travel

Amsterdam

Posted by

2


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.

The station

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.

In the rain.

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.)

Unusual setting, but delicious food.

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.

anneethompson.com
*****

Hieronymus Bosch

Posted by

0


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!

Bosch’s version of ‘The Last Supper’
He was a contemporary of da Vinci, so perhaps a bit cynical
St. John being told by an angel what to write in Revelation, while a devil tried to steal his ink.
A peaceful Christ surrounded by evil.
The Art Gallery

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

0


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.)

Onboard Breakfast
An old-fashioned windmill
Comfy seats

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

0


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.

Lindisfarne, perfect with an ice-cream.

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

anneethompson.com
*****

Meg at Gleneagles

Posted by

1


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).

Our Room
Meg’s Room

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.

Dining Room
Breakfast Room
Posh Washroom

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
*****

Instow with Meg

Posted by

0


Thursday 4th April

After a quick burst in the garden, I put Meg back into her crate and we went for a run. We’re very near an entrance to the disused railway line, so we joined all the other joggers, bikers, and dog-walkers, and ran away from town, level with the coast. It’s a lovely place to run. While Husband showered, I decided to cool down by walking in the opposite direction with Meg. I kept her on the ‘lead of shame’* (the slip-lead with a nose noose, which is loose when she walks beside me but turns her head if she tries to pull, giving me complete control. She hates it, but it keeps us both safe). I tried jogging with her, and it was fine, so I might take her with us tomorrow.

All went well until we came to a short tunnel. Meg had walked under a couple of bridges, but she absolutely refused to walk through the tunnel. She put on the brakes about 10 feet from the entrance, and refused to move. I tried to reassure her, stroked her, tried walking away and then approaching it again—no luck. A family walked past, and I asked if their dog went through the tunnel. They assured me it did, and suggested we walk with them. I tagged along behind them—same result. We were not going through the tunnel. I decided to come back another time, with Husband, and see whether if I go in first, she will follow me.

Another walker stopped to ask whether Meg is a Malinois. This seems to happen a lot. She’s not as tall as a Malinois, but while she’s going through her leggy stage she does look similar. The man was walking his own dog, and asked if he could give Meg a treat. She sat very politely while he fed her, but his own poor dog was most unhappy!

We decided to attempt a cafe with Meg. John’s Cafe often has dogs, and they have their own entrance, away from the grocery part of the shop. Husband secured a table and then let us in. I had a large chew with me, and hoped she would settle under the table and gnaw the chew while we had breakfast. Meg was wearing the lead of shame, so walking through the café was fine, and I put her in the corner. She was very antsy, trying to see what was happening in the café, so I switched places (not the seat—I remained on the seat and she remained on the floor! But I sat in the corner, and she sat under the table where she could see everything). After a few minutes she settled, and gnawed the chew while watching as other customers came and went. Other than replying when another dog barked, she was very good. Another first.

I messaged Sue, who leads the puppy class, to ask for advice re. the tunnel. She said not to attempt to call Meg through off the lead, as she might freak and run away. Nor should I force her through, as it would just make the fear permanent. Instead, I should make it into a game, approaching the tunnel with a treat, then turning and moving away from it, repeating until we were in the tunnel. We did this—Husband stood near the entrance with a treat, we ran up to ‘find Husband’, took the treat then turned and retreated. Gradually Husband stood nearer and nearer the tunnel, until he was inside, then moved further back. We managed to enter the tunnel, with Meg on the lead but moving on her own volition. Then we walked the rest of the way, to the other side. On the return trip, she hesitated at the entrance, we showed her a treat, and she walked through. Another success.

Success!


Friday

We tried taking Meg on the run this morning. It was definitely more effort, and we had to stop every time a bike or another dog was in range. But I’m hoping that in the future this will be a thing, and part of her daily exercise can naturally overlap with mine.

After a shower, we went to John’s Cafe again for brunch. They seem to only serve very large portions of food, so it’s not possible to have a single croissant and coffee. I brought home the extra croissant. It’s a shame, because our country seems to be getting gradually fatter/less healthy, which is bad for all of us. (And it’s not easy to limit what we eat when we have delicious food put in front of us—better to be only served a sensible portion, in my view.) Meg was mostly good, and lay under the table with a chew. She did find it necessary to bark when other dogs arrived, which was annoying. However, she coped with being in a cafe, with lots of people arriving and leaving, and young children swinging their legs and making a noise—so mostly I was pleased with her.

Walking along the street is still a challenge, as she reacts to every car that passes us. I can easily restrain her with the lead of shame, but it will be good when she stops reacting. There was a fun moment when I stopped to look at the beach, and she jumped up to see over the wall too. Mostly, she is a nice dog. David has re-named her ‘Nutmeg’. I am hoping this is because she is dark brown.

Thanks for reading. Have a lovely week, and take care.
Love, Anne x

Thanks for reading.
anneethompson.com
*****

The lead of shame is a lead recommended by my puppy class teacher. It’s made by Gencon, and available from Amazon. The nose loop stops her pulling hard, so even though she is stronger than me, I can safely walk her next to roads. (As naughty Meg has learnt how to wriggle out of it when it’s loose, I also attach another lead to her harness, just in case.)

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Gencon-Headcollar-Lead-Black-Handed/dp/B00T6IEAZ8/ref=sr_1_5?crid=32MM1PVGPBZAM&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.6TXmzMwiAG3dLjefzyoPjEiKKgio1kPf5yps26825oHeAOzOh0GGNXbXdkxNlYngJGpYQTXQZcYk-H3nhvlx5edT6-7z2LSJs-UuAs_qO711HcxdC5h3VTSwUq0rNluEEZDlLOU-ud9Yi2pXN_j87fm2UkrrBCUIHa6OjUpAXtFnKsN4WHNt-bz8q6rSmh5e7CwU4s8ijTL2pXE61aT94HneAgOTlWLeB34nqeaN-Ce81xVYUEEX3Il8fTbI_ykStQwk53NgXsJyDAVOBIA2SqEL7hJQ7R1bDB3yuLa9zDk.V3ednoE5IXBi5OK7tN_E30_mbEBOG8VCmJUuywZMfEQ&dib_tag=se&keywords=gencon+figure+of+8+dog+lead+anti+pull&qid=1713186052&sprefix=gencon%2Caps%2C81&sr=8-5

Trip to Instow, Devon

Posted by

0


Instow is the most dog-friendly town in the country. We visited several years ago, when Kia was alive. Kia was true to her GSD nature, and was deeply suspicious of all other dogs, so we spent the entire holiday with a low grumble of disapproval in the background. Despite all the other dodgy dogs, Kia loved the beach, and always cried when we drove home at the end of the holiday. Meg however, is different (this could be a stand-alone sentence: Meg is different!) We therefore decided we would take her to Instow, and see whether she liked it.

The journey here was brilliant. Unlike when she was a puppy, and threw up on a 5 minute car ride, Meg travelled perfectly. (Whether this is due to my training, and constantly being taken in the car or simply because she’s older, is impossible to say, but I have had so few successes with my training so far, that I am claiming it.)

I learnt a lesson from a holiday in France, when our children were young, many years ago. We drove, and the baby was fine all the way on the long drive to the South, but the following day, when we tried to put him in the car to go into town, he had an absolute loop-out. Forcing a determined baby, with arching back and flailing arms, into a car seat is no easy feat. I think trying to force a reluctant GSD into a crate would be impossible, so I was keen to break the journey. We therefore stopped a couple of times, and Meg walked a few loops of the dirty Services’ car park, and had some water, before being put back into the crate. Meg was wonderful (I don’t often write that!) She even managed to sit outside a Costa while I drank a nasty coffee.

The house in Instow is in a quiet road, a short walk from the beach. It’s perfect for families with dogs (I believe everything in Instow is perfect for a family with a dog). There are hardwood floors, and an enclosed garden, and hoses outside both doors. The sofas are in one area, with a large rug, and we are trying to teach Meg that she is only allowed on the hardwood floors. At home she’s pretty good with keeping to certain areas—here not so much. I suspect it will be a battle all week, but we will persist…and then accept a compromise.

We took Meg on the beach. It’s a small stretch of dirty sand along the estuary, with a million people walking, and every person has a dog. Honestly, never come to Instow if you don’t like dogs, they are everywhere. Most were well behaved, and stayed with their owners, a few ran off to interfere with other people, but all seemed friendly. Meg has so far been okay with other dogs—I suspect this is thanks to puppy classes, where she has learnt to practise working with me whilst ignoring all the other dogs working with their owners.

As we walked over the sand dune, onto the main beach, a small black dog ran towards us. I grabbed a stick, and Meg’s focus was entirely on the stick. She ignored the small yappy thing at our feet, and walked with me towards the sea. Brilliant. She loved the beach (only the dry bits, she doesn’t do wet feet, and not even a flock of water birds tempted her into the sea). We had a lovely walk, the air was fresh, the seagulls circled above us, the dog bounced happily beside us. Then we tried to put her back on the lead to leave, and all went to pot. No way was Meg coming near enough to be caught. When I called her, she stood about 3 feet away, and stared at me. If I approached, she skipped back a step. Bribes (both food and toys) were useless. Very frustrating. We wasted 10 minutes trying to trick her into a situation where we could grab her, and I vowed never to let her run free ever again. We eventually caught her, and returned to the house.

Not coming close enough to be caught.

We left her in her crate while we ate in the Instow Arms. The food was okay—not such a good menu as I remember from previously. We could have taken Meg (I think you take dogs everywhere here) but I was still cross from the beach naughtiness, and needed a break.

After dinner we watched telly for a while (3 Body Problem on Netflix—it’s a bit tense but very clever). Meg has never seen television before, and she was deeply suspicious. She barked at it a few times, and then sat next to me (I like to think she was guarding me, but I suspect it was the other way round). She wasn’t a fan. Before bedtime we strolled along the beach. We kept Meg on a long lead, and she seemed quite happy. No other dogs this time, and the lights from Appledore twinkled through the night on the other side of the estuary. All was peaceful.

I hope you have a nice day too. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Looking at the view.
anneethompson.com
*****

A Treat in the Cotswolds

Posted by

1


I woke at 6, took the dog for a quick run in the garden, then showered, threw a few things into a bag, and was ready to leave at 7:15. We went to my daughter’s house first, as she had kindly (madly?) offered to have the puppy for a couple of days. We dumped the dog, bags of food and toys and a playpen, then off we went, heading west.

Our first stop was The White Horse pub in Forest Hill. On our wedding day, in 1988, we left Surrey and drove to the Cotswolds for our honeymoon, but on the way, we stopped at a pub for dinner. Neither of us can remember anything about it, except that we ate chicken in mustard sauce, and I remember being very excited because I was married and I wanted to tell everyone in the pub, but I didn’t, and it felt very odd that no one knew such a significant fact. We found the name in Husband’s diary in the loft, and decided to visit, to see if it stirred any memories. We sort of remembered the car park, but nothing else. But then, it was a long time ago. It’s a Thai restaurant now.

We continued to Bibury, and lunch in The Catherine Wheel. It was pouring with rain, so we didn’t stop to walk around Bibury. I recognised the pretty cottages next to the river, but I couldn’t remember the trout farm (which Husband assured me we visited). It was busy, with coaches of tourists and lots of cars. It must be strange to live somewhere like that.

We stayed at Barnsley House. Just one night, but it still felt like a holiday. Our room was fabulous, with a whole sitting area, and facilities to make drinks. They had provided a tiny carton of fresh milk, and a jar of cookies, and apples in a bowl. I like when they provide free stuff, it feels more welcoming that a sign telling you to pay £1 for a coffee capsule!

We drove around the Cotswolds, looking at places we remembered from our honeymoon. We looked at the cottage we stayed in (it has a new extension now, but looks much the same) and I bought a toothbrush at an unfriendly village shop. (Not sure how I managed to forget my bathroom bag!)

The weather was still wet, so we had drinks and watched a film. We could have used the ‘cinema’ at the hotel, but it was nicer in the room. We did dress in wet-weather gear and wander round the grounds. There was a spa (I think this is a feature of the hotel) so we went to have a look. There was an outside pool, with women drinking cocktails in bubbly water. I peeked at them through a bush, and decided I can think of little worse than being at a spa! There was a sign offering various ‘treatments’ but as I stood there, in my wellies and bobble hat, I felt it wasn’t really for me. (Husband compared me to Compo in Last of the Summer Wine, so I don’t think he imagined me sipping cocktails in a jacuzzi either!)

Not really a spa person!

Dinner was marvellous. We dressed up, though we didn’t need to, it was very relaxed. There wasn’t a taster menu, but the food was delicious, with lots of fresh vegetables and interesting flavours. I drank too much wine, and got the giggles, and it was a lovely evening. Such a treat to only have to walk upstairs after dinner, and not to drive home.

We ate a huge breakfast, and then went for a walk. It was really muddy, and I worried I might lose a boot in the boggy bits, but it wasn’t raining. We walked beside a stately home (Barnsley Palace) and wondered what it would be like to live there (cold, I expect). Then we packed up, and drove back to collect Meg and go home. It was so lovely, and just what I needed after all the Christmas busyness.

I hope you manage to plan some treats too. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

An Unexpected Experience

Posted by

0


We were invited to a ‘War of the Worlds’ experience. I had absolutely no idea what this meant—but accepted anyway. Husband, I suspect, had more idea than me, but decided to not share. Last week, we met our friends at the station, and set off for London.

It was difficult to know what to wear, but I decided it was probably something similar to a thing my cousin went to recently, when an orchestra played the tunes from ‘Lord of the Rings’ while images from the film were shown on a giant screen. I certainly thought it would be a passive experience, and as my friend is something of a natty-dresser, I decided to wear nice clothes. (My wardrobe is divided into three: very posh evening wear, expensive ‘nice clothes’ or tatty stuff that a tramp might wear. I usually wear the latter.) This was a mistake; especially the heeled boots.

We walked from London Bridge—the men striding a hundred yards ahead, me stumbling over uneven pavements while my friend kindly walked beside me. We arrived at a building resembling the sort of clubs we went to as students, and went inside. There was a young man (everyone is young these days) looking official, checking tickets. We were given yellow wristbands (also reminiscent of student nightclub) and told to wait for yellow smoke. We were also directed to fill out a waiver form (they hadn’t invented those when I was a student!)

We sat at a table in a sort of bar, with dimmed lights and strange decorations. The waiver form informed me I should be over 16 (√check) wear flat shoes (X failed there) and not be sensitive to light/noise/motion or scary things. I stopped reading at that point, as yellow smoke squirted from a tube in the ceiling (it was disappointing how long it took four of us to decide on smoke colours!) and we joined the line at the door.

We were part of a group of 12, and I was pleased that we were not the only adults. (Adults are people over the age of 45.) We were led through a door and met by a bouncy actor with exaggerated enthusiasm, who explained we were going back in time to when the Martians had landed. She was very good at her job, as she maintained her ‘in character’ persona despite our rather doubtful expressions and complete lack of reciprocation. We were shown virtual-reality headsets, and told how to use them, then led along a dark corridor to a theatre. We took our seats, and I hoped that perhaps this was where the rest of the experience would happen. It didn’t.

The experience continued. There were holograms, and we had to walk along corridors, and through holes, and down steep spiral stairs—which was sometimes a challenge for someone with a dodgy back in heels. However, it was all very professional, and although I never managed to quite believe that Martians had landed and our lives were in peril, I had to admire their enthusiasm. To be honest, I was nervous—but of falling over or someone shouting ‘Boo!’ unexpectedly. There was a lot of ‘dark’ involved. And amazing special effects.

The experience was based on the book/films of ‘War of the Worlds’ and was a series of rooms that showed different aspects of the story. We had done our homework and watched the Tom Cruise film version, so each scene made sense. My favourite part was when we sat in boats, wearing virtual-reality glasses, and we ‘sailed’ through a burning London, looking at the destruction and feeling the waves lift us. It was really well done. I have never experienced such clever technology. The actors and props were brilliant.

I couldn’t take photos during the experience, as cameras were banned, so I can only share pictures taken in the bar area, and the ‘professional’ photo taken at the end. But if you are ever invited to visit the experience, I would certainly recommend it. Just be sure to wear flat shoes.

Thanks for reading.
Have a great week, and be sure to wear the right clothes.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Nervous Smile…
Embarrassing Picture but a Fun Memento

anneethompson.com

Why not sign up below to follow my blog?
*****

Snow in August

Posted by

2


We arrived in LaThuile in bright hot sunshine. It was too hot to walk far, and even the shade was warm (which has not been my experience previously in the Italian Alps). However, within a day, the weather changed: the temperature plummeted and we woke up to snow on the mountains. This was very exciting! I love snow. Never before have I experienced snow in August.

After lunch, we found the car where we had abandoned it in the town garage (because we are staying in a little apartment in the town centre and the narrow cobbled streets barely fit a bike, definitely not a car), We drove up the winding road to St Bernardo’s Pass, and there we found snow! It was jolly cold. I had brought my woolly hat but most of my clothes were the thin impracticable kind that you take on holiday.  (Husband was so pleased to see it again so soon after it had been put away at the end of winter. He loves that hat.) Husband strode off, looking for the best ‘snow photo’ spot. I spoke briefly to some pretty cows with donging bells round their necks (who ignored me) and then went in search of warmth in a cafe. The cafe had a few toys, and I bought a cute St. Bernard dog toy, because this area has lots of them (the real variety) and even I realise that owning one would not be wise given where we live.

The rest of the holiday passed peacefully enough. We returned to the most beautiful valley in the world (Route 11) that we found last year. It continues to earn the title, it’s too beautiful to describe and even photos don’t really show the beauty of the place (especially my photos!) You will have to visit yourself. Just be careful as you drive to a parking place, as the road is very narrow and there are no barriers and the drop is very long if you fall. Nice place to die though.

We were very good, and went for a run every morning. We found a relatively flat road to run along (beside a bubbling river and looking at mountains). But it was hard to breathe. Husband informed me it was very good for my lungs because the high altitude makes them work harder. It didn’t feel good though, it made running very hard work and not at al enjoyable (apart from the scenery). Afterwards we went to Angela’s Cafe, which was crammed with local people all speaking Italian and drinking espresso coffee. I also drank espresso coffee, of which I am rather proud. I noticed a few years ago that only foreigners drink things like cappuccino or latte, and all locals drink tiny cups of strong black coffee. I therefore forced myself to drink it—like a teenaged boy forces himself to drink beer even though he would rather have a lemonade. I now enjoy drinking it, but I especially enjoy the approval I see in people’s eyes when I order it. Husband orders a cappuccino, and often this is passed to me, as the more ‘girly’ drink. Anyway, Angela’s Cafe has very good coffee, and it advertises that it’s grown by women, to help raise the standard of living in families, so I rather like that too. We always reserved croissants for the following day, because they are eaten in the morning by the earlier customers. This then was our routine: run by the river, recover and shower, breakfast in Angela’s Cafe, buy bread for lunch, return to little apartment. Not a bad way to start every day.

We finished each day by eating dinner in La Maison—the restaurant we ate in almost every evening last year. They allow us to have a table in the wine cellar, and they know that I like a chair rather than a bench, and that our Italian is terrible. It’s a friendly place to eat and the food is delicious.

One evening, when walking towards the restaurant, I noticed that my dress felt odd. I ran my hand down the side, and realised I could feel the seam. When I glanced down, a big white label was flapping at the side, and all the buttons were on the inside! I had somehow managed to put on my dress inside-out and not notice. We were next to a little chapel at the time, so I ducked inside while Husband stood guard, and quickly turned my dress the right way round. I was so pleased that I noticed before we arrived at the restaurant. Made a note to always look in the mirror before I leave home in future. (I do of course blame Husband, who really should have noticed.)

Other than clothing issues, the holiday was lovely. The Italian Alps are so lovely in the summer. I hope to come again. Thanks for reading, have a good week. Take care.
Love, Anne x

Thanks for reading.

anneethompson.com