Amsterdam

We caught the train to Amsterdam. It was an interesting day, but I don’t need to go again, I much prefer ‘s-Hertogenbosch. But in case you’re planning to visit—and because they have the best pancakes in the world (I think) you had better continue reading.

We arrived by train. When we exited the station we were faced with blue sky and a vast expanse of water, and it was instant beauty. Then I was told we had exited on the ‘wrong’ side so we went round the station, and instead saw canals, and boats, and pretty buildings—and lots and lots of people.

We decided to start with a boat tour. Everyone who has visited Amsterdam (including Husband, in 1984–so clearly an expert) recommends a boat tour. In my experience, boat tours can be very mixed, though this one wasn’t too bad. The main problem (for me) is that you tend to be lower than all the things you are urged to look at, so you either miss sights or end the tour with a crick in your neck. But I am old and grumpy, so this might not be a problem for you.

We found a pier where the boats departed from, very near to the station. An assertive young man informed us we could pay at the end of the tour, the boat would be arriving in ‘about 5 minutes’ and we should wait in line. (My general impression of Dutch people is they are polite, quietly spoken, and assertive.) We obeyed him.

After 15 minutes, the queue was fairly long, and most people seemed to have bought tickets online. We realised there was a good chance that we would not actually get onto the next boat. [*Tip: Buy your boat tickets online, before visiting Amsterdam.] It was fine, we were seated on the boat, there was a sort of bar in the middle, a young man (tall and slim—which seems to be another Dutch trait, if I may continue the unsubstantiated stereotypes) and an older man driving. We set off.

We were given bar menus, but there was no obligation to buy, which was good. The family opposite ate their packed lunch, and this seemed okay. The young man told us interesting trivia as we sailed along the canals.

Interesting facts are:

The houses were built on marsh land, so the foundations were built on wooden posts, which have started to sink, so some of the houses lean to the side.

The stairs were like ladders, which made carrying things to the higher storeys difficult, so all the buildings have a beam at the top, and a chain, for pulling things up. Due to this, they built houses that lean forwards slightly, so the stuff being hauled up doesn’t break the windows of the lower levels.

Amsterdam imported lots of spices.

There was once a tax on the width of the house and the number of windows, so people who wanted to display their wealth built very wide houses with windows made of lots of panes of glass (each pane counted as a ‘window’).

Many of the men went to sea for long periods. Therefore, to avoid accusations of inappropriate behaviour, the wives never closed the window blinds. This tradition continues today, and Dutch people (apparently) do not close their curtains. They have a saying that ‘Everyone has a naked neighbour, and if you do not, then you ARE the naked neighbour.’

(I have no idea if any of these ‘facts’ are true.)

As the boat left the harbour, the sun was shining, and I wondered whether it would be too hot. We were in an open boat, flowers (plastic ones) arranged around the edge. But then we rounded a corner in the canal, and black clouds loomed. It began to rain, quite heavily, and they distributed orange umbrellas, and headed for a bridge. For a while we stayed under the bridge, sheltering from the rain. This was less exciting than hoped—we had spent half an hour in a queue, and then half an hour under a bridge—quite a large proportion of our day in Amsterdam. But it couldn’t be helped. I’m not so sure about the quality of driving, as at one point we smashed into the edge of the bridge. The driver had enjoyed a beer during the hot morning, and I wonder how many he had enjoyed before we arrived, and whether ‘drink-driving’ laws apply to boats in Amsterdam.

After the boat trip, we walked (in the drizzle) to a restaurant. We had a quick lunch, then walked through the city, looking for a pancake shop that had been recommended. It was in a carousel—as in a fairground ride—and they served poffertjes—the tiny Dutch pancakes. I ordered some with sugar, butter and whipped cream. When they arrived, they were hot, the butter melting over them, the cream was perfect for dipping. Delicious. I think it is worth coming to Amsterdam just for the pancakes. (Maybe don’t bother with the boat trip.)

We walked back to the station, in sunshine, passing canals and squares and pretty buildings, and lots and lots of tourists. It is a pretty city, but I never felt that I found the heart of it. There are lots of cafes selling sweet waffles, and lots of coffee shops that exude the sweet smell of cannabis—and I wonder how many people came for the novelty of legalised drugs. There was something missing in what I saw, but I can’t quite define what it was. Perhaps I was just in the wrong mood. We caught the train back to the ancient town where we are staying, and I wasn’t sorry to leave. I really like the Netherlands, and there are plenty of beautiful things to see. I’m just not too sure about Amsterdam.

Thanks for reading. Have a good day and take care.
Love, Anne x

One of the ‘forward-leaning’ houses next to a river.

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Hieronymus Bosch

Posted by anneethompson

Got up, went for a run. ‘s-Hertogenbosch is a pretty town, lots of rivers and trees and clean streets. The weather is hot and humid—it felt like New Jersey, so I’m glad we ran before the sun made it too hot.

I wondered whether people used drugs in the 1400’s, and whether perhaps this had influenced some of the art.

Walked round town, and found the Jheronimus Bosch Art Centre. There seem to be various ways to spell his name, which is not the name he had as a child. Apparently he changed his name to ‘Bosch’ so people who wanted to buy his work knew which town to visit.

The building was previously a church, now it’s a gallery, with his art, and paintings by other artists who were influenced by his art, plus sculptures and videos. It cost 10 euro to enter, but it was worth it. Very well done. His work is quite dark—not dissimilar to Dali—maybe even more twisted. I like it, Husband less keen. Lots of it was religious art, commissioned by other people, but he added his own strange twist. He was very unusual for a 15th century artist. There are various sculptures around the town, based on his paintings—so it’s not unusual to look at a beautiful canal, with trees and ivy on each side, and ancient brick bridges, and a brightly painted pig eating a naked person! I suspect he was quite an angry person, he seemed to want to show that evil is everywhere, and even kings and bishops have evil intentions. He did it very well. But they are not happy pictures. The gallery, however, is amazing.

It also has a tower, with a view over the city. I was surprised to see how near the countryside is—lots of flat green land, with rivers and dikes. The dikes have paths along the top, and often someone is cycling on them, which is so Dutch!

Before we left the gallery, we visited the shop. I was about to buy my mother a fridge magnet, but Husband pointed out the one of the tiny figures was having something inserted in an unfortunate place. I decided this was an inappropriate gift for my mother.

Lunch at the house. Then we went for another walk mid-afternoon. The weather was balmy, much nicer than the searing heat of yesterday. Lots of people were sitting outside cafes having coffee and cakes. We stopped at a nice little café near to St Catherine’s church. The menu was in Dutch, so we did our best, and ordered cakes and coffee. It turned out it was a vegan restaurant, which was unexpected. The cakes came on a plate with cream (a variation of cream) and slices of orange, dusted with icing sugar. Very pretty. I like when a café cares about what it’s serving.

Many of the coffee shops smell of weed/cannabis. We avoid those, and I worry we might eat some by mistake. (I don’t like the idea of being drugged, though I suppose it would be the same as being tipsy, and I don’t mind that occasionally.) I’m surprised how many coffee shops seem to sell it. (I was told that ‘coffee shops’ serve cakes with it in, and ‘cafes’ do not. But it’s not always as easy as that.) I have heard that if someone is prone to schizophrenia then eating/smoking cannabis can trigger it—but I don’t know if that’s true. Everyone here seems very normal.

I’ll tell you about our trip to Amsterdam another time. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Visiting ‘s-Hertogenbosch

Posted by anneethompson

We left home at 4am (not my planning) in a taxi to St. Pancras. We were there too early (what a surprise) so sat at a sticky table opposite a coffee shop and watched all the young people with heavy back-packs, and the hassled parents with fretful children. Then we joined the line of people snaking round the barriers, towards the check-in point. (Why do I always notice the people who skip the queue, rudely pushing to near the front? It makes very little difference to me, but it irritates me intensely!)

Once we had scanned our tickets, we put our bags through the scanners. Liquids and computers were allowed in the bags, but we did have to lift them—which I wouldn’t have managed alone. Then we passed through the metal detector (which must be set quite high, because usually I set them off—I assume due to the metal holding my skull together). We emerged into the ‘departure lounge’ which was every bit as unpleasant as at an airport. Everything felt overused and stale. But it was very easy — I didn’t find it as stressful as flying.

When our train platform was announced, we followed the crowd, up a moving walkway, to the platform. There was a high step up into the train—which again, would have been too high for me to lift my suitcase. Catching the train with a suitcase involves a strong back, so take a man.

We found our seats, and settled down for the ride to Amsterdam. Very smooth. There was a buffet car (not bad) and toilets (not too horrid) and it was much nicer than flying (in my opinion). I tried to read, and Husband tried to chat, and we managed to arrive without killing each other. As we entered the Netherlands, there was a windmill, exactly like the kind in picture books. (It probably had a mouse wearing clogs, but we passed too quickly to see.)

At Amsterdam station, we followed the crowds to the exit. There was what I assumed was another moving walkway down from the platform—realised too late that it was an escalator, and nearly killed several people by almost dropping my suitcase on their heads. Managed to hold onto it, precariously perched, with worried Husband trying to help. Survived.

We were travelling to ‘s-Hertogenbosch (which people call ‘Den Bosch’) for an Old Testament conference. We had no idea how to get to ‘s-Hertogenbosch (and couldn’t even pronounce it!) so went in search of an Information Office. There was a very helpful person, who spoke excellent English, and was un-phased by our massacre of her language, who told us the train and platform number, and suggested we time the journey and looked for the station after about an hour. When the train arrived, it was a double-decker, so more lifting of cases onto the train, and then down a few steps so we could sit downstairs. It was very busy, but we found somewhere for our luggage, and seats together and it was fun to watch the countryside whiz past the window while Husband tried to teach me about reclaimed land and dikes. The water in the rivers we passed was higher than the railway, which was interesting.

We arrived. Found a lift to leave the platform. Put the Airbnb house into Google maps, and set off. It was very hot. The town is pretty, with rivers, and old buildings with their stepped roofs next to modern ones. The traffic stops at zebra crossings (you can never be sure when in a new country) and there were lots of bikes, and it was clean.

The house is okay. We have never actually been scammed by Airbnb houses—so they always exist when we arrive, but the quality and comfort varies hugely (because Airbnb don’t actually visit to check). This one was in a great position, but was slightly worn out, and not very well equipped. It also had a funny sign in the bathroom, telling us to only use the downstairs toilet!

Husband needed an emergency Big Mac, so we left bags and returned to McDonald’s. Then we shopped in a supermarket we had passed, and used Google translate to decipher that the Dutch for ‘orange juice’ looks like ‘apppel juice’ and ‘roombotercake’ means ‘butter cake’ and is actually Madeira cake. We paid, and then couldn’t leave because the barrier didn’t open—watched another customer scan her receipt to exit and copied. Good system.

We ate in an Italian restaurant because it was easy, then walked round the town. We saw sculptures commemorating the Dutch resistance in the war, and one to Jewish school children who were all expelled from schools in 1940, and lots of unusual sculptures which I believe are based on the paintings of Hieronymus Bosch (who was born here in the 1500s).

Went to bed very tired. Didn’t sleep.

I will tell you more in another post. Thanks for reading. Have a great day.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Lindisfarne, The Holy Island

Posted by anneethompson

22/6/2024
We decided to visit Lindisfarne (Holy Island) which has a causeway we could drive across at low tide. The island is home to a castle (lots of historic fighting of the Scots) and a monastery (where St. Cuthbert lived for a while). I sorely needed a break from Meg, so we checked the timings worked, gave her some exercise before we left and she had a morning in her crate in the house.

The island was lovely, a truly peaceful place. There were lots of dogs, all very well-behaved, and I was glad I had left my adolescent monster at home. We met a couple with a Malinois, and I stopped to speak to them. (Although a German Shepherd Dog, Meg looks very like a Malinois. But not as tall and slim.) Apparently this one had been a working dog, but was now a pet. The owners talked about her unending energy, and her active brain, and hyper personality—and assured me that in time, Meg would be easier. When I told them that Meg chases traffic, they suggested that I make her sit next to a road, until she loses the impulse. They said it would be hard, and at first she might only manage a few seconds, but gradually it should improve. I will try this when I get home (I could tell that they understood my battles, and knew about training a similar breed of dog).

The monastery was very peaceful. It was a forerunner to Durham cathedral (where St. Cuthbert was eventually buried) and it has a magnificent arch, high over the ruins. You could easily imagine the monks, hurrying to prayer, their gowns flapping in the wind, their bare legs and leather sandals, the beauty and harshness of the environment directing their thoughts to God.

There were also toilets (clean) and a shop selling ice cream (delicious). We bought salted-caramel waffle cones, and walked through the sunshine to the beach, looking at the castle in the distance. It was perfect. I was very glad we had left Meg at home. It’s easier to cope if I have breaks from her.

In the afternoon, we took Meg to Low Newton-by-the-Sea in the hope the beach would be less busy. It was, but only slightly. We found a coastal path that avoided going onto the busy sandy beach, and it dipped down in a few places so we could walk on the rocks. It was incredibly hot. When we reached Football Hole cove, we managed to persuade Meg to go into the sea to cool down a little. Then we returned to the car, without incident. I still have no confidence about controlling her, so she was often on the lead, which is a shame. I feel we have gone backwards quite a long way, but perhaps it will be better when some of her hormones have settled down.

24/6/2024
We attempted the same walk again. Meg was super-hyper the moment she got out of the car, and walking the short walk to the footpath was very difficult. I voted for abandoning the walk and just going home, but we persevered and made it to the coastal path.

When we reached the cove, I walked along, throwing stones into the water for Meg to dive for. She was enjoying the game, and it was good to see her cooling off. But then I mis-timed it, and as I reached for a pebble, Meg tried to grab it at the same moment. She caught my finger in her teeth, tearing the skin and bruising the flesh. Ouch. I sucked it clean, and found a plaster in my bag—there was a lot of blood. It rather ruined the afternoon, so we went home. I feel cross with myself when things like this happen. Meg was not, in any way, being vicious, she was just full of impulse with no restraint, and wanted to grab the stone. I should have been more aware, I should have told her to sit while I selected the pebbles. But I didn’t, and I was hurt. Again. She is such a challenge. The finger will mend. I will try to learn from the experience.

Thanks for reading. Hope you have a good day and manage to avoid troubles.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

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Meg’s Diary: Travels with a Mad Dog

Posted by anneethompson

21/6/2024
Given the success of our beach trip yesterday, we decided to repeat it. There’s a free car park near the beach, and we were lucky enough to find a space amongst all the families and dog walkers. There were lots of both. There is then a short walk to the beach, which hardly needs a lead, unless you own a mad dog like Meg.

The first part of the beach has lots of people. Families playing, children making sandcastles, the odd daring swimmer. This seems to continue along the whole of the sandy beach. But if you walk to the right, before long the sand gives way to black rocks and giant pebbles, and not many people venture that way, which makes it much better with Meg.

After reaching the beach, I found a stick (magic wand that keeps her focussed) and we strode over the sand, away from other people. Meg was very good, and we managed to avoid bouncing anyone or chasing balls belonging to other dogs. We made it to a relatively secluded area—which is good—but I must admit, it is exhausting. It takes a lot of mental energy, constantly looking ahead for potential dangers/distractions, guiding her across the beach, keeping her free but not too far away. I could have her on the lead, but she would pull my arm off, so that would be worse.

We had a happy time once we reached the rocks. There were pools of water, and I’m guessing some were fresh water because Meg drank from them (she tested all the water to see if it was salty, but only drank from a few pools). Plus, some pools had tadpoles, and I am pretty sure that no frog/toad can cope with salty water. It was an unusual thing to find on the beach, and a later online search suggested they might be lump fish, but I am pretty positive they were tadpoles (I collected buckets of the things when I was a child). The rocks are black, often covered with white lichen, and they were nice to walk across, mostly being large and flat, rough where the sea had worn their porous surface. There were occasional streams, but we were wearing wellies, so that was easy.

We walked for about a mile, then turned and retraced our steps. Meg was very happy, collecting sticks of driftwood and jumping over the rocks. She managed to pass some pretty big distractions—a Labrador chasing a frisbee, a small yappy dog being introduced to paddling, children playing a ball game. And then, just before we reached the entrance to the car park, it all went horribly wrong. There were two small black dogs, playing a game of chase, and a family group sitting near the dunes, and a man running towards the sea, and suddenly it was all too much for Meg, and she stopped concentrating on me and the stick, and charged across the beach towards the little dogs. I called her. She was deaf. I tried running away, madly waving the stick. She did not care in the slightest. The whole beach stopped and stared in disapproval at the inept woman and her out-of-control dog. I didn’t blame them. Terrible behaviour.

Meg ran in circles for a while, and the owner of the two small dogs picked them up, and other people called their (obedient) children and dogs to them, and I felt a complete failure. Meg however, was having a great time, dashing between different families, splashing through water, leaping to try and catch other people’s balls, or dogs, or children. Her whole body was delighted, she was having such fun! We caught her eventually, and dragged her off to the car. She has a look, which I cannot describe, but I can see in her eyes that she doesn’t care a jot and will challenge anything I say.

We arrived at the car, opened the boot, and directed her to jump into it. She just stared through me. Husband suggested lifting her in, but I felt it was important to win this one, so we just stood there, staring at each other, offering a treat if she jumped in but not moving a muscle. We might have stood there all day. It was a lot like facing off a teenage boy. Eventually she jumped in, and received the treat, and we shut the door. I cling on to the hope that it will all get easier, and the effort will result in a pet I can love. But it’s a long journey.

Hope you manage to cope with whatever happens in your world this week (and hopefully all your problems are as minor as a naughty dog). Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Meg’s Diary: Meg is Annoying in Scotland continued…

Posted by anneethompson

15/6/2024
I went for a run along the lane, and I took Meg as there is rarely any traffic. It was okay—quite hard work because she always pulls slightly harder than is comfortable, even when she’s wearing the lead-of-shame (without it, she is uncontrollable). But at least it gave her something interesting to do.

The weather was good—high clouds and pale blue sky with a watery sun. The forecast was dry for the morning, so we drove to Stonehaven and parked in the town car park (which is free, but very full, so we were lucky to find a space). It’s a pretty town, with a long quay and stone houses, but it’s also very attractive to tourists so it’s busy. We parked next to an Italian family.

We followed signs and walked towards Dunnottar Castle. Meg was annoying. Sometimes (often) she’s very good in busy places, as there’s so much to distract her that she doesn’t pull. Not today. Every car or dog we passed, she lurched towards it, and even on the empty stretches she was pulling fairly hard. I know that I should stop and not move, when she pulls, but then we would never get anywhere—it’s not like it teaches her not to pull. Maybe when she’s older.

We climbed the steep hill behind the town, and followed the footpath along the top of the cliffs. The weather was good—cold but sunny—and we soon rounded a corner and could see the castle, perched on the rock. Unfortunately, Meg was too annoying, and the path was too busy for me to let her run free, so it was all rather stressful. But it was pretty.

In the afternoon we drove to Inverbervie beach. It was busy again, and the beach was shingle, so not great for walking along. Meg seemed happy and collected bits of driftwood, but I was too tired to enjoy it. After a short walk, we went up to the High Street and I waited outside Co op while Husband stocked up on bread and juice. Meg was awful. Barking and leaping at traffic. It’s weird—some days she is just annoying, all day long.

We ate at The Anchor in Johnshaven again. They have such a brilliant chef, the food is delicious. I had the lobster, and Husband splashed out on a fish platter (because when you find someone who knows how to cook fish, in a fishing village, you eat fresh fish). All delicious. Meg was at home, in her crate. That’s one good thing with her—I keep her routine fairly stable (same food, same timetable, bed with a Dentistix) and in return, I can put her crate in a different place every night if I want and she is happy to stay in it. I know she’ll be fine—no worried barking, no nerves, no signs of anxiety at all. She’s good at that.

20/6/2024
We drove from Scotland to Chatton, via Edinburgh. I was very keen to see something of the city, to wander through the streets, daydream in the parks, see a few sights. It was not to be. Driving and parking in the centre of any city is stressful, and it wasn’t as easy to find a space this time. Meg was very good in the car, and lay silently in her crate. But we were stressed. Then when we eventually parked, and took Meg out, she was a pain. Unlike last visit, she was super-hyper, lurching at traffic, wanting to interfere with other dogs (there were a surprising number of dogs in the city centre). On the plus side, she toileted when I took her to grass and told her to, and she wasn’t frightened of anything, not even a fire-engine that zoomed past with sirens blasting and lights flashing. But she did try to chase it.

We took her into a cafe next to the Christian bookshop on The Mount. I’m not sure if the bookshop run the cafe, but they might—they were very welcoming and there were signs saying that non-customers could use their toilets, but please keep them clean (I liked that). We sat at a group of sofas in the corner, and tried to pretend that Meg was well-behaved. She didn’t bark, but she was antsy. In the end we took it turns to eat, one of use keeping Meg close and stroking her, while the other one was free to eat. It was okay, but I’ve had more pleasant lunches in cafes. The food itself was nice, and they were very welcoming to dogs and even brought over a bowl of water (which we declined, because her favourite trick is to throw the water everywhere).

We walked up to the castle, and through crowds of people, and I tried to keep her away from all the men wearing kilts (because she likes to lick bare legs, and I wasn’t sure this would be appreciated). There was a man playing bagpipes, and we stood and listened, and Meg didn’t join in, but I could tell she was thinking about it. (At home, she howls when she hears bagpipes!) Then we had an argument about crossing the road, and whether I could ‘nip across’ when I’m with the dog, and how it was all proving rather stressful and not at all relaxing and fun, so we abandoned Edinburgh and drove to the next cottage. I will visit again one day, without the dog, and do the whole meandering thing that I wanted to do this time. One day.

The drive to Chatton was smooth, and we arrived at The Old Stables House, which is beautiful. The village is very sweet—not unlike villages in the Cotswolds—and the cottage (which was once old stables) was right next to The Percy’s Arms. The house is lovely, and very practical for the dog. The back garden is completely enclosed and safe, inside there are hardwood and tiled floors, which I covered with various towels to avoid muddy footprints. Most importantly, there is a washing machine and tumble dryer, so I could remove the dog-stink from all our clothes.

We took Meg for a walk, following a footpath across fields. There are lots of livestock, so she couldn’t run free. She was also very bad next to the road, even though the traffic is fairly slow in the village, so I was cross with her. We had planned to take her to the pub when we ate there, and had booked a table in the dog-friendly part, but I decided I needed a break, so she stayed in her crate in the house.

Today, we took Meg to Bamburgh Castle beach. The castle is huge, and looms over the beach looking like something from a fairy story. There were several people on the beach (we have been rather spoilt, and are used to empty beaches now) but Meg was good, and I could distract her with a stick, and guide her away from other people and dogs. We had a nice walk, over yellow sand and black rocks, and the sun shone on us, and the waves lapped next to us, and it was lovely. Meg was happy. I like a happy dog. We even managed to pose her, on a rock, with the castle in the background.

We have also managed to persuade her to jump into her car crate. She stopped doing this for a while, just staring at us when we told her to get up. (How does a dog manage to look insolent?) We have resorted to lumps of dried cod and lots of praise, and now she has agreed to do it again. (Tbh, sometimes I make my voice ultra happy and praise-like while swearing at her. She only understands the tone.) I don’t much enjoy the ‘teenage’ stage of a dog’s life.

I hope you find life easy this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Meg in Scotland

Posted by anneethompson

We grabbed a sandwich next to New College, Edinburgh University, and then drove north, to a cottage near Fordoun. It’s basically in the middle of countryside. Disappointingly, the ‘fully fenced’ garden was a lie. There were a few small plants indicating the boundary of the garden, but no fence at all. Which means I cannot let Meg outside unless she’s on the lead, especially as there are lambs in the field next to the house. We had a stake and a line we can attach her to, but as she has a tendency to dig when bored, I dare not leave her outside for long. Shame. (We often use Airbnb, this one was disappointing–usually they’re great! The owner had not exactly lied, but had certainly been less than honest.)

The cottage is tiny. It may have been a double garage in a previous existence, with a conservatory added. The owner seems to have gone to the local garden centre and bought all sorts of statues and pictures and cute house decorations, but then not known where to put them. There are random things everywhere, and it just looks crowded. It is also well-equipped, but again, everything crammed onto every worksurface and stuffed into every cupboard, so there is nowhere to put our own things. It is a little odd, and not very comfortable. But it’s warm, and there are beautiful views from the window, so it’ll be okay. We’re here for 6 days.

We’re trying to teach Meg that she is only allowed in the kitchen area, and not down the step into the sitting area. It’s stressful. She clearly understands, and clearly disagrees, so has started a game of throwing things into the banned area and then barking at them until we return them—and then throwing them down again. I am not enjoying this game. It’s hard to ignore her high-pitched yap, but we’re trying.

14/6/2024
We started the day with a trip to a supermarket in Laurencekirk. Husband stayed outside with Meg, and I nipped in to do the shopping. We didn’t need much, but it still took ages—always a hassle shopping in an unfamiliar supermarket. Meg was very good, and was sitting outside when I emerged, looking very professional (Meg, not me—I probably looked rather stressed!)

We stayed round the cottage for the morning. Meg alternated between the kitchen (trying to stop her walking down the steps to the sitting area) and her cage (when I needed a break) and the garden, where she is fastened to the long line. She’s good in the garden, and watches the birds. There’s a nest somewhere, and house martins swoop near her, and she sits, bolt upright, watching them. But I don’t leave her too long— a bored Meg is a bad Meg.

After lunch we drove to St. Cyrus beach. The car park was down the cliff, and we had to drive along a very narrow, very steep lane, with no passing places and lots of bends. Luckily we didn’t meet anyone. The car park is part of the nature reserve, and it was fairly full even on a rainy Friday afternoon.

We followed the signs, staying on the footpaths and not trespassing on all the nesting birds (lots of warning signs) over a narrow wooden bridge, up a sand dune, and then—wow! A beach, long and wide, and completely deserted. Does no one in the North go to beaches? Maybe the rain puts them off. We loved it. Husband has hurt his back, and the sand was very soft, so he stayed near the dunes, while Meg and I strode across the beach. Our feet sank into the soft sand, leaving deep footprints. It was good exercise. For a while Husband and I alternated calling Meg, and she sped between us, burning off energy as she bounced across the sand. But then she got tired and lost interest, so I called her to me and she stayed close, sniffing the pebbles and dried crabs and bits of bright green seaweed. There were trees that had washed up as driftwood—whole trees, like the skeletons of whales, stark against the dark sky. I wondered where they had come from, and why the had washed up there, all of them, like a prearranged meeting place for drowned trees. It rained on us, and the wind blew against us, and the sea thundered next to us, and it was wonderful.

We put the dog—and quite a lot of the sand—into the boot, and drove back to the cottage. I made tea while Husband checked what time the football started, and Meg snored, very loudly, in her crate.

We ate at The Anchor in Johnshaven. They have the best seafood—lobsters, and fresh haddock, with rhubarb crumble or banana fritters for pudding. (They even have a doggy menu! We (not Meg) shared the soup to start, and tasted each other’s dinners while we ate, and I drank red wine, and it was a lovely end to a rainy day.

Thanks for reading. Have a great day and take care.

Love, Anne x

Meg at Gleneagles

Posted by anneethompson

11/6/2024
We continued our journey north. After packing up the Northumberland cottage, we drove back to Cresswell for some exercise before our next long drive. This time the beach was full, lots of people and dogs, everyone out for their morning walk. We let Meg run free, but every time she started to run towards another dog, I called her back and waved a stick or kicked a pebble, and she stayed near to us the whole time, ignoring the other dogs. Some dogs ran up to her, and she was friendly, but always followed us as we walked on. She is very sociable for a German Shepherd—let’s hope it continues.

We stopped a couple of times during the journey, and Meg was very good—we were still on the A1, but it was quieter, and the stops were more peaceful. Early afternoon, we arrived at the Gleneagles Hotel, where Husband had a work conference.

The hotel is big, and beautiful, and it allows dogs (and horses, if you want to take your horse on holiday!) We could have taken Meg into our room (with an additional cleaning charge) but we thought it would be easier to book her into the kennels. I am cautious about kennelling a young dog—it doesn’t take many bad experiences to change a character, and I would hate for Meg to be kennelled next to an aggressive dog. However, this was fine. The kennels were more a room in a separate block, with individual locks, and beds and bowls provided. We were responsible for feeding and exercising Meg, and taking her out so she could toilet. She was the only dog inside, so no danger of being threatened by a dog-bully. Outside, were the hotel’s working Labradors, who barked every time we passed, but that was okay. The staff were friendly, and said how beautiful and friendly Meg is (I suspect they say this to all owners). They lock the kennels at 10 pm, so we needed to toilet her before then, and they unlock at 8am, and take her out so that guests can enjoy breakfast before taking over. That is longer than Meg is usually left at night, so I hoped she would be okay. We exercised her, and then went to prepare for dinner.

Dinner at Gleneagles is an event. They have two Michelin stars, and honestly, it is the most delicious dinner I have ever eaten. We sat at large round tables, with candles and flowers all around, and the waiters brought trolley after trolley, offering Champagne, then wine, carving a beef wellington, adding caviar to a cod steak, explaining the taste of various cheeses, preparing crepe suzettes with flavours and flames. I ate and drank far too much, but I only had to walk upstairs, so it was fine. (Husband kindly did the last Meg shift.)

Our room was very luxurious, though was quite a long walk from reception (I don’t think it was one of their better rooms!) It had a desk and two easy chairs, and a huge telly. There was a cabinet offering free tea and coffee, bottles of water, and shortbread biscuits—and a cupboard displaying over-priced snacks that we could buy. The bathroom had double sinks, and a shower, and a huge free-standing claw-footed bath. The loo was in a separate room. There were toiletries, and dressing gowns and slippers, and—most importantly—plenty of plug sockets for phones and computers. Unfortunately, the pillows were very fat, but I had brought my nice flat pillow in the car (because hotels always seem to have very fat pillows).

12/6/2024
I didn’t sleep much—probably due to too much food and drink. I showered (marvellous shower—the water pressure wasn’t painful, but there was so much water a deluge of it, soaking me instantly). Went down for breakfast. Gleneagles has the best food. There was everything. We were offered fresh orange juice, and coffee, and I ordered buttermilk pancakes with smoked almonds and maple syrup. While waiting, we visited the buffet: displays of fresh fruit, and pastries, yogurts, cereals, every kind of cooked breakfast food, various breads and cakes. I filled a bowl with fresh strawberries (perfectly ripe) and Greek yogurt (perfectly creamy) and waited for my pancakes. Husband, who usually eats everything, restricted himself to sourdough bread with smoked salmon and poached egg, and another slice with bacon and mushrooms (proper mushrooms—hotels often use the nasty tinned variety). The coffee arrived in a silver pot, and we sat in a light conservatory filled with flower arrangements. Such a treat.

Husband then went off to work, and I returned to the room and was slightly ill (due to unusual food and too many nerves—because even though I can control my outside with lots of prayer and self-control, my insides get stupidly anxious when we travel. I tell you this in case you can relate—we like to hide our imperfections, but everyone has them, even in the near-perfection that is Gleneagles. You might think you are alone with your problems, but you are not.) I then prepared for the next day, and went to check Meg.

Meg seemed fine. I spoke to the kennel staff, who said she had been clean and dry when they arrived, and was pleased to see them. She commented that Meg is very quiet, which pleased me. We try hard not to respond whenever Meg barks, trying to teach her that barking does not result in whatever it is that she wants, training her to be quiet. (So if she wants to go outside, she sits quietly next to the door and looks at me… Occasionally… On a good day… Mostly she bounces at it, bounces at me, bounces at the door again, and then sits and looks at me. Work in progress.)

I took Meg for a walk around the grounds, avoiding all the golf areas, and then, because I had been told that I could, I took her into the hotel. Meg walked beside me, over thick carpets, past all the guests waiting to check-in. We then walked along corridors lined with little shops selling expensive watches and jewellery and the sort of clothes that other, richer, people wear. The lights were dim, and the air was perfumed, and Meg plodded quietly next to me. I didn’t attempt the stairs, because we haven’t learnt stairs yet and I worried she might leap down them and pull me crashing behind her (which would cause quite a stir amongst the smart guests and the attentive staff!) We had a hiccup when we left, because a man had a Labrador next to the entrance, and Meg has obviously now decided that Labradors should be barked at (because that is what the hunting dogs in the pens outside her kennels do). So we walked quietly through the door, and then had a loop-out when we saw the dog. I calmed her, and managed to get her attention, and we left—not looking quite as professional as I hoped.

The grounds are beautiful. There is a vintage Rolls Royce parked in the driveway, and neat lawns with chairs next to an outside bar. Stone steps link various terraces, and low walls divide the lawns. There are mature trees and lakes with fountains and beds filled with lavender and poppies. In the valley is the golf course, and behind the hotel are tennis courts. An area to one side houses the kennels, and a caged ferret and birds of prey. Beyond the grounds are hills covered in heather and trees.

13/6/2024
We collected Meg from her kennel for the final time. It was noteworthy that she ate a lot last night—up until now she has eaten very little and ignored her chew. I guess she didn’t want to eat until things were familiar and she relaxed a little.

I have been very pleased with her. The kennel staff all commented on how friendly she was. Whenever we walk past the working Labs, they fling themselves at the cage wall and bark. Meg has managed to walk past them, not barking back (mostly) and concentrating on me and where we’re going. She has also been clean/dry for the long hours (10pm-8am) that she was locked inside. We put Meg into the car, and she fell asleep almost immediately.

Thanks for reading. I will tell you what happened next in another blog. Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good week.
Take care.
Love, Anne

anneethompson.com
*****

Meg’s Diary: Trip to Scotland

Posted by anneethompson

10/6/2024
Today was very long, but very satisfying. It started early, with a trip to the vet with cat-with-swollen-eye, then we finished packing the car, shoved Meg into her crate in the boot, and set off. Meg had woken antsy (some days she does—I haven’t discovered why) so she hadn’t eaten anything. But given her car sickness of the past, I decided this might be good.

Meg is always very good in the car. We ignore her—because I don’t want to encourage a ‘conversation’ whereby she barks to let me know she wants to stop. I am pretending that we cannot hear each other, and whether it’s due to that or just because she happens to like travelling, she is always silent and seems happy. However, I didn’t want to risk changing this happy equilibrium, so I requested that we never drove for more than 2 hours without stopping for a brief walk and a drink.

We drove up the M11 to the A1, and on to Northumberland. We stopped briefly at services, and Meg was excellent each time. She especially excelled at one, particularly busy service station, as it allowed dogs into the main concourse (most had signs saying guide dogs only). I therefore decided to walk her through the crowds (good dog training exercise). We walked through the sliding doors, following crowds of people, past various eateries with noise and smells, edging past legs of people waiting in line, past the entrance to the washrooms (more smells, and people) past a casino area, with noisy slot machines and teenaged boys shouting, and out the sliding door of the exit. Meg was brilliant! She walked closely by my side, alert but not jumpy or barking, noticing but not distracted. We walked through the area twice. I was so pleased with her. I also took her to areas of grass where she could toilet, but she was much too interested in all the smells and cars moving, and didn’t toilet once the whole journey. I hoped it wouldn’t be unhealthy (not much more I could do really).

We arrived at a little cottage in Ulgham that we had booked to break the journey. It had a tiny garden which was gravel—Meg likes to toilet on grass, so she still didn’t pee. (I am not usually interested in the toilet habits of my animals, but it is rather a feature of travel with a dog.) I tried walking her in the lane, but the cottage backed onto a railway, right next to the crossing, and there were fast trains from Edinburgh speeding to London every 10 minutes, so even though there was grass, Meg was much too intent on lurching towards trains. (Not so perfect.)

As there was a coast 5 minutes away, we put her back in the car and drove to Cresswell. Parked next to the road and walked through sand dunes to the beach. It was beautiful. The sky was heavy with rain, and no one else was on the beach. Sand stretched in both direction, huge waves billowed towards the beach, the grass on the dunes hissed in the wind. Most importantly, Meg made use of the facilities! Yaay! Back to the cottage.

The cottage was beautiful. It had obviously been recently renovated, and the owners had taken such care, and been very generous with what they provided. There was coffee and tea and biscuits, with fresh milk in the fridge, and bowls of chocolates, plus all the soaps/tissues/linen that we could need. The furniture was comfy, and there were warm throws and fat cushions and careful decorations. It was lovely. The proximity to the railway could have been annoying if Meg had decided to bark every time a train passed—and the trains did wake me in the night—but we sort of got used to them, and as long as they were out of sight, Meg ignored them. She ate and drank, and seemed very calm (well, as calm as she ever is).

We ate at the Widdrington Inn. It was actually quite nice (I was worried because we sat opposite the kitchen door, and I could see several floppy-haired young men preparing the food, which rang all sorts of food hygiene alarm bells!) But other than the sticky table, all seemed clean, and we had a nice meal. We had left Meg in her crate, in the cottage, because it’s never relaxing trying to eat when she is with us, even though we are trying to take her more often.

After dinner we collected Meg and drove back to the beach. This time we found a car park, and the tide was further out, so there was more sand. We still only saw a couple of people, so it was wonderfully relaxing, and we strode along the sand for an hour while Meg danced alongside us, investigating seaweed and rocks and the taste of seawater. The sea was stormy and the sky was huge, and all felt right with the world.

It wasn’t a great night’s sleep, because I woke when the trains whooshed past, and it was lighter than at home, and I was cold. But Meg was quiet all night, and seemed fine in the morning when I let her out of her crate.

Next stop Gleneagles. Husband has a work conference, me and Meg tagging along. I’ll tell you about it next week. Thanks for reading.
Have a great day.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

****

anneethompson.com
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I Nearly Kill Meg

Posted by anneethompson

Today started well. I persuaded Husband to come to Oxted with me, and help me to get Meg to walk through the underpass—the scary tunnel under the station. I have tried it a few times recently, and although she will walk down the ramp, she absolutely refuses to walk a single step into the underpass. This has been annoying, as when she was smaller she did it without a flicker, but she has grown more stubborn/wary with age. I need her to be able to walk through tunnels and enclosed spaces, before I can take her on the train.

We parked in Morrissons, and Meg walked through all the moving cars with no trouble at all. I’m not sure if it’s the speed of the traffic on the main road that triggers her reaction, or if it has become an ingrained response on that road. But in other situations, she seems much better with traffic. She also walks through groups of people, and shopping trolleys, and shop doors without reacting—all good. There was a collie tied up outside (not Leo) and it watched Meg—who stopped—stared—followed me past. Phew! Hopefully that positive encounter will balance the Leo experience. [You might need to refer to last week’s blog to understand this.]

At the underpass, we copied the routine that Sue (puppy trainer) had advised for the tunnel in Devon. Husband went ahead with a treat, stopped on the ramp. We walked to him, took the treat, immediately turned away (Meg understands the ‘Turn!’ command) and returned to the top of the ramp. Gradually Husband got nearer to the entrance, then a step into the underpass, then several feet inside. We kept going (with lots of funny looks from the Saturday morning shoppers!) until Meg was happily walking right through the underpass. We walked back without a flicker, and even ventured along the tunnel to the car park through the massive fire doors, and into the underground car park with all its echoes and smells and shadows. Meg was fine, alert but not resisting. I love when something works. I will practice a few times this week, and hopefully it will become mundane.

When we got home, I decided to have coffee in the garden, to celebrate our success. Huband made hot buttered toast, and I made coffee, and we carried them outside to watch Meg while she played. Meg bounced up to us, almost spilling the coffee. We sent her away and she ripped up a weed from the garden, then ran off to destroy a log on the lawn. We chatted for a few minutes, then started to discuss the cherry trees that Husband is training to grow over an archway. We moved to look at them, Meg came to join in, and started to destroy the lower branches of one of the trees. So annoying. I guess it was our mistake, for drawing her attention to the tree by looking at it when she was there. But sometimes we do make mistakes, and it seems that Meg always makes us regret it. She is too much. What a shame, after such a good morning. I put her in her crate with a chew, and went to clean out the chickens.

8 Months Old

I wanted to attend a seminar at college, and Husband was in London all day. I decided it was slightly longer than I’m comfortable leaving Meg alone, so I took her. I left home earlier than usual and drove to South Norwood. Meg was fine on the journey (she’s always good in the car and notices different things to me—a few times each journey there will be a low growl, or a bark, from the back, and I realise she has spotted a dog that needs sorting out!)

I went to the college office and asked whether I could park in the staff area, as it was shady. It was sunnier than when I left home, and I worried that even with a window open, it might get too hot in the car. They assured me it would be okay to park in a staff area, and directed me to some spaces right outside the lecture room, where there was lots of shade.

I let Meg out of the car, gave her a drink, and took her for a quick walk. We went up South Norwood Hill, where there is constant traffic. Perhaps it’s because the traffic was slow-moving, or because the path was wide, but Meg walked nicely on the lead, not reacting to the traffic at all. A completely different experience to walking in the lane. She lurched when a bus swooshed past, and when we had to wait at the central bollards to cross the road, but other than that, she was pretty perfect. (We do not do pretty perfect very often.)

We arrived at an entrance to Beaulieu Heights—which seemed to be a park so we walked through the gates. There was a path, and a lot of litter, and bushes and mud. We continued along the path and round the corner. I should mention that I was wearing a dark coat and black trousers, and Meg has a black harness. A group of teenagers was smoking on a fallen log, and I heard them whisper ‘police dog’ and they all threw away their cigarettes! I decided not to venture further into the park, so we turned (trying to look official) and returned to the road.

I gave Meg another drink—which she didn’t want, and went in to the seminar. It lasted for 2 hours. When I came out, the sun had moved and the car was now in dappled sunlight. I peered into the boot, and Meg was fast asleep, her chew was untouched, and I worried that even though the window was open, I had killed my dog. Bad moment. I hadn’t, she was fine, but it was surprisingly warm in the car for dappled, late afternoon, sunshine. It was a learning experience—I won’t risk it again on a sunny day. We drove home with the windows down.

I hope your mistakes this week turn out okay. It’s horrible when we realise we have messed up, but we all do. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Anne E Thompson

Author

blog

Amsterdam

Hieronymus Bosch

Visiting ‘s-Hertogenbosch

Lindisfarne, The Holy Island

Meg’s Diary: Travels with a Mad Dog

Meg’s Diary: Meg is Annoying in Scotland continued…

Meg in Scotland

Meg at Gleneagles

Meg’s Diary: Trip to Scotland

I Nearly Kill Meg

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