Betty Skoggs

Tuesday night we are abandoned by Dad (admittedly after a goodly walk round the boatyard) who is off to 2CV Club at the Haywain in Bramling. He will return smelling of Rosie the beer drinking dog and the marvellously named Cornish ale, Betty Stog. Our Betty is a buxom wench according to her picture on the beer tap, all be it drawn in that crude 'crayons' stylee that kiddies use, her face round with a curved-upwards smile and her hair sticking out in all directions in coiled ringlets like bed springs.

Dad's driving, so he only gets a taste of 2CV Llew's pint (yeah, lightweight allegedly sticks to alcohol free Becks) but the rest of the evening is given to crude barracking between the club members, especially 'Enthusiastic Pete' who is actually Cornish, along the lines of whether he knew her in his youth; and a raft of made up stories of her exploits.

Deserted again last night too, as Dad is off again to do "Hon Treasurer" at the Hort Soc speaker's night. Remember that scene in 'Calendar Girls' where they are talking about a talk on propogating broccoli? Well this was almost as gripping as that, apparently, the 'speaker' being 2 guys who put together a slide show using a double barrelled projector with a fade between each slide alternating the lenses, and accompanied by gently plinking pastoral music in the 'Greensleeves' and 'English Country Garden' stylee. Zzzzzzzzz, says Dad, Where's that Stog woman when you need her?

Deefs

Quinces

In the garden, the quinces have started to fall. Mum and Dad go out with a carrier bag to gather them up, Dad reaching up into the tree, Mum catching, then finally Dad shaking the tree to bring the last few down. Even with the first few wasted by falling to the ground over the past week, we still gather 8.5 kgs. Half of this is currently cooked and waiting to be turned into jelly, the other half (which wouldn't fit in the pan) is in a bowl scenting the room.

My other pic is Dad's first Deer-in-Challock pic of 2010. Not the best pic we've ever posted, by a long way, more like putting a marker down on which we will improve over subsequent missions to the Forest. We know quite a lot about Fallow Deer but we still learned something from Ray Mears on TV last night, that Fallow Deer have the longest tail of any UK species and when you are not sure of identification, the flicking long tail is a sure marker that you have Fallows. Not critical in King's Wood as they are our only species.

The weekend sees us down at Hastings visiting the Pud-Lady where Dad's Sister in Law is doing the catering this time. Mum and S-i-L see to it that Pud-Lady is well chilled out with plenty of sherry. I manage to escape from the garden within minutes of arrival, but in coming back I give away the escape route, a badger hole under the fence. Dad meanly blocks this with a handy bag of compost.

That's it for now. No progress on the two main issues, the 'Third Dog' problem and Project Errol.

Project 'Errol'

OYEZ OYEZ OYEZ! Be it known throughout the known reaches of the (Deefer-Dawg) blog-o-sphere, that the proposed project to up sticks and move to the Emerald Isle be named "Project Errol" after a runt-of-the-litter hatchling dragon in Terry Pratchett's 'Men at Arms' book (The Police Commander's wife breeds them. Don't ask). Be it also known that although any such plans are at the melting pot stage so far, two iconic 'things' have happened which, if you knew Mum like we know Mum, you would take VERY SERIOUSLY INDEED.

Firstly they have started "A List". Yes, a real one in the ring bound books they keep a-top the freezer. Lists get started for any major events, like narrow boating holidays, home-improvement projects, big garden changes, visits by Silverwood personnel etc. There is now, in existence an "Errol List". You have been warned.

Secondly the above earthenware casserole dish which ' would look good in the Project Errol Kitchen' has been purchased. Mum subtly asked Dad to give her a hand in with the shopping and Dad carried in that particular bag and (luckily for him) spotted the pot and quietly thought 'Ah... I wonder if that's a purchase with Errol in mind'. Seconds later with all the shopping safely gathered in, Mum hefted the pot and asked as if out of no-where, 'D'you know what this is?' to which Dad replied 'Our First Errol Purchase!'.

Maximum points, Dad. You live to fight (and stir the earthenware melting pot) another day!

Deefs

You Can Run.....

A quick pic of the two of us racing about in the Rec. I'm in the lead here and teasing Haggis by staying just out of reach, but he doesn't do so bad for a 13 year old pup, does he?

No word yet from the mythical Cinnamon Trust who may or may not be remembering to come round and vet our house.

We go a good walk tonight all round the boatyard and back through town, and the running above is in the Rec when we're almost home. We pile indoors and get fed by Dad while Mum is just finishing off working on the laptop 'working from home'. We all then bimble upstairs to sit with Dad while he checks on the emails and blogs. Dad is vaguely aware that cookery noises have started down stairs and then hears us shouted down by Mum, thinking only that maybe she's got a treat for us. It then dawns that those are actually Dog feeding, can opening noises and he shouts down "They have been fed y'know!" Mum goes mad! Why you lying little skanks, she calls us but then relents and gives us the food anyway, as we're looking so hopeful.

Thanks Dad, for grassing us up. You can run, but you can't hide!

Deefski

Rona says they're rutting

Irish chum, Rona, who dwelleth deep in the Challock Forest and occasionally correcteth my Irish spelling, (slan, Rona, but where were you when I needed an i-fada in my story about out of service buses? :-) ... by the way, it's got by holding down the alt-gr button and typing the letter as in í , ok?) emails to tell me that the Fallow deer have started their roaring in the Forest. The rut is on! Soon Dad will take to the woods armed with the 'pap' lens and start this year's campaign to get the elusive "decent photo of a Challock Forest fallow buck in Challock Forest". Nip to the Friends of Kings Wood website, by the way, and you'll find a guided walk this month to go see them.

Meanwhile, everything else remains in the melting pot. Workwise nothing is settled, much to everyone's frustration, so there is still a big decision to make - stay here and keep at it, or sell up and head for the Emerald Isle. The EI campaign are marshalling their forces with builders quotes, offers to Project Manage and the exploration of ground 'heat-pump' technology. The Stay camp are fanny-ing around indecisively and allowing the EI's to get some momentum going, which is a dangerous game.

'Possible third dog' wise we are also none the wiser as we await a mythical lady from the Cinnamon Trust to come and vet the house. We, meanwhile were declared to be mingin' at the weekend by Mum and were thus subjected to the indignities of the final haircut of Autumn and a serious shampoo. When mythical lady eventually does turn up we are going to be sooooo fragrant and silky she will be unable to refuse us.

Maybe
Deefs

Dublin Bus (Bus atha Cliath)

Dad arrives home tonight to be met with a red London Routemaster bus parked almost blocking the driveway. That's all he sees first. He nips in, grabs us and our collars and we are off for a walk, heading up past the bus.

The bus proves to be two buses, the London bus blocking a bright purple double decker behind it which is, amazingly Dublin registered. It even has the 'Out of Service' banner in Irish language at the front. It is therefore presumably one of 'Dublin Bus's green ones now taken out of service and repainted.

The Irish bus has broken down and the boys have come out to repair it in the Routemaster. This is not unusual in our town because we have the renowned South East Coachworks company here who are for ever restoring old double deckers and converting them into rock band tour buses, political campaign buses and even the Union Jack one used in the Spice Girls movie.

Mum thinks the Dublin bus is a sign pertaining to the current uncertain nature of Dad's work and the possibility of a move to the Emerald Isle. Her chums off the internet, who are from Dublin are joking that the Dublin Buses were so often 'out of service' that the Dublin kids grew up thinking that there must be a destination out back of Steven's Green called "As Seirbhís".

Meanwhile, as the shrinking evenings start to compress dog walking into the short gap between 'end of work' and darkness, we are starting to meet up again with all the usual suspects from '1630 Dog Clubs' of old - springers 'LB and 'DK', Jack Russell Bindy, 'blue' shar pei Monty, cavalier Louis, my sis Ellie and so on. We are, inevitably, also joined by some new kids on the block, like 3 month old gorgeous Tibetan Terrier 'Lily'.

And, finally, our contact from the Cinnamon Trust, who shall be known as Moira rings to say she's sorry she's not been in touch but has been on holiday. The JR who may be known as Daisy is still available and we will be contacted over the next few days to arrange our house vetting visit

It's all go

(Slan abhaile)

Deefski

Couch coug...cutitout..ough

Some nice hops... very 'Our Town'. The gang are off to Hastings today to visit the Pud Lady and family but go armed with food with which to cook lunch, and some serious gardening kit, with a view to some heavy pruning. The Pud Lady's garden is described by the more sympathetic as a "wild woodland" garden, and by the less sympathetic as a jungle glade, top billing going to a massive and old cricket-bat willow which towers a good 50 feet and has a girth of more than a metre.

This gnarly old beast looms over all the gardens in "The Crescent" like an ancient matriarch and the rest of the garden aspires to catch it up. Our mission is nothing like brave enough to take on the willow, but we are there to start off by taking out the top 6 feet of whippy dog-rose, blackthorn, ivy and Forsythia which is allegedly just this year's growth on the northern hedge.

Pud Lady puts my Dad and his brother Tom to work on this hedge, which Haggis and I rootle about in 'the jungle' (Dog Heaven, of course, and in my case I translate ' the jungle' to include any neighbouring gardens I can get to within the crescent (plus one over the road, from which I have to be retrieved by Tom, who spots me while retrieving some loppers from his 4x4). Mum goes to work creating a magnificent fish pie, but keeps an eye on the boys and gets a bit frustrated that they are pussy-footing and not getting really stuck in.

This, the boys argue, is due to them knowing "The History", in that the Pud Lady never lets anyone loose in her garden without hovering anxiously and stopping them if they snip more than about 3 inches off the end of anything, or more than a few leaves. Today though, with her increasingly 'autumnal' years she stays in her comfy chair and although she can see the tops of the afore-mentioned 6 feet of hedge (and watches happily as Dad and Tom lop and stack), she can't see anything lower down due to the window sill height.

Mum, hopping from foot to foot with frustration strides down the side path and chides them to 'get on with it'. Her ideal garden is a lot less jungly, and she would dearly love to get to grips with 'this mess'. At one point Dad is messing around gently with the front of the hedge and Mum appears to be having a coughing fit, but it's one of those 'stage whisper' words-disguised-as-a-cough things. Cough cough- cut it out cough! The boys gird their loins and start to hack back into the hedge reducing its billowing front back off the path, back off the long-buried spare washing line, and then downwards to clear nettles, brambles and eventually grass to expose a lovely former spring-bulb bank at the foot of the hedge.

Far from upsetting Pud Lady when she does come out for a tour of inspection, she is delighted, as she finds she now has room to perambulate her wheelie-zimmer down the wider path and can actually tour the garden as she has not apparently been able to do since May. Dad hadn't known that and is delighted to have re-opened the access.

The fish pie was superb too, according to the humans, washed down with pink wine and followed by 'Cartmel' brand sticky chocolate pudding or sticky ginger pudding with cream.

A good day all round

Deefer