Feb 1 2013

Steamy windows, coming from a doggy heat ….

Hiya! (I said I was bilingual).

Well, I’ve been here a week now and I have to admit, this is better than kennels any day.

I have been very good – well – apart from the slight accident with the edge of the settee when my Mum spoke rather harshly to me and I had to stop mid-pee.  I held on though whilst she scrambled into boots and coat, found my lead and took me outside.  No accidents since.

The gates are a bit of a nuisance; although I tried to get through them the first night here, especially the old one, no chance.  I like the old gate best because I can see the car and the road and maybe even  – CATS.  I can smell them.

I have my own room; it used to be called the catservatory but now it is most definitely the dogservatory or Scoob’sRoom.  It has a bed where I can keep my bones and toys (and sometimes sleep when they put me here and shut the door).  It has blankets that smell of my Boy; he had them on his bed for a week before I came home so that when I’m shut in here I can smell him.   I like that.

They’re pretty quick on the uptake, my Mum, my Dad and especially my Boy. They can tell the difference between me being happy, wanting food, wanting to go out, needing hugs and wanting to go out again.  I like going out.

The first night I was here I did a lot of sniffing; they’ve had cats in this house and I can smell all the places that they used to go but it’s an old smell that doesn’t set me off now I’m used to it.

My Mum is an early bird who comes downstairs when it gets light and takes me out to the garden for an early morning sniffle and wee.  She has learnt that before she lets me out of my room, she should unlock the patio door, get her boots and coat on and be ready for my excitable greeting – a couple of circuits of the living room with my tail wagging madly should do it and then a BIG HUG.

Then we come indoors and she tells me how wonderful I am and gives me more hugs.  I sit patiently by the kitchen door whilst she makes her breakfast and I flump on her feet  whilst she eats it.  I am mellow – for a while.

Stairs – I don’t do stairs.  I can manage the first step but the stairs are made of wood and I don’t like the sound my toenails make when they clatter against them.  My Mum and Dad don’t mind about the stairs but my Boy would dearly love to have me up in his room and keeping him company. That’s where I’d be if it wasn’t for the stairs but as it is I have learned to sit at the bottom, look sad and wait patiently for the humans to come back down to me.

I don’t do chairs or sofas either.  I’m a dog and I like to keep at least two of my paws firmly on the floor and if I’m really tired I like to lie down on the carpet (oh carpet – after eighteen months of concrete floor  – I SO love carpet) and if I can put my snout or my paw onto the foot of one of my humans then all the better.  They are mine and they are tethered to me.

I don’t whine.  I don’t bark much either.  Now that  I have taken possession of  my humans and I’ve got used to my new home, I am proving my worth as a guard dog and I like to think that my basso profundo woof would put off the most enterprising intruder.  I am very pleased to meet visitors however – a bit too pleased as apparently not everyone likes having 30 kilos of happy dog in their face.  Why?  I particularly like to have a standing (or a sitting) hug with my paws on my human’s shoulders, grinning happily with my mega-tongue lolling inches from their face.  What’s not to like?  My Mum has told me that we’ll have to turn that down a bit for visitors though and she’d quite like it if I tried not to knock her over with my happiness.  No problem with my Dad and my Boy – they are taller and more steady on their feet.

The food here is good too; the Boy did research on his laptop thing and I have the best doggy food there is, no cheap tinned stuff or dried stuff full of fillers that gives you the runs and makes you windy (well – I am a bit but the humans just wrinkle their noses and turn this fan thing on for a few moments – a dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do).  I get treats too; lots of hugs and nice things said to me but I LOVE LOVE LOVE the treats.

The walks are the best though.  When I was at the RSPCA, my Boy and my Mum walked me up the road, through the woods and back by the field.  I got excited when I saw the kennels but more excited when they took me round for a second circuit and then once we’d got to know each other better, a third.  Now I’m home – well that is a totally different matter.  After my early morning bounce round the garden I wait patiently till my Dad gets up ; sometimes he has his breakfast first and sometimes he can see that I need to go out NOW!  We run.  He likes to run because it is good for his back and I just like to run.  He is still getting used to walking me because he’s never had a dog before but he says lots of nice things to me and doesn’t mind me sniffing for cats.  When my Mum walks me she doesn’t like me to pull so she slows down and stops until I get the message.  Our walks take a long time as a consequence and we don’t go very far.  My Boy is the master when we walk.  He is in control.

Nappy sacks (scented and biodegradable) are much better than pooh bags which have a nasty habit of tearing when you scoop da poop.

The car is cool.  It has big windows and now that my Dad understands that I like to put my nose out of the window, snort and drool horribly at the fresh air (baby wipes are good for drool removal) I am very  happy in the car, so happy that the windows steam up from my happy heavy breathing – zero visibility – good job we have air con.  My humans talked about putting me in a cage for car journeys but bought me a special harness instead.  I would prefer to be free to leap around in the back but I suppose the idea of being hit by a jet-propelled pooch if the car stops suddenly isn’t a very good idea.

My Mum and my Dad (the Boy was still in bed) took me for a long car drive to the seaside.  It was very windy and there were loads of other dogs (including one that was so small I though it was a cat and started to get excited, then it did a little woof and I relaxed).  My Dad and I ran, and ran and ran and ran until my Mum sat down on a bench in a huff.  We came back and my Dad and I gave her hugs as she explained that running was good but it was better when we turned round and ran back to her again.

What is this thing about day and night?  Apparently humans have to go to bed when it gets dark and that’s when I get put in my room.  If my Boy can’t sleep he comes back downstairs and lets me out for a while and we sit on the floor together and watch ‘Mythbusters’ and films about guns and war. We have good hugs when everyone else is asleep. This worried my Mum a bit but she did some research on HER laptop thing and discovered that us dogs are polyphasic – which is a difficult word but it means that we don’t have day and night in Dogworld – we just sleep when we feel tired and wake up again when we want food, walks and cuddles – and when the post man calls – Big Woofs.

Yesterday I took all three of my humans for a walk to a place called Spike Island – loads of sea and woods and old concrete buildings that looked as if you could have a good sniff and wee round them but my Boy said there was broken glass there and kept me away.  My Boy smiled a lot and my Mum and Dad held hands and looked happy too.

So, at the end of the first week, I think that we can agree that I’m here to stay.  These humans are shaping up quite nicely and what they lack in experience they make up for in enthusiasm and big hugs.

Adios or Ta Ra Chuck  – whichever you prefer.

Jan 28 2013

Who’s Scoobin’ Who?

Hola!

Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Scooby, I am four years old and I was born in Valencia, Spain.  I am what is called a ‘random’ dog; you can also use the phrases ‘crossbreed’ or ‘mongrel’ but I prefer random because it suits my personality.  With regard to my parentage, rumour has it that a flat-coated retriever and a German shepherd dog may have been involved but hey – who really knows? Let’s face it – I am one handsome dog.

For the first three years of my life I was a Spanish dog; I poohed over low white walls, had no need of stairs and chased feral cats to my heart’s content.  That’s how we did things over there. My Spanish Mum taught me how to sit, stay, fetch, lie down and use my paw to make requests.  She also made sure that I had a pet passport and all my jabs were up to date.  I believe that she loved me very much.

In 2011 I came to England.  I don’t remember why.  It was cold though and I got into trouble over a neighbour’s cat.  You have to bear in mind that I was used to cats being vermin – like rats and pigeons and squirrels – there are kind people in Spain who try to look after the feral cats but there are so many that most people see them as a nuisance and don’t make a fuss if you remove one or two.

There was most certainly a fuss once I got to England.  I was no longer a buen perro for doing what came naturally to me. I was the terminator dog. I was in deep trouble. Then I got out again.  Another cat bit the dust. My Spanish Mum could no longer cope with my Spanish ways and she signed me over to the RSPCA.

That was eighteen months ago.

My picture was on the website; a nice man did a video of me running around and playing with a ball, and I became very popular with the RSPCA staff and volunteers.  People came to see me and said how handsome I was – especially when I grinned or cocked my head to one side.  But other dogs came and other dogs went; as soon as people knew about my little problem with cats they turned away.  Many of them had cats of their own, or other pets that they thought I might take a fancy to.  I was an unknown quantity and people – quite understandably – were not prepared to take the risk.

There was a boy – well almost a man – who wanted a dog.  He loved animals and grew up in a house full of cats. His Mum promised him that when all the cats had finally made their way to moggy heaven, they would look into having a dog.  She told him to check the RSPCA web pages but not to fall in love too soon because they had to go on holiday first.  She also told him to put his laptop to some good use and do some research on what it meant to be a responsible dog owner instead of playing games where humans killed other humans.

His Mum spotted me on the web pages and pointed me out to the Boy and to his Dad.  His Mum liked my big brown eyes and the way my ears flopped over.  She could see that I had been at the kennels a long time and that I desperately needed a home of my own.  She told the Boy that if I was still there when they came back from holiday, they would come and visit me.

Right from the start the staff were very honest about my cat issue; from the very first phone call the Mum made, she knew what they were taking on but she and the Boy had fallen for my charms already (they had to work on the Dad a bit because he had never owned a dog before).

They came to visit me on the Mum’s birthday and took me for a walk in the wood outside the kennels.  I pulled a bit.  Well quite a lot actually but they persevered and by the time they brought me back to the kennels it was a done deal.  A deposit was paid and before they had even left a yellow sign with ‘Home check’ was put up outside my kennel. Somebody wanted me at last.

They came again the next day; the Boy was in charge because he was to be my new master – aided and abetted by his Mum and Dad.  I recognised them, and as a consequence began to show off my talents a little. I still pulled but they were impressed by the way I responded to basic commands (and the dog treats they bought me).

Each time they visited we got to know each other better and I began to love the Boy.  He hugged me and praised me – well all three of them did – but his actions were the most important.  I stopped barking when I saw them enter the car park and wagged my tail in ecstasy instead. Kind people cared for me and hoped that one day I would find the right family, and they had their fingers crossed.

One of the visits included a walk to a car; the Mum was worried about whether I would be nervous about cars as I’d been in kennels for so long.  Ha!  I jumped up onto the tailgate, sat down on the blanket and gave my famous grin.

‘Take me home now please?’

Unknown to me, the Mum and the Dad were doing things to make their house a safe haven where I couldn’t get out and chase the local cats.  They put trellis on top of the fence panels so I wouldn’t be able to climb over.  They found a dog-owning fence and gate maker who mended their old gate and made a special new one so that I wouldn’t get out of the back garden. They had loved their own cats and didn’t want to put temptation in my way.

They passed the home check and once the gates and trellis had been put up it was agreed that I could come home.

By this time I had my own lead, half-check collar and a harness which the Boy bought with him whenever they came to take me out.  He always had his Mum or his Dad with him when we walked but on this day he took me out alone.

When we got back to the kennels he didn’t hand me back the way he used to.  His Mum and Dad appeared from the office and they were both smiling.  The Boy was smiling.  They lifted up the tailgate and as the Boy strapped my harness to the safety belt, I smiled too.

We went home.  Mi casa.

To be continued.

Adios.

Jan 27 2013

Volcan-Toe meets the Volcano pt 2. We’ve never gone away for New Year before – gulp

Read through the V-Toe’s Christmas postings and decided that it had done a good job – so moving on swiftly to Lanzarote! Yay!

I will try to write the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth but it does get difficult when your imagination runs away with you……

Warning – there is a bit of tourist information here but we spent most of the week eating and drinking, and then drinking and eating.

Leaving my Uni Boy at home was a bit of a wrench – but I lent him my debit card and opened an Ocado account so I knew he wouldn’t starve – he didn’t and my card didn’t take much of a bashing either.

So 0900 hrs on 29th December saw Lovely Hub, College Boy, me and my walking stick (plus luggage) huddled in a minibus headed for the home of CB’s friend – known henceforth as the Stoic because of his patience and remarkable tenacity in dealing with CB.  I know his parents are very proud of him – and so they should be.  I liked him when we invited him on holiday with us and after a week in his company I like him even more.  CB is very lucky to have him as a friend.

CB is often quite scathing about the V-toe and the way it hampers my progress; it may have healed up but stairs and long walks can be agonisingly slow – courtesy of one size 7 mock-Ugg boot and one size 9 with a hole cut out of it to stop the V-toe from being rubbed.  I found some gloriously fluffy bed socks which help to pad out the big boot but it still makes me feel lop-sided.  In view of this and CB’s rock-bottom tolerance level, I contacted the airline a few days before Christmas  and was advised that although I didn’t actually need assistance (I had three able-bodied men to support me), I should still notify staff at check in.

So I did.  They were brilliant. Good old Monarch.  The four of us were boarded first, together with a lady in a wheelchair.  Behind us at the boarding gate there were quite a few dour faces, some of which were deeply lined and perma-tanned, wearing clothing that sat ill with the cold and rainy Manchester weather but which would look fine once we got to sunnier climes.

The flight was four hours long.  Hub slept, I was plugged into a Kindle and listening to ‘the Lovely Bones’- not really holiday fodder but a long enough audio book to distract me. The Stoic and CB were plugged into i-things and apart from when CB got the munchies, it was a peaceful flight – well, I say peaceful but the inane chunnerings of the scally quartet sat behind us meant that sleep or earphones were necessities.

So weird –  touching down at five in the afternoon, in brilliant sunshine but with Christmas decorations in abundance. Lovely Hub sorted out our hire car and it was just getting dark as we set off to the villa, some 40 minutes drive away in Playa Blanca.  Driving on the wrong side of the road (for us) through small villages lit up with more Christmas decorations, it looked like December but  the temperature had dipped to 18 degrees.

We hit lucky with the villa; everything we needed, heated swimming pool, barbecue, plenty of room for the four of us to eat, drink, ablute and take time out.  We had a welcome food pack but the person who did the shopping obviously had a very strange idea of what English people  want to eat after a long day of travelling.

I unpacked and the males of the pack went hunter gathering for the real necessities of life – bread, cheese, meat, chocolate, water and much beer and wine.

There was only one problem with the villa – our bed was made of concrete, on an iron bedstead with bolster pillows that had little use other than doorstops.  We coped though because we were knackered, and a day or so later found a warehouse up the road that sold big cushions.

I had breakfast out by the pool in blazing sunshine the next morning; one of my favourite parts of being in a more clement climate. Hub and I were both hobbling due to sore backs and a shell-shocked V-toe.   We hit the local supermarkets and did what most English people do.  We loaded our trolley with a combination of  recognisable foods from home, interspersed with Spanish delicacies we remembered from other holidays and some other things that looked mysterious and interesting (some were and some were binned in disgusto).

If we thought that arriving at the airport in the sunshine was weird, then sitting outside in the sunshine, in 24 degrees and having a barbecue lunch on 30th December was even more weird.  The boys and I braved the swimming pool.  Cold but bearable and CB turned even happier when the neighbourhood cat  joined us for lunch. The V-toe revelled in the salty water and I revelled in the fact that I could wear fit-flops rather than my clompy boots and bed socks.  I missed my Uni Boy but we’d spoken on the phone and he didn’t seem to be missing us that much (a bit jel of the sunshine but he likes to sleep all day and hates sand anyway).

Playa Blanca for dinner; we found a restaurant that looked friendly – complete with bedecked Christmas tree and the world’s most fascinating flambe chef.  Lovely Hub and I introduced the Stoic to tapas but as CB doesn’t do sharing much he ordered grilled king prawns, grumbling throughout because they were such high maintenance to eat.  Flambe banana for pudding – to die for and complimentary caramel vodka with the bill (or cuente – a word we used often.)

Back to the villa; no English channels but I’d bought plenty of DVDs – even stranger to watch Sherlock Homes taking a dive off the Reichenbach Falls (digitally enhanced) while the temperature was still a balmy 18 degrees.

New Year’s Eve and we were off to the Volcano!  The Timanfaya National Park houses quite a few dormant volcanoes but the biggest has a restaurant on top called El Diablo where they cook food over volcano heat.  Hub, Stoic and I went for meat but yet again, CB went for high maintenance and a very bony fish. The Volcano-grilled food put barbecues to shame but the service was dire – not even shambolic.  We were beginning to realise that the pace of life in Lanzarote was much slower, and that we really needed to slow down and not worry about how long it took for the cuente to arrive.  El Diablo staff dropped trays of crockery, wandered aimless and empty-handed around the circular restaurant. They had to be reminded three times about the pudding. We didn’t leave a tip.

We had heard that Playa Blanca pushed the boat on for New Year’s Eve celebrations; it was no lie.  Midnight and after a light dinner (still stuffed from the diabolic lunch) the four of us mingled with hundreds of other tourists and locals on the waterfront.

Fireworks, streamers, hooters and party bags.  Huge grins everywhere you looked and no sign of aggressive drunks or thugs.   All this in 19 degrees – no coats needed.  I spoke to UB and felt a bit choked.  The Stoic phoned home too and his upper lip lost its starch for a few moments. We walked back to the car along with other revellers heading home and came to the conclusion that this was the way we’d like to spend our New Year’s Eves in future.

All was quiet on New Year’s Day – oh no – another barbecue and into PB for a curry – the waterfront there  is truly cosmopolitan.

Tuesday was brilliantly sunny so we headed off to El Golfo; a fishing village with a green lake and absolutely NOTHING to do with boring farty old golf.  We lunched al fresco at a seafood restaurant overlooking the sea and a rocky shore.  It was so hot CB and the Stoic had to put more sun cream on and have an umbrella erected over them (Hub and I had sensible hats on – mine was a light straw trilby from M&S).

The fish was wonderful – a freshly caught and grilled haddock.  CB struck out on his own with breaded fish fillets which bore no resemblance whatsoever to anything named after a seafarer with an avian oculus.  It took a long time to get pudding again but by now we were getting very laid back about eating slooooooooowly.

After a day of driving around the island we stayed home and had – another barbecue  – after the boys had almost emptied the pool with much swooshing and splashing.  Fortunately both CB and the Stoic were pretty good with the tongs once they’d dried off- Hub and I just sat in the sunshine smiling stupidly with wineglasses in our hands.

On Wednesday we hit the north end of the island; hairpin bends, spectacular views, prickly cacti and more Cesar Manrique than you can shake a pointy stick at. Lanzarote is big on Cesare- who was pretty cool actually.  He was more than just an artist; he did buildings and landscaping too.

First stop was le Jardin de Cactus – yeah – full of pricks – already did that one on Facebook.  CB stayed in the car – he wasn’t doing a load of old cacti.

Shame – he missed a pretty magical place.  Cesar’s artistic touch was in abundance and the terraced layout would have been incredible even if the plants had been fairly commonplace but there were so many weird and wonderful varieties of cacti that you had to stand (or sit in my case) still and take stock.  The V-toe and I found a lump of volcanic rock to perch on, whilst Lovely Hub and the Stoic went off and happy-snapped to their heart’s content.

An hour and a half later we returned to old Grumpy-tums in the car.  To his credit he hadn’t phoned or even texted, but he was definitely grumpy – and hungry.

Next stop was another Cesar special – Mirador del Rio – built into the side of a mountain and overlooking an amazing view of La Graciosa island that would be a bit disturbing if you had vertigo.  Luckily we didn’t. Google it – my powers of description wouldn’t do it justice.

Drove home after lunch through more winding roads and heart-stopping hairpins.  SO glad that Hub is brilliant driver – even on the wrong side of the road.

Continuing the theme of multiculturalism, we had a Chinese meal that evening.  Three of us shared a banquet and grumpy CB got grumpier because his dishes had to tie in with ours and we had more courses than he did.  One day he will appreciate the joys of sharing.

At the end of the meal the shot glasses appeared.  Hub abstained as he was driving; my glass had fruit (no idea which fruit) brandy and a naked man at the bottom who disappeared once I’d knocked the brandy back.  CB and the Stoic had naked girls at the bottom of their glasses – which were filled with a lizard-flavoured liquor.  No, honestly, there were two depressed and dead lizards in the bottom of the bottle.  I was goaded into trying some.  It nearly blew my head off.  Staggered back to the car – partlyV-toe and partly lizard juice.

And then it was Friday and our last day.  CB wanted to stay at the villa and achieve a tan so Hub, the Stoic and I hit Playa Blanca and spent a leisurely afternoon browsing in nearly every booze shop in the precinct and trying to work out whether we had enough allowance between us to get through Customs – we didn’t – we had to leave some Limoncello and caramel schnapps for the cleaning staff.

CB was looking slightly pinker as a result of his sun-worshipping and after some half-hearted attempts at packing, we went back into town for dinner at the Restaurant Cervantes again.  My favourite flambe chef was off but the food and the atmosphere were still good.  The Stoic and I had a leisurely stroll and talk (I can only do this if the pace is VERY slow) whilst Hub and CB made another last pilgrimage to the booze shops.

Packing up the next morning was reasonably painless; we had to be out by 1000 hrs but our plane didn’t go till mid afternoon so we decided to drive through some of the places we missed, and to visit the air museum at Arrecife.  The nice lady there recommended visiting Playa Honda for lunch (you don’t pronounce the ‘d’ apparently).  So we set off for this very tiny village and were driven by hunger and the need for a wee to a fairly ordinary roadside bar.

The tapas was to die for.  It was REAL tapas.  Not the sort you get trotted out in designer bars in England, nor the slightly regimented version available in the local restaurants.  The owner spoke no English and our Spanish was limited to Hola, Adios, Gracias and Cola Lite (I can extend to agua con gas and una bino tinto por favor if pushed however).  We ordered a number of dishes off the incomprehensible menu and hoped for the best – and oh, it was the best.  The food just kept coming.  As soon as we finished one plateful it was followed by another and another and each more inventive and fresh than the last. Definitely going there again.

Back to the airport; dropped off the car and headed for check-in a tad early.  It was heaving and it got worse.  V-toe won’t let me stand for long so the menfolk queued whilst my Kindle and I sat.  The queue for security went right the way round the check-in hall and my heart sunk – so did CB’s.  Lovely Hub saved the day and found us an angel called Franco who (after I’d filled out a disability form) shepherded CB and I through security and out the other side in but a few moments.

The wonderful Stoic had saved a place in the queue for Hub so they weren’t too far behind.  The female security staff were harridans with no patience for walking stick hobblers or families with babies trying to hastily repack their changing bags.

By stark comparison the gate staff were wonderful.  We had a separate seating area (us and the lady in the wheelchair and some heavily tanned and gold-chained couples with duty-free bags who didn’t notice the big blue disability sign until after they had sat down and blushed but defiantly stayed where they were despite CB’s tactless comments).

We got boarded first again – with the lady in the wheelchair – annoyed the same perma-tanned people we had annoyed on the way out, and had an uneventful (if slightly turbulent – which I like) flight home.

Our minibus was waiting  when we got to Manch and so was the rain.  We were home though and after dropping the Stoic off and thanking his dad for lending him to us, we walked in our own door at about 0100 hrs to be greeted by UB and the house was still in one piece.

Sunday was spent taking UB back to York, then once we were home again Hub was on the internet planning our return to Lanzarote in time for New Year 2014.

It was a wonderful holiday but hampered by the poor old V-toe, not being able to walk or stand for long and feeling that I was holding everyone back – they deny this vehemently of course – but our holiday was planned long before the accident and subsequent angst.

Let’s hope that 2013 is a better year for us all.

Jan 11 2013

Volcan-Toe meets the Volcano – we’ve been to Lanzarote for New Year and now we are back – the DeVere Grand harbour first though

The Volcan-Toe or V-Toe as it is now known – since it has very kindly stopped erupting – has graciously allowed me to take over the reins of this blog page for a while on the strict instructions that I write about our holiday in Lanzarote and that I MUST write fact – not fiction.  I’ll do my best but there hasn’t been much motivation for fact for the last three months – unless you count OU essays – which I don’t because they are largely regurgitated references to obscure publications by groups of people with unpronounceable names that send your spell checker running for the hills.

I know that the V-Toe has already written about this but my viewpoint is somewhat more elevated.

It may take me a few go’s before I finally get to the Lanzarote bit as I have to do the Christmas bit first.

Back in the summer, Lovely Hub hit on the idea of going away for New Year – going somewhere hot and totally different that we hadn’t been to before.  Christmas without my Dad – and the smelly cat – was daunting enough but New Year’s Eve presented fresh challenges and an impending feeling of fed-upness (not depression – I won’t do depression because it is like sulking – you can’t do anything else at the same time and it gets boring).

My experience of sunnier climes has hitherto been limited to Mallorca but Hub said it wouldn’t be warm enough.  Bowing to his superior knowledge of weather and al things abroad I let him choose our destination.  Lanzarote seemed to fit the bill and many hours were spent trying to find accommodation that would suit me, Hub, Uni Boy, College Boy and two of his friends.  One of the friends had to drop out courtesy of a clashing skiing trip but I found the ideal villa at last with four bedrooms, three bathrooms and a heated swimming pool (UB and CB won’t share rooms any more – CB didn’t want to share with anyone – sharing does not come naturally to him – sometimes it doesn’t come at all).

Hub took the reins after this and did all the arrangements giving us something to focus on – and to look forward to.  In the interim we decided to head South just before Christmas and visit the folks to deliver presents and cards – which would have been a great idea if I hadn’t left a pile of cards on the floor at home.

We collected UB from Uni – with most of his worldly goods and came home to prepare for two nights in our favourite posh hotel and intense exposure to some of the family – couldn’t fit everyone in unfortunately.

Looking back, driving 250 miles the weekend before Christmas and driving back on Christmas Eve may not have been the wisest of decisions but we were feeling slightly reckless and ready to break with all previous traditions.

Talking of which, for some years we have ordered the Christmas food from M&S; braving the onslaught of gold handbags and matching shoes wielded by grey-haired old ladies who descend like a plague whenever you need to buy something in a hurry.   Every year it gets worse as you queue to pick up your boneless turkey (with stuffing and bacon lattice), an alternative to Christmas Pudding and the red cabbage (not as good as Oma’s).  One year we opted for an eight am collection that resulted in the boys being late for school, me being late for work and Hub grinding his teeth in frustration.  We went for the evening collection after that – the queues were just as bad but at least you got a thimble-full of mulled wine (or two – or even three on one occasion) for your pains.

This year we were down-sizing as there were only three of us; CB won’t eat Christmas dinner at the table, he prefers to swoop in and grab a few spuds, a bit of meat and fly back up to his room – or make his own delightful concoction of smoky-bacon flavoured super noodles, hot pepperoni and lashings of Tabasco sauce – both my boys are hot stuff.

Whilst sampling the delights of the new Sainsburys that opened just up the road on the new ‘urban development’ (lots of houses in a very small space) we discovered that they too did Christmas food ordering, with very similar items at a considerably lower price.  We booked with glee and paid with cold hard cash, arranging to pick up the goodies first thing Saturday morning before we made our journey Southwards, so that the food would be waiting for us to cook it when we returned on Christmas Eve.

So eight am-ish on Saturday saw Hub and I arriving and expecting hoards of other Christmas shoppers to be in attendance too.  Nah!  Just us and another lady.  In and out in ten minutes AND I whizzed round and picked up a couple of other essential items as well.

So, food stowed n the fridge and freezer, bags packed, boys in the car and plugged into earphones so that they wouldn’t have to talk to each other – or us, presents loaded and accessible, cards left lying on the floor and we were off to meet up with family at a riverside pub that we remembered from years ago.  Only ten miles from our eventual destination and a good place to bring us all together and swap presents.

I’d been having trouble connecting with Christmas; V-toe had made anything but very brief shopping sojourns almost impossible – especially if it was wet – so on-line present-buying featured heavily.  Yes, it is convenient but it doesn’t have the tangible enjoyment of picking something up and realising it is just right for so-and-so.  Our decorations had been scaled down too; in fact most of the decorations from Christmas Past stayed in the cupboard and garage whilst we went off to the garden centre and bought a three-foot fibre-optic tree with balls on (it takes five minutes to put up and doesn’t require tinsel).  We may decorate a bit in Christmas Yet To Come but – who knows what the fates will allow.

The pub was almost as I remembered it – except that last time we went there it was a blazing hot day in May and  I was heavily pregnant with UB.  Dressed in its Christmas best, with the River Test swollen by the recent heavy rains, The Mayfly took on a whole different aspect.  It was packed with pre-Christmas revellers and we were sandwiched  between a group of very imperious old-money Hampshire folk and a loud, tattooed, perma-tanned bunch of Test Valley nouveau riche (they annoyed CB especially as one of their number – mega loud and wearing a huge bunch of keys dangling from his belt –  kept squeezing past CB to get to the bar – and had the temerity to touch his shoulder – TWICE).

It was a lovely lunch though; full of talk and laughter and good food.  It made me feel like there was a Christmas Present after all.

Gifts and cards were exchanged with hugs and kisses in the muddy car park, and we were on our way to The DeVere Grand Harbour.

When we were young and living in the South, Hub and I watched this hotel being built on the waterfront.  The huge pyramid-shaped glass atrium at the front of the building made it stand out even then and the idea of ever being able to afford to stay there was just a pipe dream.

Hey – here we are living the dream!

We stayed at the hotel when the boys were small enough to still tolerate sleeping on the same sofa bed in the same room as us.  In the intervening years since our last visit this has become impossible and very unwise – getting them to stay civil in the same car is hard enough.  So we had three separate rooms and I dispensed stern instructions about only ordering room service if they checked it out with us first and under no circumstances were they to access the playstation or the adult TV channels.  UB looked at me with disdain because he is a Nintendo man.  CB just looked at me with disdain and thinly veiled disappointment that I had second-guessed him.

Tired and still stuffed from lunch, UB retired to bed.  We had planned to visit the vegetarian nightmare of a steakhouse that we discovered last time we were down but CB was tired and grouchy so Lovely Hub was sent off on a pilgrimage to get kebabs from Zorbas – yes, yes, we ate kebabs in a four-star hotel (used to be five-star but they lost a star when they gave up the valet parking).

Zorbas is a legend.  We have been eating kebabs from there since 1989 and their chilli sauce is one of the reasons our boys are hot stuff – they were weaned on it.  Good to be back home again – again.

That’ll do for today.  We have a new bed being delivered this afternoon and need to dismantle the old one and discover the things that have been lurking under it for many years. Bring on the Dyson and stout (ish) foot wear.  I must protect the V-toe (and myself) from any eight-legged marauders.

Toodle-pip.

By the way – it is my birthday tomorrow 🙂

Dec 28 2012

‘I’ve got my ten fine toes to wiggle in the sand’

This is going to be short but sweet as the PAM should really be packing suitcases and doing pre-holiday things rather than sitting here and letting me run amok.

Tomorrow night we may well be sitting outside by the pool looking at the stars and the mountains, sipping a glass of something more than a little alcoholic and feeling the stress of the day’s journey ebb away.

The big teen is staying home – he has exams at Uni first week back and his revision folders alone would take up the 20K  limit.  He’ll be fine – he has an Ocado account and a peaceful house.  His folks will miss him though.

Back to ME!

We saw another pod yesterday and after she had the temerity to attack me with an emery board (yes – the PAM and I jumped and squawked) she pronounced me fit and healed up. She confirmed that my nail is growing and that the PAM has looked after me very well (Oh – like I had NOTHING to do with it!).

The rest of the time since then has been spent in accumulating the various bits and pieces that will eventually get put into suitcases.  The younger teen and his friend have confirmed that they are packed and their suitcases only weigh 11k each – ooh smug.

The packing will get done – it always does.  The to-do list(s) are being ticked and as each gets completed another gets generated.  They will forget something though – they always do – I’ve made sure that all my important things are packed however.

There is no internet access at our destination but there is a swimming pool – the Kindles are loaded up with all sorts of goodies and for a week we are all going to forget about the past three months. Catch you when we get back.

Laterzz you guys x

“I’ve got me ten fine toes to wiggle in the sand,

Lots of idle fingers snap to my command,
A lively pair of heels that kick to beat the band!
Contemplatin’ nature can be fascinatin’!
Add to these a nose that I can thumb,
And a mouth by gum have I
To tell the whole darn world,
If you don’t happen to like it,
Deal me out, thank you kindly, pass me by!

I’ve got me two great shoes that never saw a shine,
Trousers I can hold up with a laundry line,
A loverly patch that hides an awful lot of spine!
Shirt-tails flyin’, I’m a bloomin’ dandelion!
Add to these a grin from ear to ear,
And all the proper gear have I
To tell the whole darn world,
If you don’t like the assortment
Deal me out, thank you kindly, pass me by!“

Dec 25 2012

‘Searching for the young Sole rebels – couldn’t find them anywhere’

The biggest problem with this blog stuff – apart from the greedy leaders and the thoughts that linger – is that if you miss a couple of days you forget what has happened – particularly when you’re looking at life from a toe’s eye view.

‘Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.’  Go Ferris.

Here we are now on the 25th simply having a lovely Christmas time – or trying to anyway.

High spots in the life of this toe..

The PAM’s dearest friend gave us all a Christmas makeover – the fingernails are sparkly and red, and nine of us toes are painted red too – yes – I’m still in the buff because I have no nail (sniff) – well, there is a little crescent-shaped something hovering down there that may actually turn into a toenail one day just to spite the podiatrist that wrote it off .  The two middle toes have rhinestones and I had a very tender wash and brush up.  This seems to have put the Other Toe into a snit however as it decided to develop a whitlow and sulk until the PAM gave it a salty bath and an outfit to complement mine (not as good as mine of course!).

We also acquired several pairs of very cosy but large bedsocks that are big enough to accommodate me and the other four toes inside the elephant-sized boot – not just practical but stylish too as they are in our signature colours of black, white and purple (couldn’t find any red ones).

The mad rush to buy and wrap presents prior to the LONG journey South brought much stinging and achiness ,and in the midst of it all the PAM had an essay to finish and get off for 20th December.  She did it – as she knew  that she would and whilst the writing of essays means rest and warmth for me, the accompanying angst is not good for any of us.

The doctor has signed us all off again – I am ‘ongoing’ and ‘acute’ and ‘reactive’ – oh go me!

A visit to our Breath of Fresh Air and her lovely brood injected a note of Christmas that had hitherto been missing – you can’t buy that kind of seasonal cheer.

So fast forward to the 22nd – up with a handful of larks, several sparrows and a sky full of thrushes – dragged reluctantly to the supermarket to collect the Christmas food and stow it in the fridge for when we return on Christmas Eve.  We usually go to the place with the ampersand in the middle (must have been the blow from the crate that made me so intellectual) and have a teeth grinding queue-fest with the gold handbag and shoe wearers who NEVER have their purses at the ready.

This time we went elsewhere, closer to home, spent less, got more and were second in a very small queue when picking up the old turkey etc.

Back home and the process of harassing teens, loading the car, forgetting essentials, turning round, collecting the essentials and heading off down the highway took its toll.  When we arrived at our eventual destination (lunch with the PAM’s family) at an old riverside pub in Hampshire, it was discovered that her other half had buster blood vessel – in his eye.  Not pretty but gruesome and a constant reminder of the stress we are all under at the moment – and I ain’t just talking Christmas here!

It didn’t help that the journey there (and back) was in torrential rain and that the motorways were infested with mobile phone talkers, texters, middle-lane hoggers and total morons.

A cold coming we had of it.

The pub was lovely – small, crowded but steeped in Christmas and lovely; the last time I was there it was a glorious summer day, I was twenty years younger and wearing sandals that fit me – how times change.

Can’t tell you much about lunch because – as usual – I was under the table.  I hear the food was good and the company even better – marred only by the close proximity of some elderly and imperious old Hampshire ladies and a rowdy perma-tanned, bleached and tattooed bunch of pikey Hampshire Nouveau Riche.  These words are not mine – they were uttered by the PAM’s youngest son after his shoulder had been grabbed for the tenth time by one particularly loud member (I think he must have been a locksmith judging from the large and noisy bunch of keys hanging from his belt?

Many hugs and kisses, exchanges of brightly wrapped boxes and bags and we are on our way to the posh hotel which will be home for the next two days whilst we distribute more presents and bonhomie, telling the sad tale of my mangling at the hands of the crappy crate.

The hotel lost its fifth star and it shows; still opulent, the staff are still charming and helpful but stains on chairs, dirty grouting and cracked tiles are all signs of  the general decline.  Still the food was good, the bed was okay and best of all – the teens were in separate rooms from us (and each other).

There were good and bad bits about our festive trip and the PAM can write about them later when she recovers from her incipient paranoia.  It was good to see all the folks again though and I received much sympathy, compliments (mostly) on my appearance and shed loads of attention. Yo Ho Toe!

So here we are on Christmas Day.  The presents have been opened and appreciated; the food is being cooked (except for the youngest teen who hates turkey and is having smoked haddock – he wanted lobster but Waitrose were all out).  The eldest teen is having cold feet about Lanzarote (I’m having thoughts of lovely warm feet :-)) as he has exams at Uni as soon as he goes back, his younger brother annoys him (so do his parents) and it would be much easier to just stay at home.

As a consequence the PAM is up and down like a proverbial yo-yo and her other half is having to work even harder to restore her equilibrium.

Happy Flipping Christmas!

Falling crates and podiatrists aside – life is much easier when you are a toe.

 

Dec 16 2012

‘”Bah, humbug!” No, that’s too strong ’cause it’s my favourite holiday. But all this year’s been a busy blur, don’t think I have the energy’

Well, the PAM has brought new meaning to ‘that’s you off my Christmas List then!’  The list has been cut by half due to circumstances beyond our control.

Not that I’m complaining – she has to sit still with this poor old foot up when she’s writing Christmas cards – and to some extent when she’s wrapping up presents – though she tends to wriggle and fidget a bit more with the latter.

The last two days have been difficult here in V-toe land.

On Friday the teen had to be taken to his Muay Thai lesson as the teacher had no transport (some weird sort of martial art if you must know).  This entailed a trip to the outer reaches but the PAM’s face lit up when she found that these reaches touched on the Trafford Centre.  Truculent teen was dropped off and PAM and the other half hit the TC – she with glee – but not he.

It wasn’t too bad to start off with but the other half had to go to collect the teen and left the PAM in a queue a million miles long.  Goods bought and paid for eventually, she lugged me off to that newsworthy coffee shop where, after some suitably comic moments, she finally managed to heave us all up onto a bar stool with an excellent people-watching advantage and a venti gingerbread latte.

The other half and the teen were supposed to meet her there, they’d go for lunch and have another little spot of retail therapy.

Ha!

The world descended on the TC at lunchtime.

The other half and the teen had a falling-out which resulted in both of them phoning the PAM separately to complain about the other. I sat smugly tucked up under the bar stool (I was wearing one of my little black WWs with sparkly black trim and a white ribbon bow – so cute).

It was a race to see who was the most cross and therefore walked the fastest.  The teen won but in his haste completely overshot the coffee-house and had to be texted to bring him back.

The PAM and I were captive; all the effort that it took to get us up on the stool was sapped by the animosity being expressed to each other by her menfolk ( the rest of the toes and I NEVER fall out with each other – although there have been occasions where we’ve been more than a little squashed and tetchy).

The other half helped her down and the consensus was to get the flock out of there; the TC is no place to be with an over-sensitive toe, grumpy husband and deeply morose son.

Usually the car is a safe haven but not on that day.  It is a large car but not with two miserable men in it.  Food was essential to restore the equilibrium and after a long and winding route back into civilisation, sustenance was obtained from the other fast food place with a drive-thru (not the chicken-y one).

After the morning’s traumas, I thought the PAM would be kind and tuck me up on her cushion whilst she tackled the ominous essay.  No such luck.   Some of the other half’s temper was caused by an achy-breaky back but luckily the physio with the magical fingers had a five o’clock slot and so we were off out into the rain again in the rush hour.  Plenty of over the top Christmas decorations to be appalled at on the way though.

The other half  had his back cracked and was more cheerful but still no chance of going home.  They have run out of food again and a trip to the supermarket is the only solution.

I’m getting used to the cold – changes in temperature will cause the stinging stuff and occasional jab of white-hot pain – but RAIN!  The holy boot I wear is no protection against rain and on the way back from the car, hands full of shopping, the PAM went straight through the water feature that gathers on the paving stones outside the kitchen door.

Cold!  Wet! Pain!  My chic little WW was soaked as was my boot.  Thank heaven for radiators (although not for drying wet clothes on  – you get that horrible rank false-dry odour that often wafts past you in the office, or supermarket, or TC).

Everyone was talking to each other again and the evening was spent in cushion cuddling bliss for me – essay-agitation for the PAM.  Don’t know why – she should be an expert on corporate harm and negligence by now – ooh – controversial!

Up with the lark on Saturday to collect the other one from Uni. Various issues conspired to make us all late – as usual; my outfit for today was the giant Christmas WW which allows me to peek cheekily out of the boot in scarlet splendour and has apparently caused male envy due to it’s size (the one that accommodates me AND the the other four toes).

It was a long drive North but the heat was ON – and I was content.  The PAM and the other half were singing along to 80’s hits and all was reasonably well with the world – especially when it stopped raining.

The other one is in a shared house now but  there was no frantic cleaning of the communal kitchen or washing up flamingo-style this year  – his housemates are tidy ladies and he meets their exacting standards.  There was a huge pile of recycling to take, but the other half likes doing this and the PAM and I merely sat in the still-warm car and made silly comments.

What looked like several weeks worth of washing and ironing, together with enough equipment to supply a small independent office, was packed into the car and we stopped en route for home to have a late but extremely civilised lunch.  We all avoided alcohol – well nearly – the PAM was seduced by a coffee laced with Tia Maria and was therefore a tad merry when clambering back into the car – hey  – it is Christmas nearly!

Homeward bound and the roads weren’t too bad considering.  A slight detour to buy more fast food for the teen – who had been left home in bed with strict instructions to clean up his mess – instructions that were ignored of course.

Getting his priorities right – the other one unpacked his computer gear first and ensured that he had Internet access before he touched  anything else.

I’d like to say that we all had a peaceful night – I’d like to – but the teen was playing with the other kids in America and the yattering went on all night so that it was almost a relief to get up with the other half who was heading off to work at some ungodly hour.  It should be mentioned that his bad back was caused by a combination of crouching ready to pounce at paintball and spending most of Thursday sitting in the jump seat of an Airbus 317 whilst it went to Madrid and back via Valencia.

The PAM was suitably sympathetic and the other half had a nice time despite his back.

Oooooh, time for Christmas wrapping – but not the waitress sort.

Dec 13 2012

“Take off your shoes and pat your feet, we’re doin’ a dance that can’t be beat, we’re barefootin'”

Way-hay!  The other half has gone on a flight to Madrid (and back again) today leaving me, the PAM and the sleeping teen in the warm – after yesterday we deserve to rest but the PAM has been horribly active this morning in an effort to avoid writing her sociology essay – only 7 days to go PAM!

So far we are on our second lot of washing, the old flowers have been thrown out and fresh freesias (go Tesco) have replaced them.  We also have a bucket of blue hyacinths ready to bloom for the old Crimbo celebrations.  A box of bits has been gone through and stuff that has been dumped in the big teen’s bedroom whilst he is away has been moved to a pile in another room  – it’s true – this place IS known as Haemorrhoid House (because of all the piles – doh!)

There is washing up still to do – oh and lunch – my idea of day spent curled up on my cushion under her ironing board cum desk whilst she battled with the differences between social harm and criminalisation has effectively disappeared.  Her to-do list keeps getting longer and longer.

Still – a quieter day than yesterday.

My lips are sealed about the morning (yeah – I know – toes don’t have lips – but this is all fiction anyway so who cares?)

Lovely to see our Breath of Fresh Air though and catch up over hot chocolate afterwards. It took me some while to recover from the changes in temperature – no matter how much the PAM wraps me up there is always a cold draft that cuts through and stings like billy-oh.

Home for lunch and a trip to the good old garden centre where a time-limited shopping was remarkably successful – unless you are a cold, stinging toe that wants to be home in the warm.  Christmas  – Bah Humbug!

But the worst was yet to come…..

……The POD!

This was the fourth pod we’ve seen in 6 weeks (I don’t count the student pod – who was very sweet but was remarkably cack-handed when she tried to dress me). This appointment was to check my other nine toe-mates and the feet they are attached to.

So – the good news is – the PAM still has beautiful pulses in her feet (of course) and no sign of any sensory damage anywhere else – just moi. We passed the tuning fork test and ‘shut-your-eyes-whilst-I-poke-your-feet-with-a-ball-point-pen’ test.  Hoorah!

Then it was my turn to have the starring role – gulp – he got out a scalpel!

He poked and it hurt.  He prodded and it hurt; he stuck his scalpel into places where no one has ventured before without the PAM having to be scraped off the ceiling – the other half let her squeeze his hand – hard.

Contrary to the last pod’s opinion – this one reckons my toe will have a nail – eventually – and that there are signs of regrowth – but it could take up to 12 months and (I love this bit) it may come out warped (tee-hee just like me!).

So – overall – the feet are okay but I have to go back again between Christmas and Lanzarote time for another appointment.  We have purchased tons of dressings, bandages and sticky stuff because the pod says I have to be kept covered at all times – EVEN in the swimming pool – but at least I can go paddling.

None of the pods we’ve seen seem to agree with each other but perhaps that is because my prognosis is so uncertain – it looks as if I shall be hanging around with my nine mates for some while to come yet – but no barefootin’.

Come on PAM!  – eat some lunch – wash up and get on with that flipping essay!

Dec 12 2012

Toe good toe be forgotten – I hope

King Henry V – William Shakespeare

KING HENRY V:
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips;
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!”

The PAM and I are girding our loins for battle – Grrrrr.  Setting our teeth and flaring our nostrils wide. One last simple quote …..

…… ‘Integrity has no need of rules‘ Albert Camus

Dec 11 2012

Toe hot ta trot – or walk very far – or stand for very long – and running is toetally out of the question

The old PAM is struggling a bit – I think she is grieving for the loss of her toe nail. Me too.  She worries too much.  Things will be better next year.

I did my best to cheer her up this weekend but the effort has made me a bit weepy and that has given her something else to worry about.  I blame the pod for saying “Three days without any seepage and we’ll consider it to be healed”. Oops.

I let her take me out shopping on Sunday; to the local garden centre to buy a few vaguely Christmassy things and some presents.  This enforced reliance on others does not sit well with the PAM; yes, she can buy presents on-line and have them delivered to the door but she likes to go out and look at things, pick them up and sniff them, touch them – weird stuff like that. The other half has a very limited window of opportunity for present shopping, once his eyes start to glaze over, the PAM knows that she has provide a diversion or get out quick.

I don’t help really; within half an hour of setting foot (ha ha) in a shop I start to complain. I just don’t like standing or walking, and she insists on doing both of those things.  Luckily the garden centre has a nice tea room – even if it was full of over-excited kids clutching their presents from Father Christmas.  Even tucked well under her chair I felt vulnerable as they thundered around the room clutching remote control cars, pink-cheeked dollies and craft sets. You can tell the cheap parents because they won’t let their kids unwrap the present, you just know that it will be going home to be hidden in the wardrobe till Christmas or given to some other kid as a last-minute present.

Oh, roll on Lanzarote and the bliss of a heated swimming pool to soothe me and my nine fine toemates, but it is Christmas first, and it is going to be a quiet little Christmas in this house with people (and the cat) not lost but gone before,  and everyone stressed and anxious about the future.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

“An end to all this crap.”

“Can you get that on Amazon?”

“I wish.”

Apart from when things get dropped on you – or you have to walk a long way – or stand  – or sit in a draught – life is much easier being a toe.

We’ve put the tree up though. It looks very pretty – even from this V-toe’s point of view.