A calf called 'Dave'

Dave

We are obviously only amateurs at this 'farming' lark, with our rabbits grazing the front lawn. A lady just down the lane has a calf grazing hers. Well, grazing a bit, maybe - this one is so young he is still on the hand-feeding bottled milk. He is a Limousin born last week but one of twins, rejected by the Mum who seems to have decided that one is enough. He seems to be doing OK but must be a bit lonely judging by the way he bounces up to the fence even when I have three dogs on leads. I had a good idea that this lady might be as 'silly' as us with giving the little mite a name. Well, she told me rather apologetically, the grand children have called him 'Dave'!

Rain, wind and a blizzard of autumn leaves coming down. Round here that is mainly the ash and the sycamore now. The hawthorn is already bare to the heavy crop of haws. We are a bit short on pretty colours this year, no flaming reds or oranges. The sycamore gets that tar-spotting fungus before the leaves turn a muddy brown. The ash just goes pale yellow and pathetic looking before it falls, the leaflets coming away from the central leaf-stalk leaving you with a twiggy mess. The beech and horse chestnut have tried a bit of orange but really, the only colour is coming from the more exotic garden trees - Acers and so on - up and down the lane. Not a vintage year for indulging in that bizarrely named American activity, "Leaf Peeping".

We love the Met Éireann weather maps on line, showing us the predicted rainfall (of which there seems to be plenty over this Irish Bank Holiday weekend (Hallowe'en). Rainfall is quoted in mm per hour, so 'heavy' would be any green areas, more than 1 mm per hour, 25 mm or an inch per day. The massive storms (yellow, orange and red) seem to be saving themselves for the south and east coast this time. You click on, and slide the time slider at the bottom of the map in 6-hour chunks and you can see it all passing through like a slow-motion movie.

Big thanks for this gift of wine from a generous benefactor. No names no pack drill - we are not at all sure the friend would want to be 'named and shamed' but you know who you are and we have, of course, made contact to pass on our thanks separately. Thank you very much. We love the name of this firm, "Wine on Line" based near Dublin and using one of the many excellent courier firms which seem to exist in these rural areas. These guys always seem to phone first before they arrive to check you are in and to confirm directions, which gives me a chance to get down to the gate to meet them. We had no idea this was coming so our first reaction was "What parcel? What have we ordered?"

John Deere Bob's new cattle on some silage aftermath.

The 2CV saga rumbles on and I probably know more about 2CV carburettors and the emissions tests now than it is healthy for one person to know. Ignore this paragraph if you have not interest in this! I will not bore you with a wealth of detail but the car is now back in the garage and being attended to by the senior guy (owner?) Keiran who is a whizz on these detailed tweaks and the gas analyzer. It seems that both my existing carb AND the spare I got from 2CV Llew have worn 'holes' where the hard metal of the butterfly spindles slot in. They do a smoke test apparently and can watch the smoke leaking out of what should be an airtight bearing. This means that they can set the mixture up but as soon as you tread the accelerator the butterfly opens but then can fall back into a different closed position. The air leaks around it and the jet has to be set rich to compensate for the air leaks, which can push your HC (hydrocarbons) out of kilter. Keiran thinks he can fix it but I am not confident.

Gladioli enjoying the mild autumn in the yard

In 2CV-Land there is an expert 'go-to' man we all talk to on line, named Ken Hanna. Ken thinks that the limits I am being asked to stay inside are set up for modern cars and engines with catalytic converters and clean exhausts. In the UK, he tells me, old cars are given exemptions and concessions. Even the new spec for a 2CV ex factory, he says would over-top the limits here (and fail) so I may be on a hiding to nothing. If this is the case then it is definitely not worth investing the (gasp) €240+ in a reconditioned carb. Ah well, we will find out on Thursday 14th Nov which is last chance saloon for this car.

Dave

I was talking about the impressive Gauxholme railway viaduct. This first photo will give you some idea - very imposing above you on the sky-line as you climb the locks towards it, and perhaps even more so as you drop down under it on the way back.

Day 4 (Tuesday) and we have to submit to the knowledgeable and safe shepherding of "Dave" from British Waterways. He turns out to be a really nice bloke who also owns a westie, so we can charm him up. In fact he goes home from work Tuesday telling his wife all about this boat with three westies on, and she insists he get a photo on the Wednesday as he brings us back over, so we have to be lined up on the back deck to pose for a pic.

Dave sees us through the dodgy locks (leaking gates, bellying, subsiding chamber walls, shallow pounds), leaving us to chug gently along the mile long summit pound (my 2nd photo is of Heckle and Jeckle's boat "Warwick" following us along - gives you a good idea of the summit scenery, the moors and the width of the canal).

We also see, coming up towards us, a genuine old horse-drawn barge being run by the Horsebarge Society. It's moored below a lock as we come out , so once we've gone the guys have to pole it in. They tell us that if the locks are set the horse is unhitched while the barge is still under way, and the momentum of the barge would glide it into the lock.

In the early days of the trip the Silverwoods were keen to try out the fishing, and it became a bit of a competition between Mr and Mrs S and Em-J. Unfortunately, Em-J caught one first (the fine stripey beastie you can see in the pic), which made Mrs S even more determined. As dark fell, the mozzies started to buzz around her, but she was fierce determined and blind to all entreaties to give up, and to the dangers of being bitten to death.

Result was she was eaten alive by the little varmints, and spent several days with her face bloated and swollen with joined up bites, like some kind of horror film elephant-man. The photographer left her alone so there are no pics, and by the end of the hols she was restored to her former beauty. Next year, says Mum, we are remembering the insect repellant, and indeed a "Boating 2010" list has already been started!

Mind you, on fishing, it nearly came to a sorry end as a hobby but more of Mum and maggots in the fridge tomorrow!

My final pic today was at a lock called Benthouse after we had summitted, bidden farewell to Heckle and Jeckle, shopped in Little borough, and climbed back up a few locks to overnight just short of the (Western) summit. A superb idyllic location in the sun, with a small off-canal berth (some kind of loading quay for stone blocks) with hard standing and a nice picnic area for an al-fresco pasta supper (and more fishing - this was pre-"maggots-in-da-fridge")

Enough for today

Deefski

(the maggots were definitely NOT my fault)

Ordinary Names

Cold and frosty, the Rec is white with rime, and we can do "snow angels" by lying on our backs and thrashing about in the crispy grass. It's a day for meeting dogs with "ordinary" names. There's a big old black greyhound called Dave. He lopes across to us with his face obscured by a huge, grown-up sized proper stitched leather football (which makes me woof a bit in alarm ; never have I seen a football-headed dog before!).

Dad assumes it must be damaged and flat because surely no dog could grab onto a full sized soccer ball? But, No, he has such a massive wide gape he is simply gripping it in his cannines, like we would a tennis ball. Dave puts it down to do that sniffing all round thing that we dogs use for "Good day to you, Sir!", and I try to nick it. Ha! Could barely nip the stitching, certainly couldn't get hold of it.

As we part the man boots the ball a hundred yards or so, Beckham-style, and Dave, barely breaking into a canter, chases off to round it up again. Apparently, that's his way. Half an hour of chasing the ball and meeting other dogs, the walk home, 10 minutes lie down in the yard to cool off, breakfast, then he'll sleep for the rest of the day!

Also "Charlie" the golden lab who comes and says a friendly hello and runs around with us for a while. We looked around for a "John" or an "Andy" but no. Mind you we did find the ever more bouncy and healthy Gigot and his crowd. He's signed off by the vet now - clean bill of health, and a credit to the humans who have rescued him and taken him in.

Enjoy your Sunday

Deefs