My dear Family & Friends, 30 May
The week has been about the dogs and cats which we retrieved from the quarantine kennel last Saturday afternoon.
(Pics at http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/llewellynijones.) The dogs knew that something momentous was happening as I fished around for their slip chains in the bag I was carrying. They both started jumping and running around the cage excitedly as soon as they actually saw the chains and leads. They also know my Honda well after seeing me arrive and leave in it when visiting them almost daily over the past four months, and Edgar, the ridgeback, looked as if he was about to jump in through an open window as we approached the car. They didn't need a second invitation to hop in the moment I opened the tailgate for them. The car was especially prepared for them: Honda installed a metal gate device behind the back seats to stop the dogs jumping into the cabin of the car, and I also bought a fitted rubber tray that covers the back floor of the CRV. They weren't cheap, but I can already see that they will be worth every penny given how muddy the dogs can get on our walks.
We settled the cats into their lock room – their space for 10 days as they get used to the new environment – when we got home, and then took the dogs straight out for a walk. We followed the canal and then the River Leam into Leamington Spa . At Victoria Park we let them off their leads. It's difficult to describe their reaction – lets just say “joy abounded.” They went tearing off after each other in ever wider circles, clattering each other to the ground and sprinting away again. I was a little worried that it might take a while to gain absolute voice control over them after six months in quarantine, but they behaved like gold, immediately returning when called, and sitting and going down and rolling over on command. Even at a coffee shop in Warwick on Wednesday I told them to stay down while I went inside to order my cappucino; when I came out they were exactly as I left them. This was all the more impressive because there were two lassie collies sitting with other patrons just a metre or two away, and guide dogs under training continually walking by. (There's a big guide dog training centre in Warwick.) In fact, one guide dog just wouldn't go past them; he barked blue murder, but Edgar and Hazel stayed down and ignored him.
But back to Saturday. We looped back home after walking through Victoria Park, the Pump House Gardens and Jephson Gardens. At the canal, Edgar tried to get a drink of water and fell right in. Hazel, who loves a swim after a walk, thought this was all part of the plan and plunged in after him before I could hold her back. At home in Cape Town she always headed straight for the pool after a long walk and would swim up and down for ten minutes to cool down. Unfortunately canals don't have steps like swimming pools do and the only way to get them out is to pull them out – but remember for a moment that Edgar isn't exactly the smallest dog around. You have to grab a front paw and some flesh and heave.
It started raining again on Sunday, but we went out anyway which possibly wasn't a good idea because Lucia had sniffles on Monday morning and a full-blown bout of flu by Tuesday morning. This is the third time she's been ill since we've been here. Our walk on Sunday took us to Hay Wood, sort of between Warwick and Stratford-on-Avon, and the public footpaths around Baddesley Clinton. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baddesley_Clinton.) I love the footpaths. They're essentially ancient rights of way leading one through what otherwise might be regarded as private property. Our walk on Tuesday on footpaths outside Leamington, for instance, took us past an ancient (and privately owned) manor house that one wouldn't otherwise have known was there. After our Sunday walk we drove around trying to find a place for lunch. The weather was miserable and most of the pubs wouldn't allow dogs inside. We eventually found a pub on the Grand Union Canal that had huge umbrellas covering its terrace. We were still the only people sitting outside as a cold wind came whistling through. The barman looked at me a bit strangely when I said we were sitting outside, and I had to explain to him that we had dogs with us. He got a bit of a fright as Edgar approached when he brought us our food. He stood dead still and lamented: “I thought you said dog, not bear.”
On Monday, a public holiday (called a bank holiday in the UK) we walked around Newbold Comyn Park (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newbold_Comyn), and on Tuesday (which Lucia had taken as leave) we went back to explore the footpaths we had seen signposted on the Comyn. At then end of all of this walking, Lucia commented that the dogs must think of home as a short stop-off point between walks.
On Wednesday Lucia was supposed to return to work but it was quite apparent when she woke up that she shouldn't be going anywhere. In the end, she went in for just a few hours to settle some important business, and then came home to bed. She stayed in bed yesterday (Thursday) and only went in to work for a meeting this morning (Friday).
I've avoided her lurgi, but have begun to suffer my yearly bout of hay fever. This is the time of year when grass pollen is at its most abundant in the UK, and I can certainly feel it. I was really miserable last night. My eyes itched like hell and swelled up, and my clogged nose made for difficult breathing between sneezes. I'm preparing myself for a couple of weeks of unhappiness.
And that's been our week really apart from watching some television and some shows I downloaded from the Internet. I was fascinated by a statement on a programme on TV last night about gridlock and road rage in the UK; they said that the UK was only second to South Africa in the world in terms of the incidence of road rage. Is that true? Does SA really have the highest incidence of road rage per capita in the world? Can somebody perhaps enlighten me? It did give me an idea for a bumper sticker though: “ Try me. I'm a South African.” That should warn the bastards off. We can sell it through the various websites flogging SA products to homesick South Africans in the UK. (For example, http://www.amapotjiepot.co.uk/.) Another of the commentators being interviewed had me rolling about for few minutes by referring to old drivers as “OAP coffin dodgers.” (OAP = old age pensioner, in case you didn't know.)
Talking of driving, I got zapped at 37mph in a 30mph zone by a mobile speed camera a couple of weeks ago. The first notice I received in the post required that I confirm who the driver was. The second notice offered me the choice of a £60 speeding fine and three points on my non-existent UK drivers license, or a half-day speed workshop. I'm going to the speed workshop to discover the causes and effects of speeding in two weeks time. The devil has a special place in hell reserved for parking wardens and mobile camera operators.
And speaking of driving, any of you South Africans thinking of relocating may be interested to note that you don't need to take a driving test again. You can simply swap your SA license for a British license. We still have to do it; one has a year after arrival to make the swap.
And, to end, a joke I heard on television last night:
A penguin walks into a bar and asks the barman: “Have you seen my brother?”
The barman says: “I don't know, what does he look like?”
That's it
Love, light & peace
Llewellyn
