Not Gerry, but Scamp

YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

All I'd wished for was something to occupy me for 4 hours in Workington, while I was waiting for my car to be serviced at Kwik-Fit. I could see how I could spend maybe two of those hours wandering round the shops, so I took my bike with me in order to have a bit of an explore further afield as well.

SWANS
First I cycled down to the Mill Field and took photos of a family of starstruck swans who kept posing for the camera like the supermodels they know they are. Had a look at the Yearl with its rushing torrents of water, chatted to a dogwalker, discovered a couple of cycle tracks I hadn't known about, and headed back to the centre of town, having used up only 1½ of those 4 hours.

LOST IN SCOPE
The charity shops were calling me. In Scope, I found the two voluntary ladies discussing a small dog, which was sitting, quite unconcerned, in the middle of the shop floor. It had apparently just wandered in and sat down. Collarless, its identity was a mystery.

The volunteers didn't know what to do. They tried phoning the dog warden, who doesn't work Saturday afternoons, and suggested just turning the poor beast back out into the street, which seemed a bit heartless, with all the traffic out there. They phoned the police, who wouldn't have anything to do with it, and said they should "reject it" which amounted to the same advice as that of the dog warden.

They phoned various animal shelters and vets, but most of them were closed on Saturday afternoons. By this time another customer had become interested, and tried feeling for a microchip under the dog's skin, but couldn't find anything. She also noticed he had lost a claw, and had a rather sore looking patch on his paw.

A RAY OF HOPE
The volunteers were becoming quite disturbed by it all. We all had animals of our own at home, so couldn't take him back with us without causing domestic chaos. Then I remembered that our vet's surgery in Cockermouth have an out-of-hours service - I'd used it once before late at night. I finally tracked them down on my phone, and they said, "yes, bring the dog in as soon as your car is ready - just ring to let us know when you'll be here, and we'll go to the surgery to meet you." Nice people. I have to recommend Millcroft Vets here, as no-one else offered to do anything helpful.

UNEXPECTED DOG-WALKING
So it looked as though I was lumbered for the rest of the afternoon. I was the only one with a car, and the time to spare to look after the animal. The other customer, whose little boy looked like he would happily keep the doggie, helpfully nipped out and bought a cheap collar and lead, which we attached to the stray, and off I marched out of Scope, with the most unusual thing I've yet acquired in a charity shop.

A TEMPORARY NAME
Feeling a bit silly walking a nameless dog I decided to give him a temporary name, so he became Gerry for the duration. He did look very like a Gerry for some reason.

MORE PATTABLE THAN MY DOGS
I was surprised at how many people stopped and patted him - particularly quite small children who were more at his level. Nobody ever stops to pat my dogs! Gerry was perfectly behaved. He trotted along all cheerful and alert, never bothering if we passed another dog, never barking, never rushing ahead or trying to pull me along. You could tell he came from a good home where he was well looked after, and of course this meant that someone, somewhere, must be frantic with worry about him by now.

WORKINGTON HALL
We walked around the shopping area for a while, hoping someone would suddenly come rushing over shouting, "There he is! Thank goodness!" but nobody recognised him. I could see I was going to be on my feet all afternoon, so I checked my bike was securely chained to a railing, and headed off for the grounds around old Workington Hall, a nice grassy area for dogs. (I'll come back later with the sad & disgraceful story of Workington Hall.)

HOME, BOY!
Gerry was very pleased to run on the grass, although obviously I couldn't let him run loose. He had loads of energy for one so small! As we headed back towards the road I realised he seemed to know where he was going, so I let him lead me, in the hope that he'd head for home. I kept saying "home!" in a meaningful voice, and he took me down several footpaths and across the bridge over the Derwent so that we were heading towards Seaton. This seemed just the sort of place he might live - loads of houses there, and for a little while I thought we'd cracked it, but suddenly he paused, and looked puzzled. He couldn't figure out which way to go now. I had to remember that he's only a Jack Russell, not a Border Collie: my dogs can find their way home no bother at all.

"HE THINKS YOU HAVE HIS DOG!"
Back in the town centre, I found him dragging me suddenly towards the door of the multi-storey car park. This seemed like a clue. Perhaps his family had arrived by car and parked there. I was about to go inside to see if he could lead me to his car when my phone rang. Kwik-Fit were ringing to tell me my car was nearly ready, and by the way, there was a man there who seemed to think I had his dog!

WET
I couldn't believe it! How on earth had he tracked me down to Kwik-Fit? I told Kwik-Fit man to keep the dog-owner there, as I'd get there as quickly as I could, just as the heavens opened and soaked both me and Gerry quite thoroughly.

JOYFUL REUNION
So there he was - the dog owner sitting in his car in the Kwik-Fit forecourt. Nice chap, obviously very very fond of his dog, and very very delighted to be reunited with him. I sat in their car for a bit telling my half of the story. Seems they'd been in another shop just a few doors away from Scope, and had tied the dog up outside. When they looked out, he'd gone - spooked by something probably - slipped his collar and departed.

DETECTIVE WORK
They'd been searching all afternoon. They'd been to the animal shelters, (which had been closed) and phoned the police, who, although they'd been no help at the time, had obviously logged the phone call from the shop, and were able to tell him that his dog had been found in Scope. So he'd visited the shop, where the ladies had told him his dog was in safe hands, and they also remembered me telling them that I was picking up my car from Kwik-Fit at 5 o'clock.

I was so happy to see them reunited! Oh, and they do live at Seaton, and the dog's real name is Scamp. (I still think he looked more like a Gerry.)

Someone's nicked my shoes!

I left them on the bench in the women's changing rooms while I used the gym at Cockermouth Leisure Centre, and when I got back, they were gone. I was quite sure they'd just been tidied up by some over-consciencious member of staff, but it seems they really have been stolen. I'm appalled! They only cost £7 from a charity shop, but I'm very fond of them because they actually fit my wide feet and they're great for cycling and they're nice and bright and red and I can't afford to replace them with a new pair of the same quality.

<sob!>

When I joined the gym I asked where the lockers were, and I was told that although there are lockers for the swimming pool there are none for the gym (although they're planning to install them sometime) so in the meantime you just have to carry all your stuff around with you. I don't like putting my street shoes, which are sometimes a bit dirty, in the same bag with the rest of my clothes to cart around the gym, so I generally just leave them under the bench. They're not worth much so I never imagined anyone would take them. But last night the floor was sopping wet - I think it had just been washed - and because I didn't want my laces trailing on it and getting all wet I put the shoes on top of the bench instead of underneath, making them a lot more visible, I suppose.

And of course, because it was warm, the back door was open. Anyone could have slipped inside, had a quick look around the changing rooms, picked up my shoes and nipped out again without being noticed.

Of course I complained, and now they tell me that I'm quite welcome to use the swimmers' lockers! That wasn't what I was told when I joined. I am not happy.

I may just spend a bit of time wandering around the streets of Cockermouth looking at people's feet and showing this photo to everyone I meet: "Have you seen these shoes?"

BLACK CAT UPDATE

Little Snooky2, or whatever his name is, is becoming quite a frequent visitor. If I go to call our cats home, he turns up first, miaowing much louder than Aineko or Oscar do. Last night I opened the door and he was sitting there, quite companionably, with Ainkeo, and they both wanted to come inside. I felt really mean refusing him entrance. It's like your child comes home from school with a new chum, and you let your own kid in but turn the friend away.

But I know cats. I know if I let him in, he'll want to stay, and feel less and less inclined to go home. I also have no idea of the state of his health (although he seems quite bright-eyed and his coat, though needing some grooming seems shiny enough) or what sort of parasites he might be harbouring, ready to pounce on the 2 humans, 2 cats and 2 dogs who already live here.

VISITOR

A strange little cat has started visiting us. He's very friendly - comes straight over, miaowing as though he's an old friend of the family. As you've probably gathered, I'm pretty fond of cats, but I really can't go round encouraging unknown cats to hang about our house, particularly since he seems very keen to come inside.

For one thing, the cats who actually belong here, assisted by the dogs, would probably make a good attempt at dismantling this little chap, bit by bit, if he dared to pass the threshold. And more importantly, he must belong somewhere, and I'd hate to be responsible for him preferring our house to his own. It was just this sort of scenario that I was afraid of when Aineko went missing: she visits someone who invites her in, feeds her, and gradually takes her over.

Not knowing his real name I'm calling him Snooky2 in honour of the first cat in my life, Snooky, who looked exactly the same and lived in the flat downstairs when I was a toddler. He was mainly responsible for my life-long love of cats. Snooky used to come visiting (his owner was a friend and knew he visited us so it was OK) and charmed me forever. I actually saved Snooky's life when I was about 7 or 8. The big heavy downstairs door to our stair had very strange hinges, which meant that the back of the door swung away from the wall when it was open, and swung back when it was closed. I can still remember seeing Snooky walking through the gap behind the door as someone went outside, not realising he was behind them, and the door starting to close on him. It would certainly have crushed him. I charged down the stair, grabbed the door and stopped it closing at the very last minute.

Postscript
Shortly after taking the photo above, Oscar came home with one eye half shut. The obvious conclusion to draw would be a fight between him and Snooky2, but I never saw or heard anything so I'll reserve judgement for now.

Postscript 2
Something has bitten my leg. I'm not aware of our cats or dogs having fleas at the moment, but Snooky2 was rubbing against my leg with great gusto. Hmm...

Fringed

Since I had to be in Edinburgh anyway on the first weekend of August, I thought I'd see which Fringe music shows had already got started. Not many, if you look through the enormous programme. I sat in Hilary's kitchen thumbing through it: the first thing we fancied had been cancelled; the next couple were starting in about 10 minutes, leaving us no time to get there. We finally settled on something called Café Cadenza, described thus: "Eclectic wind virtuoso John Sampson and songwriting singer-guitarist Stewart Hanratty produce an hour of classy music, ranging from Stewart's contemporary tales to John's recorder, crumhorn and trumpet, creating a warm, forget-the-word atmosphere."

Well. Mention recorders and crumhorns and I'm yours. Hilary was inclined to agree, so we chucked the Fringe programme in the back of the car and set off. Halfway there, I said to Hilary, " It was at that place in Nicholson Street, wasn't it?" And Hilary replied, with absolute conviction, "No, no, that was the one we couldn't get to - this one's at the Carlton Hotel." "Are you sure?" said I, not at all sure myself now. "Positive," said Hilary. How could I argue with that?

The Carlton Hotel is not the sort of place you can get parked outside, so we parked away back up Nicholson Street and walked very fast down to the North Bridge, as the show would be starting quite shortly. Like most venues during the festival, the Carlton was festooned with a variety of Fringe posters. Hilary started following some people who looked like musicians, in through the front door of the hotel, through the lobby and down a back staircase. Like a sheep, I followed her, feeling the whole thing was somehow wrong. Eventually one of the musicians turned round and explained that although this was indeed the way to the venue, if we followed any further we'd end up on the stage with them, and we ought to go in through the other door.

Back up the stairs we trotted, somewhat faster than before, then out through the main door and back in through the side door, where a girl at a desk claimed she'd never heard of Café Cadenza. I borrowed her copy of the Fringe Programme (for ours was still lurking several blocks away in the back of my car) and discovered that, astonishingly, Hilary had been wrong, and the show was indeed in the venue, named for the duration, as, 'The Zoo, Southside,' back up the road in Nicholson Street.

We nearly ran this time, back up across the High Street, up Nicholson Street, past where I'd parked the car, and about the same distance in the opposite direction until we reached the old church where the show was about to start any moment.

"After all this," I thought, "it had better be bloody good."

We found a seat in a little room set up with 'cabaret seating' as they call it in the Kirkgate - tables, chairs and candles, with a few fairy lights draped around a red velvet curtain to provide a stage.

A man with a guitar appeared, propped up several strange paintings on a chair, and started to sing. I still have no idea what he was singing about as his enunciation wasn't too good, but the songs seemed to be connected in some way with the paintings, which we deduced he had probably created himself. I'm sure this would have been much more enjoyable had we been issued with sheets containing the lyrics - the songs were probably very funny, or sad, or thought-provoking, or profound, or just damn good poetry, but we'll never know.

Had it not been for the promise of recorders and crumhorns I'd have got up and left. I could think of several things I'd rather be doing in Edinburgh on a Saturday night. Suddenly, when I just thought I couldn't take any more, a big man with an interesting beard burst on to the scene playing a post horn with great enthusiasm, and from this point on the whole show livened up.

John Sampson (for it was he) is a skilled performer on a variety of wind instruments, which he plays with aplomb. He's also very funny, and one of those people with the ability to get a laugh with just the odd raised eyebrow. Stewart Hanratty, the guitarist, slipped easily into a role much better suited to him, that of accompanist, and between them they entertained us delightfully for three quarters of an hour.

Shame about those first 15 minutes, really.

If Mr Hanratty really must sing his songs, the least he could do would be to intersperse them throughout the show, in between John Sampson's instrumental pieces, though quite honestly, the whole thing would have been better without the songs at all. Sorry, Stewart.

Stuff

GYM
Well, all that working out seems to have made my back stronger already, as I was only incapacitated for a few days, rather than the usual couple of weeks. I can actually feel some of these new muscles. If I lie on my back it's like I'm lying on something hard, until I realise it's a couple of muscles that run vertically down the back on either side of the spine. Heh. I've lived all this time without noticing they were there!

The gym has big wide-screen tellies in all the rooms, tuned, with subtitles, to BBC1, a channel I hardly ever watch, apart from the 6 o'clock news. Why are all the characters in Eastenders so ugly? I thought it was supposed to be a reflection of real life, but real people aren't so consistently unpleasant to look at. I can't follow the story at all - no idea who is who or what is what, nor do I care, but you find your eyes being drawn to it as you pedal away furiously on the upright bike or run, boringly, on the spot on the treadmill.

The reason they need subtitles is that they also have piped pop music. I tried using my phone's built-in radio with headphones so that I could listen to something of my own choice, but it's not loud enough to compete. I see people using iPods, but I don't really want to splash out that sort of money just so I can listen to the Archers.

RIGHTS OF WAY
They've recently erected a couple of new signposts in the village, proclaiming a Public Bridleway between Crosby and Crosscanonby. It's been a Public Right Of Way for a very long time, and I've known about it since we've been here, but it's been more or less impassible. Seeing these new signs I thought, "Aha! They must have made some improvements to the path! Hurrah!"

Last time I tried this path, you had to go through a big gate and through the seemingly private drying-green belonging to a farmhouse, and then into a big boggy field, with nothing to show where to go next. If, by dint of much searching, you actually discovered the spot in the fence with the stile, you still had to negotiate deep mud and broken wooden steps over the fence. When I discovered this I had to go back the way I came as it was impossible to get dogs over this stile and there were no dog-gates.

Seeing it was now described as a 'bridleway' I assumed it would now be improved to the extent that you could get a horse through. Hurrah! Entering from the bottom of the path, rather than the top, we made our way across the field to the place where the stile had been several years ago. It was gone. The only way you'd know it's the place to cross the fence is the absence of barbed wire for a couple of feet. I guess I could have climbed over - I'm quite good at climbing over fences - but the dogs wouldn't. It was too high to jump, even for Ghyll, who's happy enough to jump over things of reasonable height. No dog-gates, no holes in the fence, no way to get through. And as for horses? Well, yes, I know some horses do jump, but they'd have to be pretty accurate to jump that little gap, and if they missed they'd be impaled on the barbed wire on either side, or crash unceremoniously into the hawthorn hedge.

They say that if we want to keep our Rights Of Way open, we must use them regularly. How are we supposed to do that?

NOCTILUCENT CLOUDS


Just when I thought there weren't going to be any noctilucent clouds this year, I spotted a nice display the other night, as I was on my way to bed. Dropped everything, grabbed me trusty tripod and took a few pics. It's amazingly hard to get a camera to focus properly when the subject matter isn't very bright but I did manage a couple of good ones, of which the photo above is the best. I could sit and watch these mysterious phenomena all night - they're beautiful and fascinating, and, interestingly, a pretty recent thing. They may be related to climate change, in which case we should be worried, but in some ways I feel sorry for my ancestors who may have had darker skies and therefore a better view than we have of the winter stars, but who never even imagined the possibility of these beautiful nebulous things in the summer sky.

A day in the life . . .

There's a Flickr group called A Day in the Life . . . which I rather like. Four times a year, on the summer and winter solstices and the spring and autumn equinoxes, all the group members spend the day taking photos of their day-to-day lives. Five of these photos are posted to the group pool, and the rest in a folder on the member's own Flickr page. So four times a year we get a fascinating glimpse into the lives of ordinary people like ourselves, leading ordinary lives, but in different parts of the world.

Today is my 3rd DILO. My first was on December 22nd last year, and it happened to be the day I was driving down to Wasdale to pick up our free range turkey, so I had ample opportunity to take interesting photos. And being Christmas time, the sun came out from time to time. (Gone are the days when it snowed in December . . .)

My second was on 20th March 2008, on Chris' birthday. Not such nice weather, but I was in Cockermouth where lots of houses are painted in bright colours, and was also lucky enough to capture a bird flying over the Moon, which I thought was incredibly cool.

Today, being midsummer's day, it rained continuously. We're mostly quite pleased about this, as our veg garden has been parched and poor Steve has been marching up and down with buckets of water.

I took some midnight photos last night when the sky was still clear and starry and bright with the nautical twilight known in Shetland as the Simmer Dim - the one on the left was taken at nearly 1am.

Sadly, by the time I got up this morning conditions had deteriorated, and it all looked grey. We'd already decided on a trip to Keswick, as for once I didn't have to rush off anywhere playing music for morris dancing or helping people move furniture.

An unexpected phone call took us to Cockermouth first, though, as members of Steve's family were in town, so I took some photos of the little lad playing on his grandfather's electric chair (no, no, not that kind - this is the sort that raises and lowers the seat, making things easier for disabled people) and creating aged paper for the treasure map he was drawing. I was delighted when the neighbour's tiny black cat, Sammy, came wandering in, as I've been trying to capture her in a photo for a while. Today she posed beautifully for me, singing feline airs with gusto.

By the time we left, the rain was well and truly settled in, but who cares? It may be wet, but it's not particularly cold.

Keswick was fairly busy, as you'd expect, as it's full of tourists at this time of year, and there's not much else for them to do on a rainy Saturday but wander round the market stalls or sit in cafés drinking coffee.

The DILO's theme this time round is green, and for once I'd taken very few photos featuring anything green, unlike my usual pics full of hills, trees and fields. We left the main road on the way home and parked up by the Bouncy Bridge, from where I could take some photos of the clouds settling down on the fells and the River Derwent meandering through the farmland.

You can see all my photos from today's DILO here

The day's not over yet of course - it's only 25 past 9 - but it's still raining, so I don't think I'll be finishing off with my usual flourish of a YABS (Yet Another Bloody Sunset).

I am keenly awaiting Chris' contribution to the DILO group. He's in the Czech Republic at the moment with Rudsambee, and they apparently spent the day on a trip to the local spectacular mountains. I guess I'll have to wait until he returns to the UK, as he doesn't seem able to access the internet at the moment, or even use his phone, which for him is probably worse than the pain he suffers from his sinuses while flying. I only hope his batteries have lasted.