Dorset to Glasgow

 

 Dorset to Glasgow and back

On Thursday, our eldest grandson flew to Glasgow for a business meeting. There was a severe weather warning in place, with Storm Eowyn expected to wreak havoc, but Callum had not been told of any alteration to plans. While he was waiting for people to arrive and the meeting to begin, a colleague said, ‘Right, I’m off home,’ and wished him farewell. The meeting had been cancelled, but no-one had thought to tell Callum!. Everyone was being advised to go home and stay there.

There being no point in him remaining, Callum decided he had better return home. All flights had been cancelled, so he had to arrange to travel by train. He would reach London Euston just before midnight. He could have stayed with middle daughter, Susannah, in London, but wanted to get home to his pregnant wife and little girl. Eldest daughter, his mother, Gillian, donned her taxi-driver’s hat and drove from Dorset to meet him and take him home.

We were watching Miss Marple, the adaptation with Julia McKenzie in the title role, when the dogs alerted to Alexa announcing, ‘motion detected on the drive.’ That’s nothing unusual, but a few seconds later the front door opened, followed by the porch door, and finally the sitting room door, and Gillian appeared.

 Pandemonium ensued as two deliriously happy dogs mobbed her. She had decided to break her journey with us for a couple of hours and gee herself up with coffee before meeting Callum at Watford, the last stop before Euston. That was preferable to driving into London, and made for a shorter journey.

We tried to persuade her to come back to us for the night, but she was adamant that Callum wanted to get home, and we understood that.

It was so nice to see her, all the more so because it was unexpected. We knew she would not reach her home in Dorset much before 2:00 a.m. Consequently, I read until about 2:30, when I could be satisfied she had probably arrived home safely.

Eowyn didn’t do much in our area, but Herminia is threatening now, and many flights into Heathrow have been cancelled.

It has been a cold, wet and windy day, but at least there will be no ‘mercy dash’ by car to pick up a weary son/grandson.

On the other hand, son Gareth is supposed to be on his way to Austria today for a week’s skiing. I hope his time will not be spent in the airport lounge.

A Plumber’s Tale – copper roofing

 

A Plumber’s Tale – copper roofing

Paul is a plumber by trade, but he is an industrious and efficient workman and can turn his hand to most things. One day, he was fitting a copper roof on a public building in Lulworth Cove, Dorset. He soon became aware of an elderly chap on the ground, who seemed to be shouting something.

Paul smiled and waved and continued working but the old gentlemn persisted in hollering at him. He stopped to listen more carefully and was most surprised to hear that the old fellow was yelling, ‘Horse piss, horse piss.’

It was not clear to Paul whether or not this was a comment on his workmanship, so he decided to ignore it and continue his work. The bloke on the ground also carried on bellowing, ‘Horse piss, horse piss.’

Eventually, Paul decided to find out what the old chap meant by his comment, so he clambered down the ladder and spoke to him. He didn’t know what to expect but it transpired that the old fellow was an experienced workman, accustomed to working with copper.

 He told Paul, ‘Use horse piss to cure the copper. It turns it green.’ In this way, apparently, a new copper roof can be ‘aged’ quickly to fit in with its surroundings.

 I don’t know whether Paul took the advice – he’s only usually on nodding terms with horses, so I doubt it. In any case, how would he go about collecting it, and how many gallons would he need? How should it be applied? Would a paint brush do or would a bucketful at a time be sloshed over the roof? It would certainly be a messy and rather smelly business.

I imagine that, by now, many years later, the roof will have weathered naturally in the salt-laden air of Lulworth Cove.

 

 

Post-Christmas

Post-Christmas

It’s a beautiful cold clear day. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, there’s no wind and the dogs have enjoyed a walk and a swim in Crowthorne Forest. Roxy has just finished a small snack of coal – that makes a change from one of Frankie’s toy cars or a piece of Lego.  Now she, like her friends and relations, is damply snoozing.

It is unnaturally quiet here, after a very busy and enjoyable Christmas Day with Bethan and Robert in London. 

Bethan's family and Robert’s family enjoyed the day together.

Some of the sixteen . . .

 Sadly the Dorset contingent of our family was missing. Having had a very difficult twelve months they did not want to be far from home. Hopefully 2017 will be a much happier time for them.

Susannah in pensive mood

Now, though, Barry and I are sitting in splendid isolation, if it is possible to be isolated with so many faithful furry companions. On Boxing Day Susannah travelled to Antigua where she will be distracted from missing and worrying about Frankie, who is in Cornwall, visiting his paternal grandparents.  

Tomorrow we shall pack the dogs into the car and visit Gillian and her family in Dorset. Bertie will enjoy seeing his brother, Buster, and Roxy will be highly delighted to romp with her siblings again.

New Year’s Eve, or Old Year’s Night as my Norfolk brother-in-law calls it, beckons but we shall ignore its lure and remain by our own warm fireside. We shall probably watch the fireworks televised from London – they are usually spectacular. Doubtless there will be many local fireworks, which are a trial for poor Gus.

Frankie will be home again in the afternoon. Then, on New Year’s Day, he and I are driving to Heathrow to meet Susannah. (Barry will be dog-sitting.) I suspect she will spend much of the following day pushing out the zeds.

 . . . and then it will be back to business as usual . . . (sigh)

Happy New Year, one and all, and may 2017 be Healthy, Happy and Prosperous.

Blogging

Blogging

My intention was to be a Better Blogger in 2013 but I seem to be in some sort of limbo, waiting for something to happen. On the one hand there is Barry’s mother, Dorothy, old and very frail, who keeps falling into a sort of hibernation in her care home in Dorset.

Two weeks ago she had been asleep for two days, not responding to any external stimuli apart from when the doctor poked the sole of her foot with something sharp. A short while later she woke up and indicated that she was thirsty. Barry and his brother decided she should go to hospital. While there she was rehydrated and given a broad spectrum antibiotic.

Barry’s sister-in-law phoned later to find out how she was and the nurse couldn’t locate her. Eventually she was discovered travelling round the hospital on her Zimmer frame looking for the exit. When the nurse was told that the doctor attending Dorothy in the home said she was dying, the nurse laughed and said, ‘No way is she dying.’ Indeed, when they visited later that day they found her in high good spirits, much of her lost personality seemingly restored, no longer the depressed and aggressive and inward-looking character she had been for so many, many months.

The next day she returned to the retirement home she has lived in for the last two and a half years and promptly fell asleep again. This time it was thought it was due to genuine tiredness after her journeying round the hospital. Following that, she was awake, drinking tea and eating chocolates. Now, once more, she’s back to sleeping deeply and eating and drinking very little. We think probably she will go into the local hospital where she will be rehydrated again. It seems the right thing to do rather than allow her to slowly die of thirst.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the country, in Edinburgh, our eldest granddaughter was taken into hospital with painful contractions (not Braxton Hicks) Very worrying, as the baby was not due for another eleven weeks. Marnie was transferred from St James’ to the Royal Infirmary where the facilities for treating very premature babies are better and we waited and waited and Gillian and Paul (Marnie’s parents) became more and more strained. 

After a week, when no further progress was made Marnie was discharged. She wasn’t allowed to fly or travel by train so Gillian drove to Edinburgh to collect her. She then had to go to Dorchester to be checked but was allowed home. She is still having contractions but will not see an obstetrician until Friday this week, almost three weeks since she was first admitted to hospital. Surely it cannot be right for her to continue having contractions for another eight weeks? She has been told she has an 'irritable uterus' - I'll say it's irritable!

However, the baby is pronounced healthy and capable of breathing on her own if she does arrive early. Whenever she puts in an appearance there are some names she should not have. With a surname starting with S she cannot have names giving the initials BS, FS, OS, PS or SS!! J

Interesting times - I’ll keep you posted!

Otters in Blandford Forum, Dorset

Four otters have been seen in the River Stour in Blandford Forum. Two nests have been spotted which indicate that the otters have been breeding there.


One naturalist has come from Shetland to photograph them for the National Geographic and says there are more otters in Dorset than there are in Shetland - at least, he's seen more!


The next time we go to Blandford we hope we will see them, too. The last ones we saw were on the Isle of Skye. They can also be seen on Dartmoor, if you're lucky!

Nine weeks old!

Buster and I (and our seven other siblings) are nine weeks old todayJ

Now he's gone home to Dorset but I know I'll see him again soonJ

New Year's Eve 2010 and all that . . .

A week ago we were preparing for New Year’s Eve. Normally we go to bed early with a good book but this year we were invited to join some friends at a country house hotel. We liked the idea but there was a problem – well, three, really, and all of them canine!

We don’t go out very often and never overnight, unless the dogs come with us or one of our children can come to dog-sit, but New Year’s Eve (or Old Year’s Night as my Norfolk brother-in-law calls it) is perhaps the worst time of the year to find sitters of any sort – baby, house, or pet. Nevertheless, I enquired, expecting that we would have to decline.

Gillian provided the solution. Why didn’t we take the dogs to stay with her? Her dogs spend a lot of time with us and all the dogs get on well together at our house. We decided we could try it. We were slightly concerned about Frodo the Faller, the Velcro dog, who is my guardian, my shadow, my knight in shining (well, spotted) armour. He had been to Gillian and Paul’s house before but we had never left him there. On balance, we considered that he would feel comfortable because his housemates would be with him and he knows Tia and Foxy very well, too, as well, of course, as the humans! The children were very excited and had already allotted dogs to beds – theirs, of course.

We agreed that it would be sensible to have a trial run and take the dogs there for a day and go out, leaving them in the house. That was a good idea, but bad weather and the return with a vengeance of my ‘giddy bug’ meant that it didn’t happen. Christmas came and overwhelmed us with family, which was thoroughly enjoyable and suddenly, or so it seemed, New Year’s Eve was upon us.

On December 30^th we packed the dogs and their bedding and food and Frodo’s medication into the car and set off to Dorset. Despite having had a long walk beforehand, Frodo and Gus whinged for much of the journey and were very happy to bounce out at the other end and play with their friends. Once they had settled (and Frodo was soundly asleep) we left. Arriving home we were greeted by Winston protesting that he had been alone all day.

Tylney Hall

On Friday we fed Winston, made sure there was plenty of food for him and that the house was warm and secure and repaired to the hotel, a mansion house in wonderful grounds. The evening began with champagne and canapés and progressed very pleasantly to a splendid supper followed by music and dancing. We even danced, which I came to regret!

Just before midnight the piper appeared, ready to play in the New Year and, true to form, Barry was nowhere to be seen. He came back in time to join in Auld Lang Syne which we sang with a young couple and their two small sons. It was strange to sing about ‘auld acquaintance’ never being ‘forgot’ with people we‘d only just met!

On New Year’s Day we drove to Dorset again. We called in to see Barry’s mother and then visited his brother and sister-in-law. Finally, we reached Gillian and Paul and the dogs clambered all over us in their joy. Frodo had been very good – most of the time - but had woken everyone by howling at 2:30 on Friday morning. I suppose he woke in unfamiliar surroundings and wanted some reassurance.

The photographer photographed. My camera battery expired just after this!

We eventually arrived home in the late evening after an extremely peaceful journey. The dogs slept all the way and passed the night in an exhausted slumber. The following day was quiet and relaxed and then a niggling ache began in my back and proceeded to worsen. Dancing in high heels – when I normally wear trainers every day – and two longish car journeys had made an impact. Consequently, I have been hobbling round like the Hunchback of Notre Dame for the past few days. Anyone watching would think I have one leg three inches shorter than the other! It’s not a pretty sight but it is improving.

It was a pleasant weekend, all told, and rounded off a busy festive season in style.

Searching . . .

This evening Barry couldn't find his skin-tight swimming trunks so I left poor Dominie in the kitchen where she is accustomed to stay every day as I ruin prepare supper. His method of searching is akin to a tumble dryer thorough. We hunted through baskets of laundry, some alarmingly damp still airing, to no avail.

We turned the house upside down looked carefully and finally decided they must have been thrown away mislaid to be discovered at some future point.

Barry afterdisrupting the whole house eventually enjoyed his swim. Meanwhile I phoned Gillian to ask if Barry's trunks had somehow found their way back to Dorset. They had!

Is it any wonder we eat so late?

SkyWatch Friday #58

Photographs this week were taken from the passenger seat of the car as Gillian and I drove from Berkshire to Dorset. We were caught in slow-moving traffic. Tom Tom informed us that there were delays just after we passed an alternative road - very helpful! We were told repeatedly that we were on the fastest route as we chugged along at 4 mph!



It was a pleasant sunny day and the sky was interesting. Despite the 'No U-turn' sign some drivers decided to risk it!
Beyond the fence there was a pig farm.
They had plenty of room to root around, adequate shelters and water and there were many crows keeping them company. Pigs need shade as they can suffer from sunburn.
It's good to know there are parking lay-bys ahead with public telephones. Cars overheat or break down and it's not always possible to get a signal on a mobile (cell) phone.

When we reached the turn off to Stonehenge we saw the cause of the traffic jam. There had been an accident on the opposite side of the road. Ambulance and police were in attendance and people on our side of the carriageway had been rubber-necking. Ghouls!

The traffic flowed freely thereafter.

If you would like to see other skies from around the globe please click here

Thank you to the hosts of this meme, Klaus, Sandy, Ivar, Wren, Fishing Guy and Louise.