It wasn’t until Boxing Day night that I realised that I’d not had my Christmas pudding. Nor my brandy sauce. We are going to have to do Christmas Day all over again.
In the meanwhile, my daughter, Courtney, tried to make a nice, spontaneous Christmas greeting photograph for her friends with our dog, Bryn. You know, one of those cute festive things that would have everyone going “Aw.”
Like I said: she tried.
I’d only been walking the dog for a few minutes when I saw, beneath the spring-blossoming tree by the grass verge, a man walking towards us. It was, as my wife affectionately refers to him, the Happy Drunk.
Living alone and often under the influence (but no harm to anyone), sometimes you’d hear him singing aloud on his way home in the evening. Other times he’d be ruminating to himself, completely unaware of your presence. This was early morning though, and he took us in as our individual journeys brought us together.
“That’s a beautiful dog. Is it a spaniel?” he asked.
“Yeah, he’s a Welsh Springer Spaniel.”
“A Welsh Springer? I didn’t know that, I just know a spaniel when I see one. There are different ones, aren’t there?”
“Yes, the English ones are more popular but I think these are better looking dogs. The English Springers are a little bigger, with flat heads instead of these domed ones, and Welshies are always this red and white colour whereas the English ones can be different.”
“Ah, I’ll never remember that,” he replied dismissively. “I just love spaniels. What’s his name?”
I was going to mention that we’d wanted a Welsh name for a Welsh dog and so I’d (half-jokingly) proposed Tom (Jones) and (Katherine) Jenkins, but decided to play it safe and keep it simple. “He’s called Bryn.”
Mishearing, he ruffled the dogs head delightedly. “Fire and brimstone, eh? Fire and brimstone.”
Then we went our separate ways, Bryn throwing a brief, curious glance over his shoulder, the Happy Drunk’s musings turning Biblical.
When I was trying to watch the Cup Final and shouted to the players “Get in the box!”
Wrapping up well, I took my dog Bryn on a walk tonight. I stopped on a hill, high on my estate, to take a photograph (1) of the lights of Oldham, shining in the distance. Photographs 2 and 3 shows just what can happen when you’re taking a photograph while holding a dog lead and the damn dog decides to go for a run 😂
Maybe I’ve discovered a new art form. To go with the new puddle.
After two days of heavy rain there were flood warnings throughout the country. I’m fortunate that I don’t live near to any river unlike those unfortunate people whose homes always seem to be at risk at this time of year.
I was sat with a coffee, watching the rain outside the window.
It reminded me of the time I was on the island of Rousay. I’d had some time to kill before the ferry arrived to take me back to what is known as mainland Orkney and so sought out a cafe overlooking the jetty,. I was sat with a coffee then, too, again watching the rain that had behind it the force of an ocean wind. The last of my coffee drained, I’d then ordered a hot-buttered bannock. Very Scottish, I know. When in Rome and all that.
Panoramic though it was, that view didn’t include an ornamental giraffe like mine did now. A giraffe which, if you look very carefully, you’d see is missing an ear thanks to Bryn, our Welsh Springer Spaniel.
Scottish, Welsh, for the interests of inclusivity I think my next drink should be some nice English tea.
*
Who’d have thought it? After forty-eight hours of heavy rain winter blew in during the night and we were moved to make the most of it. Heaving on boots and heavy coats, we went out into a blast of cold air, even though it was 10.40pm on a school night. School night- that’s a laugh. They are now known as stay at home and do school work nights.
Millie walked ahead, giving an unsuspecting Bryn his first experience of snow.
With Millie’s arms aching we changed over and she managed to catch a second’s worth of our expedition.
The night wore on, the snow continued, and as we decided to head back we spotted a bus crawling up the road towards us. On the rare occasions that we get a considerable amount of snow around here the bus services are often cancelled as we live on a hill, but this one made an admirable job of it, its lights carving through the gloom as it succeeded on its way past us to its frozen destination.
We got in, dried the dog, dried ourselves, closing the blinds on that cold January night. The next morning I drew back the blinds in great anticipation on what would be waiting for me, ready to go again. Wrapped in layers and past experiences for reference.
My morning observations so far:
crow bullies jackdaw;
jackdaw bullies magpie;
magpie takes it out on any living thing in sight.
This lovely weather allows me to sit outside and watch all of this, but nobody takes it in better than my dog, Bryn, who stands on his rear haunches like one of those meerkats that grabs his attention on the tv. I think this position adds to his delusion that he can somehow reach them, that they are just extra toys with which he can play.
Watching all of these corvid shenanigans has put me in mind of 33 Crows by Kula Shaker. I was a fan of them in all their 90’s psychedelic pomp, but this is a more stripped back track, though, from their 2016 album K2.0.
You can skip the ad, if you want to, of course. Now I’m off to placate Bryn.
This was my dog, Bryn, this afternoon, discovering that strange northern phenomenon known as sunshine.
It is nice to get reacquainted, whilst standing in the middle of the seasons’ No-Man’s Land. With the sun, I mean, not the dog.
I later took the opportunity to stain the shed door, making the most of the dry before the approaching wet, with Bryn locked safely away from tin and brush and national disaster.
I’ve got an ongoing project to pick up again later, along with a new book to start in the wee small hours. Rain or shine, the evening’s planned.
Have a good weekend guys. Keep watching the skies.
See you on the flip side.
It’s been a mild winter. No ice, not a single snowflake.
This morning, however, I let Bryn out to find we at least had been blessed with a little frost, slowly fading in the weak sunlight.
It’s not much, but for any fellow winter lovers out there, it’s a start.
Bryn has taken a shine to sleeping beneath our Christmas tree.
Current smashed bauble count is eight.
City Jackdaw 