55% of Men

The Coronavirus pandemic has a lot to answer for, boredom being one of them. I was glued to the television last night and watched a re-run of a programme first shown ten years ago. I missed it then. It’s a panel game between two teams of three people. I was called 8 out of 10 Cats. The teams have to answer strange or plain silly questions. Very entertaining.

The question master asked for comments on the following statement. “A recent survey in the USA says that 55% of men have done something stupid to try and attract a woman.”

One of the panellists said that as a schoolboy in a biology lesson he laid a bet with the other members of his class that he would eat a pigs eyeball. He won the bet.

My own effort at stupidity occurred about the same age as the panellist, about 14 years old. I was on a school hiking holiday in North Wales. The mixed group of us were away for about five days staying in Youth Hostels and doing some of the mountains in the area. From memory I think it rained all the time, though that is normal in Wales at most times of the year. A very wet place, almost as bad as Lancashire. They do say that you can tell if someone was born in Lancashire. They have webbed feet.

Anyway. We stayed one night at Llanberis Youth Hostel which is at the foot of Wales’s highest mountain, Mount Snowden. The following day we started off up the mountain and soon enough the mist came down. We carried on walking along a very rocky muddy path until eventually we were walking in cloud. Not very pleasant.

One of the girls in the group who was also from my class at school was called Stephanie Sykes. She was tall, slim and had shoulder length black hair and a tanned complexion. And she was beautiful. I had been smitten by her some weeks before and drooled over her in class, as you do at that age.

Part way up the mountain I came up behind her and could see she was really struggling with the rucksack she had on her back. I think we all were, particularly those who had not done any hiking before. I had done a lot, being a Boy Scout at the time, but she hadn’t. I seized my chance and offered to carry her rucksack as well as my own. She smiled, I was hit. I took her sack from her shoulders and placed it on top of my own and started to walk on up the mountain. As I started to walk she said she was going to wait for a few moments to “catch her breath”. I carried on and the cloud became thicker and thicker. In fact it was not until we were almost at the summit that the cloud cleared and we could see in the valley below us a small aircraft flying along the valley, so we threw stones at it. We missed, fortunately.

About a hundred yards from the summit the sun was shining and a crowd of walkers were heading toward the cafe at the summit. I stopped and turned around to see where the rest of the group were. First in line was Stephanie, hand in hand with one of my classmates. They stopped and grinned up at me. I reached around to the pack on top of my rucksack and lifted it off. In one smooth movement I threw it down the hill at the bitch. “You can manage it the rest of the way yourself” I shouted, and carried on to the top. The teacher in charge of us and some of my class mates saw what happened. Nobody said a word, and Stephanie never spoke to me then or ever again.

Living in a Timewarp

It’s the first day of April today, 2020. Since the 14^th March my wife and I have been living in self isolation due to our age and health conditions. We have to live like this for the next three months. Like most people we are not finding it too easy.

We do have some advantages over a lot of other people in the UK. We have a small back garden and an even smaller front one, so that if we need fresh air we don’t have to only stick our heads out of the window. We can wander around the garden and mutter to ourselves, something I’ve taken to over the past week. It’s never a very interesting conversation though.

In addition we have two dogs. One is a 16 month old Irish Wolfhound cross with a Labradoodle. He is BIG. The other recently acquired dog is a first cross with a Standard Poodle and a Golden Retriever. He is as black as the ace of spades and a ‘wick’ little monkey as they say in this part of England. I have provisionally nicknamed him Son of Satan. He is a quick, inquisitive little sod.

Ted and Reggie

For the past week or so we have had no rain, always something to brag about in this part of Lancashire. The result is that both dogs can spend a lot of time in the garden, which they do, running around like loons and generally creating havoc where they can. We have had to buy new fencing to keep the pair of them out of the spring flowers we planted (now long gone thanks to S of S). My wife was hoping to grow some vegetables at the bottom of the garden, that has been put on hold for a few days until the last lot of fencing arrived. Soon I hope.

The local Police have been going a bit over the top in the social isolation stakes. We are not supposed to go out in the car other than to shop or work (if you are still working) and only exercise once a day from your home.

For the past eight years I have been walking the dog (whichever one we have had) by taking them to the local country park one mile from our home. I take them in the car and then walk them around a small lake. The walk takes me between 20 and 40 minutes depending on how good my breathing is. I suffer from COPD. On a good day I am away from home for 26 minutes. Three minutes drive each way.

Yesterday there were two other cars in the car park. ON a normal day there are up to 60-70 cars. A good indication of how people are taking heed to the new rules of life.

As I got back to the car a police car rolled up. Drivers window came down and a rather large part time officer poked her head out. She didn’t bother to get out. We had a short conversation which ended with her threatening me with a fine of £60.00 if I didn’t move. I moved. She did suggest I walked the mile from my home to the car park. I told her about COPD and the fact that a walk around the lake was all I could manage.

It turns out that Lancashire police have issued 132 fines in the past few days since the rules were introduced. The neighbouring force of Cheshire has issued 6. The Metropolitan police covering the whole of Greater London have issued 0.

Over zealous perhaps. Whatever, They are losing a lot of support in this area.

Long John Silver

Triumph Saint Motorcycle

 

Back in the 1970s when I was a freshly minted Traffic Patrol officer, I had the pleasure of eventually riding a Triumph Saint motorcycle after being broken in on a Triumph Thunderbird. A great machine with only one or two foibles, but still good fun.

One day at the end of my daytime shift I returned home to my wife and newly minted sprog. Nothing much had happened that day and my brain had had little to occupy it, so as I took off my uniform and changed into ‘civvies’ I told her a tale. Went something like this.

“Guess what happened today love?”

“Go on, tell.”

“I was riding along Manchester Road in Rochdale when I came up behind a rather nice Rolls Royce. I followed it for a time and then went to overtake it and glanced into the drivers seat. Guess who was driving it”

“No idea.”

“Richard Attenborough the film director.”

“No!”

“Yes. So I had to pull him over and have a chat.”

“We talked about Police stuff for a bit and the films he had been in and was making and then out of the blue he suddenly said, ‘If you want, I can put you in the next film I am going to make. I think you’ll be pretty good.’”

“Well,” I said to my wife. “I don’t know about that. I’ve got a good job here and don’t want to throw it over for a film that lasts a few months.”

“That’s not a problem,” he says, “I can guarantee you four more films after this one.
So if you do alright in those then you will have a lot of exposure in the industry and can make your own way in the future.”

“So I thought about it for a minute or two and finally said to him, What’s the film?”

“It’s a remake of Treasure Island. I think you would do very well in the lead part of Long John Silver.”

“So I jokingly said, But I don’t have a parrot of my own!”

“ He laughed and said, Don’t worry, we’ll fix you up with a good one. There is only one thing though which might cause a problem.”

“What’s that I asked”

“You have to have your left leg removed.”

My wife thought about it for two or three seconds before hitting me.

Day Two With Ted

So. Rita went back to the breeder we bought her from. She was not a happy dog with us, she was nervous as hell, barked at anyone who came to the front door or entered the house and would not settle at all. Did not like going in the car and ran off when I took her for a walk with Reggie. It took 45 minutes and a high speed Reg to find her in the woods above the lake. Not happy.

Fortunately the breeder was happy to take her back (she was almost two years old and had never really been intended to be sold in the first place.) In her place we took one of the puppies the breeder had. There were eight puppies which were the result of a mating between a Golden Retriever and a Standard Poodle. He is jet black and a real bundle of energy.

Reggie is made up. A happy dog once more and despite the fact that he is still officially a puppy, Reggie has taken the little one under his wing. The pair are inseparable – despite the fact that occasionally Reggie wants to have a sleep. Not to be if the little one – who we have named Ted – wants to play.

When we brought him home yesterday the two of them got on very well together. Not too surprising as Ted had come from a litter of eight pups. Reggie was happy from the word go.

The first night we put them together on the landing at the top of the stairs and put a child proof wooden gate in place to stop the little on from falling down stairs. 6.45am the following morning they woke me with Teds’ whinging. No mess on the landing or in the bathroom where they both had access to and apart from a little disruption of their beds nothing untoward. Great!

Last night we did the same thing. Put down their beds, laid out puppy paper for Ted to poo on and put the gate in place.

Awakened by Ted whinging this morning at 7.15am – an improvement. Puppy paper was ripped up, beds all over the place and the child proof gate pulled down. Both of the little so and sos were romping up and down stairs full of the joys of spring and happy to see me. I went in the kitchen to find five small piles of poop and one a puddle of pee. Should I be angry or happy that the little sod had found the kitchen? Obviously at the moment he has decided that is the toilet. So far this morning he has done a pile on two occasions, or attempted to do two. Caught in the act and shown the back door. Some success.

I put the gate in place at the foot of the stairs just now to come out of the way and type this up. Ted and Reggie have just appeared. Seems like he has more brains than a kid.

It is great to see Reggie happy again. He has taken the little one under his wing, plays with him and runs around the garden with him. Incredible to see lthe development of Ted in such a short time, and also to see how Reggie allows the little one to bite his legs, dry hump him and run around like a loon. I feel that his is a partnership which will only grow in the future. Into a really good firm friendship.

Time will tell.

Dogs Behaviour

Dogs Behaviour

Yes, this is me.Reggie.

I heard on a television programme recently that people who like dogs see in them more human attributes than people who do not have a liking for the animals. I’m not too sure how true this is. There could be some truth in it as both my wife and I have loved dogs for upwards of fifty years now and constantly see human traits in the dogs we have owned.

A couple of weeks ago we lost one of our dogs, Cassidy. He was a Labradoodle and was not well when we got him. Sadly he lasted only six months with us, and when he died our other dog, Reggie, an Irish Wolfhound cross with a Labradoodle, showed very distinct signs of distress and depression. The depression lasted until last week when we took him with us on a short holiday to Southerness on the Galloway coast of Scotland. 

A bit wet on the beach at Southerness

 There he was able to run wild and free on a beach close to the cottage we had hired for the week. He loved it! And thrived. The only sign of any sadness came when we arrived home. Although he was obviously glad to be back home he was subdued in comparison to the way he had rushed around the beach and cottage garden in mad enthusiasm for the short time we were away.

Can't stay dry forever can you?

Yesterday we picked up another Labradoodle. This time it is a two year old bitch called Rita. Don’t laugh, we didn’t give her the name, and it’s too late now to try and change it.

Rita looks a lot like Cassidy in many way (apart from the obvious missing bits). The major difference is that she is very very timid and unsure of herself. Perhaps it is too early yet to say that, because she is now in a new home with a new dog for company, rather than the fairly mad house she lived in before where there were at least nine dogs, several horses (not in the house) a multitude of birds and god knows what else.  It could well be that being in the company of so many dogs she had to take second place and was very unsure of herself.  Although well behaved in the car on the way home, she was very very nervous in the house and spent all last night wandering around trying to eat stuff where she could smell food on work surfaces, and generally exhibiting scared behaviour. After a time she would come to my wife and I if we were sitting down, but when we stood up she was frightened and woud not come near.

But Reggie, the massive Wolfhound, took it all very much in his stride. He did not act in any manner of aggression or over exuberance, he simply sniffed and was sniffed, and allowed her to sleep on the larger of the two beds we have set down for them. She was accustomed to sleeping with other dogs in close proximity and for her this was normal. Reggie likes his privacy, but didn’t object, he simply went and slept on the other bed.

Reggie and Rita

She is still timid and will be for some time yet, it’s only 24 hours since she met us. This morning I took Reggie out for a walk, as I have always done, and she whined to come with us, but for this time I felt it too early for her. Maybe tomorrow.

The thing which has astonished both my wife and I is the way in whih he has taken her under his wing, looked after her, shown her around the house and garden and generally been a very gentle kind individual. Not at all what one would assume on first looking at him and his size. I think we have a good one in Reggie, and maybe in time with his teaching she will be just as happy and gregarious as he is.

A Bit Of Homelessness

A few years ago I was made homeless. I had been in a relationship for some six years and felt everything was going well, and then it happened.

It started with polymyalgia and cancer and then aneurysms on my aorta. But in truth it probably all started several months earlier when my partner started to talk almost incessantly about a new young man who had started to work at the same place as her. One night I committed the unforgivable sin of writing the 2am e mail telling her what I knew. The following day I went off to do my volunteering stint at the local university and about the middle of the afternoon a call to my mobile phone interrupted me in a meeting. She told me it was over, my clothes were in an empty house she owned just down the street from where we lived and were all packed up ready for me to collect.

Bit of a shock to the system I can tell you. Anyway, with a lot of help from a couple of friends I was pointed in the direction of the local authority housing department who had access to accommodation for people in my situation. I went there and met a very sympathetic young man who fixed me up with a room in a hostel for a few nights. The hostel had been built as a Technical School by the local council many years ago. A grey stone built edifice with large arch windows and a grand solid wooden door. I often wondered how many young people had been through those doors over the years. I was yet another.

My room was pretty good. Large enough to accommodate me, a single bed, a large double wardrobe and a chest of drawers. It had along one wall a shelf at desk height where I could write and make a cup of tea if I wished. It had a large separate bathroom with a fabulous old cast iron claw foot bath which I used to lounge in with a gin and tonic for company most evenings whilst I stayed there.

Down two flights of stairs was a kitchen and next to it a room which had all the hallmarks of it having been a gymnasium when the building was first constructed. Being in the town centre had it's real advantages. I could walk to the bank, the post office, the central library to use their computers and check my e mails and generally do any shopping I needed to do. But it was a lonely place.

The other inhabitants of the place were female, apart from one single man of late teenage years. We all smiled and nodded at each other on the stairs on when entering and leaving the building. There was almost always someone at the door having a smoke. The place had a no smoking policy. Drinking and smoking in the place was not allowed, so my gin and tonic had to be carefully brought in and the empties equally secretly smuggled out.

The kitchen was massive with cookers and sinks (all stainless steel) along two walls, with large cupboards of the same heartless material underneath. In the centre was a great big square table for eating at. It was quite strange to cook a meal for myself in the kitchen, eat it at this large table (big enough of at least ten) and then stand washing up my utensils afterwards, all in total silence and alone. I spent a lot of my spare time in the room practising my Saxophone, which amused the residents quite a lot. Apart from that, it was a lonely time, all by myself. Rattling around in this high ceilinged bright airy big room.

As good as it was, I didn't stay there too long. I was six weeks away from starting radiology treatment for cancer, and managed to find somewhere permanent to live during that time. Better times were ahead, for many years to come. I did not like living in that building, but will always remember it with a degree of relief.

A Priest Called Saunier

In 1852 a boy called Francois Berenger Saunier was born in a small hill top village called Montazels in the foothills of the Pyrenees. He died in 1917 across the valley from Montazels in a similar poor village called Rennes le Chateau. At the age of 32 after spending several years being educated in a seminary at Limoux and then a similar establishment in Carcasonne, he became the priest at the church in Rennes le Chateau.

On his death in 1917 he left behind him a housekeeper who had been his companion for many years, debts and a mystery. Several writers have since eared a very good living by writing books about the priest and the church and village. Perhaps the best known is Dan Brown and the Da Vinci Code, and prior to him, Lincoln, Baigent and Leigh with The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail. Both are well written and captivating novels and rightly deserve the acclaim awarded to their authors. But they are not a view of the history of those times, that place and that priest. If you are interested enough to delve a little deeper into the history of the two books then wikipedia has a good entry about the whole subject.

I became interested in the subject back in the early 1980s and first visited the village of Rennes le Chateau in 1992 when I met the son in law of the former owner of the Presbytery and museum in the village. It was a very interesting meeting and gave me leads into one or two organisations in the area who concern themselves with the history of the area and Saunier himself.

If one reads the Holy Blood and the Holy Grail one is lead to believe that Saunier found a secret which the Catholic Church tried hard to bury as it was so earth shaking that it would destroy the foundation of the church itself. The Catholic Church started to pay Saunier what amounted to a small fortune to prevent the 'secret' being made public, and using this money Saunier refurbished the church, and the presbytery and threw wild parties involving the great and the good of French society at that time. I have to confess that when I read these words in the book my BS indicator went off the scale.

Over several years and one or two further visits to the village, I formed a different opinion to those of the novelists as to the origins of the 'fortune' which the priest had spent during his time a Cure of the church.

W hat I discovered was rather more prosaic. He sold masses. Below is one page from a book written in 1994 which contains the correspondence of the 'L'Abbe Saunier' and includes several pages like the ones above. The one above covers the period of just over one month in 1909, and indicates the prices he charged for saying a mass. The man was raking it in.

I'll leave it to you to estimate how much his 'fortune' amounted to. Enjoy!