Bailey woke me by stomping on my chest in some agitation at
seven o’clock this morning. Being a very small dog, she is too small to get on
and off the bed without help. I lifted her down and she flew to the back garden
where she did what dogs do in the garden. Objectively speaking it was a rather average
dog turd, but bearing in mind how small she is, it would have been the
equivalent of me doing one the size of a two-litre bottle of pop.
As Albert Einstein once remarked, “everything’s relative”.
I made toast and had a look at the Internet. I saw that
today was Ashford’s food and
drink festival. That had been a well-kept secret. Had I known
about it with more than four hours’ notice I might have planned things
differently for today.
We drove round to the co-op as I needed cash. We got there
and my idiot magnet was on top form. There was some half-wit standing by the
bakery telling the world that he was only looking and that he’d come all the
way from Newtown. No one cared, but that didn’t stop him going on constantly
like a stuck record.
From the co-op we went on to Dog Club. As we drove into the
Repton estate so the dogs all started squeaking; they knew where they were
going.
Dog club was great fun; the pups charged around and played.
Treacle grumped at everyone. But for all that Treacle is a grump, she’s slowly
improving. At one point I opened a bag of treats and half a dozen other dogs
swarmed around me for a treat. A few months ago there would have been no way
that Treacle would tolerate non-family dogs around me when I had treats (and
she wouldn’t have been impressed at the family dogs either). Back then she
would have aggressively chased them all away. Today she tolerated them, took
her treat when it was her turn, and didn’t react at all when I shared treats
with the other dogs.
An incredibly simple and trivial thing, but a giant leap
forward for her.
As we drove home we listened to Steve on the radio. We got
a mention, but I had a failure on the mystery year. I had announced it was *definitely*
either 1992 or 1984. It was actually 1985. I wasn’t *that* far out.
Once home we had the obligatory Saturday morning Belgian
bun. Today’s were from the co-op which (in my humble opinion!) does the best
Belgian buns.
We settled the dogs (who were worn out after Dog Club)
then made our way to Hastings Sea Front where the family was a gathering in what
has become a family tradition. Crazy Golf Day. Once we’d had an ice cream a couple
of dozen of us set off round the pirate golf course and had a
great time. “Daddy’s
Little Angel TM” got two holes in one through (so I am
reliably informed) “really skillful golfing TM”. “er indoors TM” also got a
hole in one. “Darcie
Waa Waa TM” had been handed a golf ball to amuse her which she
would randomly fling in all directions and she too got a hole in one.
I didn’t.
With golf golfed and prizes awarded we had fish and chips.
The seagulls were incredibly brazen; snatching food from our hands. “Darcie Waa Waa TM”
was rather impressed with them, shouting “Dog Dog Dog” at them.
We then went over to the Albion for a pint, then went our various
ways. My way was (with my brother) up to the Anchor for a pint of
Spitfire. Then on to the Pump House for a pint of Whitstable Bay. That pint was
off, but the helpful staff soon changed it, and suitably refreshed we went up
to the Hastings Arms for another pint of Spitfire. A pint of Hophead in the
Dolphin was followed by a pint of London Pride in the Cinque Ports, and an
amaretto chaser in the Stag. No trip to Hastings Old Town is complete without a
pint in the FILO (Churches pale ale) and then back to the Hastings Arms for
another Spitfire and some dinner.
Five hours after everyone else had headed home I got on the
train where I fulfilled yet another tradition… I fell asleep on the train, got
all the way home, and then went half-way back to Hastings before waking.
Oh, how I chuckled.
Mind you what annoyed me most was the train’s guard/ticket
collector who admitted she’d seen me fast asleep at Ashford station and thought
it would be a great joke to leave me sleeping. A friend who works on the
railway often complains that he’s had irate customers spitting at him when on
duty. With this attitude I can quite understand why…
But a quick phone call to “er indoors TM”
saved the day. She didn’t mind driving out to get me at all (!)
I took a few
photos of my day. It was a rather good one really.
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