people" had tried to cure her of being "vicious".

She has not a "mean bone in her body" and is now the picture of health - a slightly built (she'd been starved while tiny) bouncing playful girl, very gentle with we three westies. He'd thought of breeding from her and had had an offer of a "good stud dog" but had been concerned at her tiny size and health and had decided against it. "Some people keep on having litters time after time, but it's not fair on the dog, is it?".

Favourably impressed - gives you hope, said Dad (rather sheepishly)

Deefer

Pulled Over

I have dug out a couple of links for you, in case you're curious.

Duncombe Park itself is on.

http://www.duncombepark.com/

I love that it's owned by Lord and Lady Feversham. We come from Faversham, in Kent, and I can imagine that if one lived in a house (hice?) that posh one would pronounce it "Feversham" too!

The Cafe solo guy is on

http://cafesolo.org.uk/

... a very funky site with lots of animated stars twinkling in the background.

I didn't tell you, did I, that on the way up North we were "pulled over" by the wannabee police patrol guys ("Highway patrol?"). There we were, minding our own business plodding North having just sorted the first (Peterborough) fuel problem, when these guys slowly overtook, cut us up a bit and pulled in in front, with the flashing sign on their roof saying "Follow Me Vehicle Inspection". Gulp! None the less Dad gives them a thumbs-up out the window to let them know we have got the message and will follow.

Once he's got over the feelings of guilt (What I do?) that you always get when the Feds single you out Dad went on to worrying that maybe we were leaking fuel and we'd be taken off the road - condemned! So, the wannabees indicate left and whizz up a slip road, then round two round-abouts at speed. Dad suspects that all is not well - they do not seem to be driving in a 2CV-following-you-and-trying-to-keep-up friendly manner. It is all we can do to keep them in sight. At one point a van gets between us and they don't seem to care.

Anyway, after a few yards they pull into what looks like a lorry servicing area, and then bimble about as if undecided where to park. Dad follows patiently. When they eventually stop, Dad steps out and presents himself. The wannabees look totally confused at this. Why is this weirdo following us in a 2CV full of dogs?

"But, your sign..." says Dad. "What?" they ask. "Follow Me Vehicle Inspection"????!!! (now a tad annoyed)

It turns out they have left the sign on by mistake or pressed the wrong button on the dash. they don't want us at all, and we can go on our way. They try to lighten the mood with jokes about "I'm surprised half of Nottinghamshire didn't follow us in here" and "My mate only stopped you coz he wanted to buy one of your dogs" Fnarr Fnarr. How we laughed.

Very droll I'm sure
Deefski (acquitted)

Southbound again

It rained for pretty much the whole of Friday afternoon, and we spent it huddled in the beer tent, out of what was by then a chilly wind. Megan has a special way of looking miserable, shivering occasionally to emphasise the point. Mind you, she does choose to sit out in the drizzle, too, rather than in the tent on the bed with the rest of us. Never mind, says, Dad, with 24 different real-ales to choose from, they're well set up.

With the general chill and wet, and a sick car to nurse home, we decide to strike camp Saturday morning after a good latte from Cafe-Solo man (we love the Citroen chevrons he draws in the white foam top, with darker foam!). There's nobody about as we pack up. We dogs watch the pack-up from the warm and dry of the car back seat. Only little Theo and his bro' come to see us and pester us one last time.

On the road we must remember that we effectively only have the top third of the fuel tank to play with, and with the range on a 2CV being 200 miles if you're lucky, we must stop and buy another £7's worth every 60-70 miles. A pain, and rather confusing for the dogs, who expect to drive for 2 hours, then get out and have a stretch of the legs, maybe re-fuelling, maybe not. The "normal" car does 660 miles between fill-ups! And so we chug southwards seeing the county markers click past - Nottinghamshire, Lincolnshire, Cambridgeshire, Essex. We slot in behind HGV's again to hit that relaxing 56-60 mph groove. Not too close - we're not "tailgating" here or trying to slipstream anybody.

And so the hours go by and we cruise home uneventfully, except for one little palpitation. We'd pushed the "70 miles" a bit close to the wire, refuelling in Peterborough, then doing the A14, M11, M25 bit all in one run (no easy services), and on the sharp left hander, M25 to A2, the fuel sloshes to the right of the tank and she sucks air, doing a couple of kangaroos, just to give Dad heart failure. Dad nurses the car to the Northfleet fill-up. Sorted. We complete the 290 miles home in 6 and a half hours.

Of course, now that we've given up camping, the sun's come out, so Dad's able unpack the tent and hang it across the garden to dry it and clean off the cow-pats before packing it up.

Dad texts 2CV Llew about the fuel problems. Llew (love that guy!) re-assures us it's not a biggie, and he can fix it one evening this week.

A quiet evening unpacking, cleaning stuff, getting clean from camping grunge (but not for dogs yet).

That brings us to Sunday morning, when we listen to the rain drumming down and we are delighted we are home, dry and safe, not still on that site thinking about packing a very wet tent up in the rain. Megan is positively luxuriating in the warm clean (new) bed linen. Mum puts it on the bed when we go away.... something about wanting to feel ladylike for once, and not wrapped around with mingin' dogs and husbands. (Goes to town - make-up, scented candles, nice wine, posh table linen, girlie film, chic-lit, etc) The Nerve....

Deefer

Yorkshire (again)

Adventuring again! Not satisfied with the trip to Yorkshire, narrow-boating a few weeks back, we're off up North again at the behest of the 2CVGB club, parent club to Dad's "Kentish Hoppers" crowd. It's the annual "National" meeting, taking place at the gorgeous Duncombe Park, in Helmsley, just east of Thirsk.

Just east, that is, but for Sutton Bank, of which more later.

So, leaving Mum behind as ever (Mum doesn't do camping!), we are all loaded into the 2CV last Thursday for a gentle toddle North, 290 miles, but determined to mainly (again as usual) tuck in 50m or so behind an HGV so that we can relax into a 56-60 mph stroll. You get to see the backs of a lot of HGV's in a 2CV and we're not particular which - Czech lorries, bulk food tankers, big grey container lorries with MOFU registrations (hmmm), NFT lorries..... We keep the speed down, mindful of the problems "we" (I wasn't born yet) had getting to Kelso (Floors Castle) for the International Meeting in 2005.

It nearly works - we get up past Peterboro' when the car suddenly starts kangaroo-ing, as if for fuel starvation. Dad recognises these symptoms (correctly) and guesses (wrongly) the cause - we had exactly the same when a fuel line blocked a couple of years back. So Dad starts with the routine of "dive under n/s front wheel arch - disconnect fuel line - blow backwards up it to clear block - reconnect (hopefully no face full of petrol and/or hand soaked in the stuff). Restart". Kinda works, and we get to a fuel stop. Dad figures that the extra fuel pressure from gravity might help.

Seems to have cracked it. Off we go again, and this time, nearly reach Thirsk, but then we kangaroo to a stop again, this time nowhere near a petrol station. We need the AA. AA man listens to Dad's description and susses that it's not a blockage, but an air leak in the uplift pipe from the tank, so the car is behaving as if it's only got 1/3 of a tank, then running out while still 2/3 full. (In fact, had Dad been more observant, you can see the stream of air bubbles in the (transparent) fuel line, where the petrol should be flowing!).

AA man tows us 6m to a friendly garage (friendly to AA men and, it turns out, westie owners, so friendly to we three too!), we tank up, and we're off again. AA man (bless him) advises us to just keep the tank full and stop every 50 miles for more, till we can get home and fix it.

Re-assured and mobile again we decide to risk Sutton Bank , a 1-in-4 (25%) uphill on the A170 between Thirsk and our destination, Helmsley. Caravan and trailers are banned, and even well-loaded 2CV's are risky, but by charging at it in 2nd, and then banging down into a high-revving 1st every now and then, we make the mile to the high ground. Scary, exciting, probably even a bit daft in a car with dodgy fuel supply, but we got away with it.

And so, coasting down through the Dales to Helmsley and sweeping majestically into Duncombe Park. What a beautiful place. First sight of it in slanting evening sun, through the trees, had us feeling like characters out of Pride and Prejudice (the bit where the heroine first sees the rich guy's pad - sorry about this, I asked Dad but he's a literary ignoramus.... Mum would be appalled!!!!)

More soon - I can't spoil you all in one write-up!

Deefer

Mademoiselle

Here's a rather nice pic of the H resting in the shade of the project car "Mademoiselle d'Armentieres" at the recent 2CV camp. As you can see , she's almost completed (I don't know what Dad and the cronies will do with all their spare time when they've finished), although look carefully and you'll see filler that needs sanding out just behind the left front wing.

She isn't actually finished, but she's incomplete in ways you can't easily see. No back lights, for instance, is symptomatic of the need to replace chunks of wiring loom, and then there's all the registration and MOT-ing. Still, the boys have delicately scraped away some over-spray on the bulkhead and found the body/paint codes which tell us the exact year of manufacture of the shell, so registration will be easier.

Looking at the picture, the back suspension looks way too high, so that'll need adjusting too.

Meanwhile they've trailered her down to JJ's, and he's happily tinkering around with filler and wiring, so she could be on the road soon.

Our own 2CV ("Clara Bow") is now MOT'd and resplendent in a new navy blue canvas roof. Why do all these 2CV's have to have names?

And in the back garden , the view is still dominated by the 90 foot crane, swinging the flat pack wall sections of the H-f-t-B into place, and, tonight, great bundles of what looked like MDF planks. We can believe Bruce's predictions of the 3 weeks to the roof is on timescales. Tonight, as they park the crane up for the weekend, the wind is round in the NW, and quite strong (It's meant to be June, for Heaven's sake!) so the great long (100'?) jib is pointed away from the houses. The Angel B will sleep more happily in her bed tonight.

Uncle Jim, being mean and knowing B is nervous of the great tall crane "in the back garden", has been teasing Angel with his "Mmmm... the wind's getting up". Give him a good hard slap, Angel. You don't have to put up with that! :-))

Deefs

Sapeurs Pompiers

A girl knows how to stay cool on a hot day out camping - lie under some handsome French Firefighters. OK not quite. In this case it was a almost-fully-restored Citroen H-Van, now converted to a camper, but formerly a general-purpose support vehicle for the Sapeurs Pompiers (French Fire Brigade) in the town of Falaise in northern France.

Falaise is French for "Cliff", which turned out to be quite significant for the guy doing the restoration. He also happens to be "Dad" to Ben and Nellie, the collie-crosses we pictured a few posts back. Cute vehicle, cute dog, we say.

Well, now it's the weekend, and we are about to start chilling out. Mum is off with Diamond to watch "Sex and the City" at the local cinema. Meg (who adored the final episode on TV and was allowed to join the last-episode party, to sip drips of cocktail off the end of a finger and nibble minute bits of chocolate, and also seemed to enjoy (so we're told) having her toe-nails painted full-on tart-red) wishes she could go. Dad is swerving it all on the grounds of exhaustion following his adventures with the Beavers last night. Likely story!

Deefs

Barnaby

Another of those 2CV camp regulars - this here is Barnaby. He's a staffie cross Jack Russell and looks for all the world like a huge JR, taller than any of us. Kinda meaty too, as if he's picked up some of the Staffie muscle genes. Great lad though and excellent for a chase about. Sufficiently careless of his bones that he left us a sneaky chew too.

All round good egg, then!

The Deefski

Ben and Nellie

These pair are Ben and Nellie, 2 more camping dogs, and probably our oldest camping friends. At 14 they are older than even Meggie, and Meg and Haggis have known them since they've been camping.

They are brother and sister from the same litter, so look very similar, but there's a good way to tell them apart, which Dad has to use. Each has a white flash (blaze?) down their forehead and nose - Ben's is Broad, Nell's is Narrow, so that's Ben on the right of the pic, Nellie on the left.

This is one from that series we described where Dad was trying to re-create the first shoulder-to-shoulder run back to their own Dad, by means of their own Dad throwing Ben's ball much further than Nellie's. Nell , being a bit more arthriticky and slow, could then loop out gently and be back in front of the camera as Ben streaking out and back, caught up and overtook her. Kinda worked.

Last night at 01:30, we dogs are all rousted from our beds by a hedgehog in the back garden. You'd be amazed how noisy hedgehogs can be, with their unforgiving spines rustling against all the dried leaves and grass. Stealthy silent hunters they are not. Even so, although doggie ears could hear, and knew something was out there, humans sleep on oblivious, so have to be prodded into wakefulness (or at least, a kind of numb, dazed verticalness). to come down stairs and let us out.

Dad did the honours, Mum slept on. We raced off down the garden and didn't re-appear. Dad got concerned, grabbed torch and ventured out into the garden in his jocks (not a pretty sight). That's when he discovered the hedgehog, by now curled into a safe ball of prickles, surrounded by confused, frustrated westies, pawing at the gravel and wuffing. Not for us the Hector trick of grabbing a mouthful and bringing it indoors!

Ah well, Dad rounded us all up and bribed us back in with a sweetie, but it took a lot of sitting back up on the bed and whimpering before I'd settle back to sleep.

Have a great weekend

Deefer

Scooter

Once again, apologies for not keeping this up. There's been so much on we've barely had time to draw breath, but now, at last, a shot of the rather gorgious brindled Staffie, "Scooter". She has a rather fetching fuchsia coloured neck tie - her Mum and Dad say that this is to make sure that such a butch doggie is not taken to be a bloke!

Being dogs ourselves, of course, we have no such confusion but here she is at 2CV camp (that "corrugated iron shed on wheels" in the background is called a Citroen H-Van) and I managed to get well wound up every time she was racing around and I was loose.

Regular readers may recall that at a previous camp I tested her patience to the max and then got shouted at (which they all said I deserved) - this time was a bit easier and I got used to her more quickly.

I think you'll agree she is a beautiful girl

Deefer

Those camp dogs

Ah... those 9 dogs I listed yesterday

Ben and Nellie; black and white collie cross litter-mates, still fairly lively at 14, and we've known them for ever. All 5 of us (we three and these two) had to be tied up out of the way while Dad and B+N's humans tried to play "boules". I kept trying to stroll off with the small (wooden) jack-ball, and all 5 of us were milling around the Jack looking like we might try to catch the 720g stainless steel boules.

Later, when we were playing fetch with a matching pair of bright tennis balls, "we" just failed to swing the camera up to capture Ben and Nellie racing back to their Dad shoulder to shoulder, the bright balls and the paired dogs making a lovely picture. We then spent 20 minutes trying to re-create the close-running neck-and-neck effect but Nellie is much slower and showing her age, than Ben, so their Dad was trying to finely judge the two throws so that Nellie could make her slow out-run, and Ben chase off on his huge fetch, so that they then returned past the camera perfectly aligned. Never really worked, but we tried.

Murphy the Red Setter you'll remember from previous camps, when he took me "to the shops". This time he was enjoying rather too much the small lake that formed in one part of the site during the rain Thursday, and every time his owner took his eye off Murphy, he'd slope off and re-appear with obvious wet "skirts" and legs.

Socks the alsatian we've known for ever, but this time we owe him an apology. We were asked to demo our balloon-killer trick, and didn't realise quite how freaked out he'd be by the bangs. Sorry Socks. We stopped as soon as we realised, but the poor boy by then was cowering in the corner of the marquee, trembling. Luckily no permanent damage done.

Barney was a cracker - a Staffie cross Jack Russell, he actually looked like a twice-too-big red and white JR. Brilliant dog. Shouldn't have left his bone under their car though, so that we could all have a thieve of it when they drove off on a shopping trip. One of those times when Dad slowly realises he is not in sight of all of us and it's gone suspiciously quiet.

More soon
Deefer

12 dog; 12 2CV

What an adventure we've all had. It's 2CV camp time of year again, and we've just spent the last 3 nights living "en famille" with a whole group of 2CV owners and their multitudinous dogs and vehicles. Some have named it the 12 dog 12 2CV camp because the dogs almost out numbered the cars.

There were, in no particular order

We three
Collie crosses "Ben" and "Nellie"
Red Setter "Murphy"
Alsatian cross "Socks"
Staffie cross Jack Russell "Barney"
Staffie cross "Scooter"
Collie cross "Badger"
Brindled greyhound "Janie"
Elderly mongrel from Yorkshire, "Kaira"

More of all these guys, and the camp in future posts. Now it's Sunday morning and we are back indoors because Dad is off to play on Sailing Barge "Cambria". It's been a real blast. Rained hard Thursday and had some pessimists saying "Oh, no.... not another Hoppers Camp with typical weather.... gloom gloom". But the sun burst through on Friday morning and the rest of Friday and Saturday were blazing hot sunshine.

The humans all have healthy tans and I have the traditional well oiled (sump oil) back from creeping under old French cars to find shade from the heat. Superb barbecue yesterday, too. The humans all cook communally on a big barbie cobbled together from (among other things) a 2CV bonnet and a shopping trolley, and they always cook too much, so we can schmooze them up into giving us the end bits of sausages and nibbles of burger. The non dog-owner ones anyway. Dog people seem to "know" dogs and can be very un co-operative

More soon
Deefer