I got up feeling rather miserable. I do that more and more
these days. I made toast and had a look at the Internet in the hope that
something revolutionary and earth-shattering had happened overnight. It hadn’t.
Squabbles and petty bickering abounded. Today Facebook featured some political
arguments about the Chancellor of the Exchequer stopping the cold weather
allowance for some pensioners. I’m not entirely sure this is as bad as some
would have us believe; they will just give some other benefit to make up the
shortfall. The trouble with any attempt at discussion on the matter is hampered
by so many people treating political parties in much the same way as they do
their favourite football team or a religion; they choose an allegiance and
stick with it through thick and thin.
I also had an email telling me that my new pressure washer
which arrived last weekend should be arriving next Wednesday.
We loaded ourselves and the dogs into the car and drove
down to Bodiam where “er indoors TM” left me. For Christmas
she’d bought me a taster session at paddleboarding. Sadly the nice people at Epic Life have asked
that people don’t bring dogs along, so “er indoors TM” took
the dogs off for an hour or so and left me to it. To be honest the
paddleboarding place wasn’t the easiest place to find, but once there I was
soon in a wet suit and after a quick introduction on the river bank I was soon
sailing the seven seas (or the river Rother to be more precise). The
nice lady instructor apologized that they don’t allow dogs along; apparently
they’ve had issues in the past with dogs jumping in the river and trying to get
on the paddleboards with their owners. I could imagine Treacle doing just that.
The nice lady said that we would practice paddling,
turning, standing up and kneeling down, sail down to the bridge and come back.
Despite falling off three times by the time we got to the bridge the nice lady
said we were about twenty minutes ahead of schedule, and did I fancy paddling
on downstream to see Bodiam Castle across the fields. So we paddled a little
further than most people do.
There’s no denying that I was knackered by the time we got
back to base. But I would certainly do it again.
I walked up to the lane to find “er indoors TM”
and the dogs waiting for me. From Bodiam it was only a short hop to Cripps
Corner where Gordon had hidden a series of geocaches five years ago. He’d
mentioned that he was planning to archive the series in a month or so; since we
were in the area it made sense to go for a little walk round the woods. Being
Forestry Commission woods we knew the place would be dog friendly...
Here’s a tip for all dog owners…
If something is described as being “dog friendly”
you automatically assume that all will be heigh-ho pip and dandy, don’t you?
But “dog friendly” things rarely
are. Being “dog friendly” generally means little more than that dogs
aren’t expressly barred.
Despite a DNF (always a hazard when hunting Tupperware)
we were having a rather good walk up until about half way round when “er
indoors TM” commented that there were deer running through the
woods. It was a shame that Morgan had to chase them. As he disappeared into the
distance I had a theory that he wouldn’t keep up with them, but by the time
he’d run out of steam he’s be on the other side of the circular path that cut
the wood in two. So if we followed that path we might meet up with him. It was
a good plan, thwarted only by the circular path leading into an impassable
swamp. We back-tracked, and a couple of hundred yards past where we’d lost him
we found him sprinting back along that circular path. With his tail between his
legs and crying pathetically. I could hear his sobbing form twenty yards away,
Dogs really do cry.
We finished out geo-walk, and my phone pinged. The nice
lady at Epic Life had sent me some photos of me on the paddleboard. I
shamelessly blagged them and added them to the photos I’d taken whilst we’d
been in the woods. You can see them all by clicking here.
We came home. The plan for the rest of the afternoon had
been to mow the lawn and do some washing. But by the time we’d got home my
watch told me I’d done over sixteen thousand steps (and I’d not taken it
paddleboarding!) so as “er indoors TM” scrubbed mud from
surprisingly muddy dogs I ran out the hose, filled up the pond, and took it
easy.
I popped over the road and got what turned out to be the
world’s worst bottle of wine which we used to wash down a rather good plate of
chili.
As we scoffed and guzzled we watched more episodes of “The
Traitors”; a surprisingly entertaining show despite its making absolutely
no sense whatsoever.
I am reliably informed that a storm is on the way.
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