Silverwoods Invasion

This year's Family Holiday is a change from the narrow boating of previous years for three very good reasons - 1) we're in a different country now, 2) we are in a different situation money-wise and 3) all the rivers and canals and locks we used for the last few years have been out of use for most of this year with too much water and flooding. Instead, the 6 Silverwoods plus a guest, best friend of Em-J, John the Bass Player (not her real name!) plus their 2 dogs, Maxwell and Lily and the one remaining pup, Goldie descend on us for a week.

The little ones, R (4) and M (6) have been obsessing about the chance to camp and live in a tent for weeks, so Mr and Mrs S bring the tent. We here, having survived months of on/off rain, are not 100% convinced of this as a plan and think they will be pitching it in a swamp, but, amazingly, as they confirm arrangements on Monday 6th the sun comes out and we get a week of scorcher, blue skies and hot hot hot. Talk about bringing the weather with you. We are able to erect the tent in the dry, on a dry bit of grass and R and M plus Mr and Mrs S get to spent at least that night under canvas.

The hot weather brings out the flying ants and a whole gang of them are attracted to the pale blue of the tent awning. Poor M is convinced they will eat him alive in his sleep and takes some persuading that they will be gone by night fall. Thankfully they are and he goes to bed easily enough. The teenage girls (Em-J, J-M and "John") take over the caravan as their den and sleeping pod, plus venue for Midnight Feasts and tuck parties. It's a no-go area for the boys and the little ones except for occasional deliveries of cocoa and, in Mr S's case a chance to creep over there and frighten them into squealing hysterics with torch-under-the-chin and funny voices.

This holiday is brilliant for me because I get to play for a week with my big mates Lily and Maxwell and it's great for Towser who gets to run, romp, fight and wrestle all week with his sister Goldie (pup of the orange collar colour). Lily and Max do not get total free rein because they are not quite trustworthy with the rabbits, hens, kittens and the lane outside, but they are free or supervised on the lead enough to enjoy their stay.

For the humans there are games on the front lawn with badminton set up, occasional volleyball and chasing games that Mrs S recalls from her youth - "What's the Time, Mr Wolf", "Mother, May I?" and "Blind Man's Buff" plus a lot of sitting around on the front terrace recovering in the heat, getting sunburnt.

There are outings so that we dogs actually get a walk, with leads on (!) We all go on a 'Bog Walk' (a Nature Trail through a turf cutting bog) down by Lough O'Flynn, just south of our own village (Lough Glynn). There's a trip to the National Museum of Country Life at Turlough near Castlebar, Co. Mayo where Dad loves being able to see 'live' the stuff described in the book he's just finished reading (FSL Lyons, "Ireland Since the Famine"), he loves the currachs and coracles and he loves the photos of raised bed and 'lazy-bed' agriculture which is what we're now up to out on the allotment.

Finally there is a trip to a petting zoo in Kilimagh, Co. Mayo. Here the kids buy grain to feed to a variety of hens, ducks, sheep, pigmy goats, llamas, pigs, ponies and (via a bucket because they bite) rheas. We find out that horses can have blue eyes and we all enjoy a well stocked reptile house with turtles, lizards, snakes, a skink, chameleon, dragons, and (you couldn't pick this one up) a tarantula. There are even swings and slides for the little ones and a nice hatchery bit where we can see tiny new-hatched chicks and ducklings. There are bunnies and guinea pigs.

All in all a brilliant week in lovely weather. A good holiday, if not quite as satisfying as Narrow Boating. Ah well.

Hoppers Camp 2009

Hey! We've all been camping again, the 2009 edition of the 2CV camp organised by dad's club local group, Kentish Hoppers. We're in the old familiar farm in Preston, a village just East of Canterbury but in 2009 there are some major differences from "normal". First up, the weather.

Dad's camps are plagued by strong winds and heavy rain, so that we dogs are always damp and normally crawling into the damp tent accompanied by a towel down by increasingly damp dog-towels. We lie in a steaming heap with Dad and no-one can really get a good, comfy night's sleep.

This year, blue skies and hot hot dry days, windless to the point of being stormy-sultry, but the threatened storms miss us, except for a tiny shower on Saturday.

Next was that the camp was timed to co-incide with another big local event, the Preston Steam Traction Engine Rally, where lots of boys even more weird than Dad display their huge steam engines (far worse than 2CV's!). Boys never grow up - it's just their toys get bigger.

We finally get to ride in the Hoppers' project restoration car, "Mademoiselle", when Dad has to nip over to collect here from the lock up so that she can be displayed at the camp site, and does not want to leave us behind. The precious restored seat fabric is protected by a rug, and in we clamber. Excellent fun!.

More of this soon - I have lots of pics and lots more to tell. I must remember to tell you about Megs getting into trouble for stealing our new Hungarian friend's breakfast, but that's for later.

Also why I'm now shampoo'd to within an inch of my life.......

Good stuff - we're all tired out now though.

Deefski

Kazoo Orchestra

It's all over, and I think I rescued dad just in time. The humans are truly mad, and yesterday, completely lost the plot. They started by cooking out of doors in a barbecue made out of 2CV bits. This did not, as predicted by Meg and the H, result in a shower of meat bits from on high, although the odd kind human snuck us bits of sausage and burger.

There was also much drinking of something appropriately French, called Pastis. At one stage a Hong Kong Chinese guy turned up pushing a bike with a puncture. He was called Herbert (I kid you not) and was riding from London to Belgium, but his bike was described as "like one you'd drag off a scrap yard". He got all the help he could need with the bike, plus liberal Pastis, and was then invited to join us at our barbecue, and to camp with us for the night, which he accepted. He had a sense of humour (needed one) and at one point he joked (I think) that if we kept hassling him for scraps, we'd find out if it was true that he ate dog. Gulp

We then all retreated into a tent for a raffle, a lucky dip called the SCUM bucket (don't ask), and then all hell broke loose, as the humans dished out plastic kazoos and proceeded to make the most unholy racket, en masse perforoming warfilm theme tunes (633, Battle of Britain, River Kwai, Geat Escape etc) as well as the Marseillaise, Jerusalem, Land of Hope, plus assorted other tomfoolery.

I was completely freaked out by this - even Dad was blasting away. Me and the "grown ups" had to charge around barking and running in and out of the marquee. Madness

Today though it's been a much quieter day as we all helped take down the tents and stuff. I mainly helped by walking to the middle of any tent canvas that was being folded up to stop it blowing away. I was, I have to admit, also very grey again, from my habit of diving under oily car engines. The joke went round that Dad had trained me to do this and would clean your sump for a quid.

Now though, we're all home and I have been shampoo'd AGAIN. Must be a record for the most baths in a week

It's been a gas , but now I'm tired oput, and could sleep for a week

Deefs zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Three Dog Night(s)

Busted again. The 2CV camp continues, and I was getting away with being cute and fluffy and immaculate white again. Then I was walking past the boss's tent and I spotted some pasta sauce left on a plate which MAY have been a little too coloured up with whisker-staining orange food colouring. I strolled back into the crowd, all innocent (say nothing, act natural) and was met by hoots of laughter and - "Why are your Pup's chops bright orange??" See photo. Looked even brighter in real life - the full-on flash has dulled the colours. Just helping with the washing up, guv..... Plate's so clean he could almost put it back in the rack!

The red item? I'm told that's a flat-twin air-cooled barbecue, that the boys built for a "Scrap-heap challenge". Due to be tested tonight, communally. Meg and H tell me that communal barbecue's normally end up with quite a bit of food dropped or put down by mistake by inebriated campers.....

And the grey car. That's the club's 2007 Project car, and 1950's into 60's dogs breakfast of bodgery francais. Once a twinning gift from the village Francais of La Chapelle d'Armentieres to the Kentish Village of Birchington, then the property of Dover transport museum, now "ours". Boys being boys - the only thing they know about Armentieres is the song about dirty Germans (Hinky pinky parlez vous) - so the car has almost inevitably become known as Mademoiselle d'Armentieres. They have her on display at this year's camp so that the campers can all admire her "before".

Keep on enjoying the weekend. We have one more night of camp, then we're all back tomorrow

Deefs Bolognese

Sump Oil and Fox Poo

"What are you guys doing home?" I hear you ask. "Left the Building" wasn't it? Ah well. Let's just say that within minutes of arriving at the camping field (which had been up till the day before had been grazing for horses) I had found some horse poo to roll in. 15-love. Not too noxious. Then within an hour we'd found the long-grass next door, and in it some seriously sticky wet fox poo. Ahhhhh all up me back. 30-love. And now the fellow campers are starting to make comments like "Very sweet dog, son, but it don't half whiff!"

Totally hot day, so I then took shelter under an ancient Citroen Ami 6, little knowing (or caring) that it had a leaky sump, so I came out with gobs of black sump oil on my back. Advantage Deefer. Now nobody will let me near their tent, or even their scuzzy camping jeans.

I asked Meggie why she's not joining me in the farmyard frolic. Lady Megan puts on her hoity toity voice and says "My Dear.... One does not stroll through the perfume store trying on all these samplers willy-nilly (do we Diamond?). One ends up smelling like a tart's boudoir" One of the campers actually said "Turkish wrestlers armpit" which sounds even more exotic. Megan goes on... "One is selctive, and chooses just the right scent for the occasion. I found Fox 2005 to be a very good year". I prefer ASBO 2007. Reminds me of that jollop the Sailing Barge boys use to protect their sails. Was probably even better when it had horse-pee in it.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I am driven home this morning (45:15), dumped in the sink (45:30), shampoo'd to within an inch of my life (Deuce), towelled down (Advantage Dad), and presented back to the camp white and fluffy (Game to Dad). This is considered cheating by the camping afficionadoes - you're meant to tough it out, skanky dogs in the tent an' all

As for horses. Aren't they a gas! Like big shuffly, snorting dogs. Great to race up and down the next field to and shout at (till you get recalled and told to shut up). Other fun featues of this farm. Chooks in a big fox proof run (great to run up and down the next ...etc). The farm's cavalier spaniels (Great to race up and ...etc). An old scuzzy sheeps fleece chucked onto a compost heap.

Westie Bliss

Right. Never mind Game to Dad. Now to plan my revenge. White fluffy pup plus farm.... What say you?

Deefs

Deefer has left the building

Ha! I knew something was up. This morning, no sooner than Mum was packed off to work, than Dad has started loading all the stuff into the 2CV. Dad say we're off camping for a few days, though I have no idea what that is. The car is loaded, dog beds and food are in (phew) plus a few other less important bits like tents, human beds, beer etc. It is a bright hot sunny, blue skies day and the 2CV roof is rolled back.

I'll be off air for a couple of days, then I'll tell you all about it.

Mum? Nooooooo - she doesn't do camping. Holidays for Mum involve compulsory sun, en-suite showers and room service. So she's on cat duty and baby bird duty. I suspect that the bed will be changed for fresh, scented candles will be lit, chick-lit will be got out, wine chilled or breathed and weird stuff like face-packs, that don't come out when Dad's around, will be applied. Look after yourself, Mum. Will you miss us?

One day we'll get hold of a wi-fi laptop, then we could carry on bloggin' but till then, au revoir, mes amis

Outward Bound Deefer