Chess the wonderdog and his adventure

Well it's the guest blogger you have all been waiting for, woof.

I hopped in the back of the car today, expecting the usual sniffs and fleeting glimpses of these damn squirrels. But no, it was completely different. Woof.

We end up in a place with all these giant machine things,  trundling along metal strips. Firstly, they were weird; secondly, they made a strange noise; and thirdly, the dumb humans that live with me were dragging me inside one. Whine.

On the thing [tram]. Not so bad. Getting lots of attention (well I do deserve it) - ooh cheese.

Ooh  - a dropped dolly mixture, woof.

What's this? We're moving. OK, I get it, just need to concentrate on standing up, and everything will be good. At least I can see out the window. Some child, obviously feeling the same trepidation, stands next to me and holds on to me. Well that's OK, I think he has more dolly mixtures. Woof.

We stop, we wait, we go…..backwards, help! Please let it end. We stop, I leap off, phew. Ooh cheese.

A great walk through the woods, loads of lovely sniffs, a few giant ants - the one they call Rachel appears to be as afraid of them as I was of the thing [tram]. I hang around the swings for a bit, then wander over to look over the bridge. Big mistake. More of them things, with loads of people on top of them. What to do, what to do. Do I run down and save them? 


Do I shout out run for your lives? I settled for chattering jaws and whining. Humans took the hint and we went for a bit more of a walk, then back to the car, then home, my bed - ooh cheese. Woof

P.S. Check out my new collar.

[We went to Crich Tramway Village - Home of the National Tramway Museum - ed]

Do you know how much fluid I had in my lung?

And I thought I was bad at conversation topics, many a chat has been about laundry or what's your favourite type of pen to write with. But the table next to ours at the pub on Friday night took the biscuit with a lung fluid conversation. 

It all started with going to the village hall to see a production of Alan Bennet's Talking Heads. We arrived (Leanne and my niece Alex and me) at the village hall - half an hour early to allow for pre-show drinks, and to get a good seat. Although previous experience of the village hall seats forewarned me that none of the seats are good as they all turn into instruments of torture after half an hour. We arrive, drive into a boss parking space (no other cars in the carpark) and sit in the car for a bit. Then another car arrives and they park opposite. Eventually we have the wit to check the notice on the door informing us of the cancellation due to ill-health. Off we all drive.

What to do now? The local was the obvious choice. The nearest pub had a sign saying they welcome customers old and new. Sounds like the place for us. The car park had a promising amount of cars in it - it must be open at least. In we troop. To a welcoming reception? Well, not exactly. More like when the stranger in a western walks into the saloon. All was quiet, all eyes were on us, and it was obvious we had just brought the average age of the clientele down significantly. At least the sign was half right, old customers we welcome.

Leanne and Alex ran the gauntlet of the other customers standing round the bar to get through to a free table. There was someone else making their way towards it, but he was easily out run. It was down to me to make the drink orders, which actually went fairly smoothly, helped I think by me recognising one of the customers. I wan't an outsider after all. 

Back to the table to enjoy the neighbouring tables' conversations. See above. Goodness knows what they thought of our Lady Gaga conversation and Leanne updating her Facebook status on one of them new fangled phones. At least the chairs were comfy.

Let's twist again

Well, it's that time of the year again, Chatsworth Horse Trials. This year we went on Saturday, less international stars, but more local talent and less people. This year we brought the dog which proved to be a major advantage when it came to meeting other dogs and their owners.

A big attraction was one of Maisie's friends little sister being involved with the Maypole dance - or pole dancing as she described it to her grandmother. Leanne hadn't witnessed this great tradition previously which I was surprised to learn. To summarise, Maypole dancing involves children clinging to a ribbon that's attached to a giant pole. Then they skip around the pole to some folk music (today's tune was the Floral Dance), occasionally weaving around each other to create a patten with the ribbons - a bit like giant macramé. The idea is not to run into each other, after a patten is made on the centre pole, or a web effect, the dancers have to do everything in reverse, which I guess prevents dizziness.

Then it was off to watch a French horse whisperer and his troupe of highly trained horses. He was actually amazing - he had moved in with the horses or something, and created a special bond with them, and they would do whatever he asked. Just like our dog (not). 

After lunch, the cross country was calling. I love it and hate it. I get all anxious when I see the size of the jumps, and the horse approaching at great speed. We held our breath, we oohed and clapped, and took a few photographs. 

It's the bomb!

Well, the 4th of May is usually star wars day, so we went to look at some unidentified water bombing objects (UWBOs), which seemed like a fitting event. This is actually the name of the university of Sheffield library's actual water bombing team. Yes, I managed to get my self a job where actual world champions work.

We arrive at Ponds Forge swimming pool for the World Championship Water Bombing Competition, and are struck by, no not the grandeur of the occasion, but the heat. It was like a sauna at the poolside. As we took out seats in the stands, I was hopeful we would loose at least a couple of pounds in sweat. Something needs to happen after all the tapas and San Miguel in Ibiza! Anyway...

On reading through the program, we discover it really is a world championship, a team had travelled from as far away as Coventry. But mainly all the teams are Sheffield and surrounding areas based. The Championships are in fact, an excellent fundraising event for Macmillan Cancer Research.

After a small sweltering wait, the games were underway. The teams paraded out to the side of the pool, and we had a taster of what was in store for the evening. There were fully grown adults in nappies (Water babies), the predictable men in nurses uniforms (The defending champions), a few school girl outfits (clearly trying to get the adult male vote), a school teacher and an odd looking Morris Dancing troupe (maybe they had turned up at the wrong community event). Our team, the UWBO had outfits designed by local school kids and got the biggest cheer. They were dressed as various odd looking space creatures in full body suits with space related accessories. 

One member from each team had a jump, made a splash, got a score from the judging panel, and tried to get out the pool in the most dignified way, whist carrying bits of their outfit they had become separated from during the bomb. It was very exciting, we loved the splashes, loved watching the various bits of lost outfit sink to to the bottom of the pool (mainly the Morris dancers' hats), and cheered very loudly for our team and help up giant 10 scores.

At the end, our team were silver medal winners, the nurses retained their title. But, the UWBOs proudly stepped up to first place for the team that raised the most money for Macmillan Cancer Research (£2700). Yay for the UWBOs. 

All in all a good evening, and I can safely say I never want to see a grown man squeezing out pool water from his nappy again, and I wasn't impressed with the practicality of water bombing in a mankini, it didn't seem to be covering much when the bloke got out the water. It gave Maisie something to talk about on the school bus though!

Flip flop flip flop - the sound of summer

An early start - 4 am in fact - destination Ibiza. All a little bleary eyed we drive down to East Midlands airport. All was going well, we had booked a 'stress free' parking service where a geezer meets you at the airport and parks your car for you. Very organised. We are walking to the entrance when Leanne shrieks 'where's my handbag!' Only the handbag with the passports and the money and EVERYTHING. I run off after the stress free guy, fortunately delayed by the ticket machine. Good job I've been running.

From then on the journey was uneventful, we found the apartment and got the keys.  Lovely aspect, lovely weather, let the holiday begin!  

After spending too much in the supermarket on chorizo and olives - it was time for a dip in the pool. Walking down to the pool, we pass a few locals, who looked at us as if we were completely mad. When we got to the pool we realised why. It may have been lovely and sunny, but the water was freezing. Being made of sturdy stuff, in we jump. Actually, once you had lost all feeling in your legs it was rather pleasant.

We splashed on the fake tan, ate tapas and drank San Miguel, took evening walks in the setting sun, and had a lovely holiday.

I even tried my hand at Spanish. After a few holas I felt very confidant. At the Cafe del Mar, famous for sunsets and music cd compilations, I order the sangria and Maisie's alcohol free cocktail in my best Spanish, and the waitress says - English is OK. Oh well. 

Back to Blighty for wedding madness.

Moving times

Not home, but work. We have moved offices at work, I am now working in the big scary library known as Western Bank Library. I keep getting lost as it's a rabbit warren. For a while I kept turning up in strange offices, smiling and saying hi I'm Rachel, my team has just moved to the old serial office and I'm finding my way around, seemed to work quite well, though I'm not sure I'll be able to get away with it next week.

We left our old office with a traditional morning tea for the librarians we were leaving behind. My team went to the local supermarket on mass (all 5 of us) It was exactly like Reservoir Dogs except with librarians as we walked along. An intimidating sight for anyone I'm sure! Also, I've decided that if ever I have a shop that sells pastries, I'll have a sign on the door saying 'one librarian at a time' similar to the school kid signs you see on sweet shops! Enough said.

After our morning tea, we strode up the road to new beginnings. Of course we had to stop at a cafe for more coffee. After coffee we went …no not the new office, the pub. after all it would be a couple of hours before our desks and pcs were set up. Who ever said librarians were stuffy tea drinking, tight wearing bespectacled twin set donning ladies, we know how to live!

On arrival at the new office, the existing occupants had made lovely rainbow welcome signs and there was cake. Perfect for afternoon tea. All in all a good day. And - the library is right next to a really lovely park, with a lake, ducks and trees in full blossom, perfect for lunch tomorrow.

I love daffodils, they are so ridiculous. 

Time for change, antiques, weddings and Mother's Day

A bit behind on my blogging - too busy getting used to the time change. The first morning was great, up with the larks, ignored the fact it was dark when getting up again, exercised, breakfasted, ready for work, all went smoothly. Then Tuesday hit. A completely different story. The novelty has worn off. A sluggish drag out of bed, a lack lustre breakfast, and everything at work was hard work. Now that's not right! But the good news is, it's Friday, how good is that?

We had the afternoon off - not Maisie she needed to go to school. Off to Buxton to explore the antique shops. After getting side tracked by the charity shops on the high street, we eventually got to where we remembered all the antique shops were. Yes were. There was one left, with all the other units full of shops full of stuff you don't need, and plenty of royal wedding memorabilia, which we do need apparently - if we are to believe the marketing! Humph.

Talking of weddings - the great news is  - my niece is getting married next year! She sent a message to female family members (the young ones) asking them to be bridesmaids. Curiously, me and Leanne were included in the email. I was reading the message on my phone, and I honestly thought I was being asked to be a bridesmaid. My heart started beating rather quickly, and I was finding it hard to breathe. When I scrolled down further, I saw it was Maisie who was being asked. Oh well, I guess middle aged lesbian bridesmaids are only required by a limited number of brides…one day I'll get to wear the shiny pink dress and have flowers in my hair again. Yes again, that's what the niece's parents made me wear at their wedding! Actually, the very last time I wore a dress.

Mothers day on Sunday. That means it's not safe to go to the supermarkets on Saturday evening. There will be too many fathers with the kids without the vaguest idea where the eggs and bacon are kept. The kids are too busy putting all the contraband stuff in the trolley usually banned by Mum to be of any help whatsoever. You can bet that the contraband will be eaten in the car so as not to be confiscated by the mother. Then the kids will either be sick, or have a big crash after a sugar high, or both, leaving the mother to clear up the mess. Maisie has it easy, we both know the way round a supermarket, and she knows how the coffee machine works.