Flaming June

The last week of June. Mid-summer. Half a year gone. And just to make sure we all make the most of the summer days, the social calendar is filled with fêtes and fairs, and garden parties, and picnics and Pimm's. Wonderful. Exhausting. 

Life in the village has been typically busy. Something on very weekend this month. I think it may be a bit too much, and we haven't been able to fit it all in, with work, and travel, and quite a lot to do in the garden, too. We enjoyed the party in the Brigadier's garden, but passed at the Garden Safari. Today is the open garden at Norney Wood for the National Gardens Scheme, a Jekyll-inspired garden. Next weekend is the Shackleford fête, and the village will have its bunting out again. Of course, we'd love you all to join in.

The cricket season is in full swing. The Shackleford Cricket Club has an active calendar, and we can hear the familiar crack of ball against bat, and shouts of 'catch', as we walk the Boxers in the woods.

And if you do drive through the village, be sure to stop awhile at the pond, and 00h and aah at the gorgeous cygnets, with their own Facebook page.

What's not to love about village life? Visit Shackleford.

Village blight

And I'm not talking about potatoes!

There is a scummy underbelly lurking around the village, but no one will take responsibility for it. On the surface, the big houses, the long drives and the manicured gardens make it the perfect place to live. But unlike me, many of our neighbours never set foot outside their properties to see what really goes on. They zoom off in their fancy cars, to return after dark, totally unaware of the daily grind and grime.

My office faces the lane, so I see it all. Between 8.45 and 9.15am, and again between 3 and 4pm, it becomes a race track. Keep your pets indoors, don't walk in the lane, and certainly don't try to turn right. For the School Mums Cometh. At some speed, in rather large cars. Stand back against the hedge, get out of the way. 

And woe betide you if your delivery arrives at those times, and holds up the torrent for a few minutes. 

So, provided you don't want to leave your home at school dropping off and picking up times, walking in the village is a pleasure, isn't it? Well, no. You have to avoid the dog poo, the litter, the dodgy man with step ladders on his roof, the hugely busy road to the A3 which bisects the village.

OK, so we know the risks, let's just get on with it. Mind the potholes, there's another one. Whoops, that cyclist will have a nasty bump on his head.

Beware the 'stalker cat' (thanks to BB for the phrase), get the Boxer dogs in the car. Drive to the woods. Don't look at the strange chap in his car, or the odd one boxing the trees. Step over the used condoms and little bags of discarded cannabis. Avoid the 'dingly dell' where the grown men meet.

Phew, it's a gorgeous day. The sun is shining. The dogs are enjoying their sniff around. But, what's that? NO, LEAVE IT! Who would leave a pile of vomit in the woods? The mind boggles.

Step over more dog poo, don't get annoyed by the bulging poo bags hanging in the trees. Remember to bring more bin bags with you next time.

Now, what's this? A ginormous pile of broken glass, wood, nails, broken buckets - an old garden shed perhaps? Dumped in the woods, blocking the footpath and bridleway. Eight days for the council to clear it, because 'it isn't a big problem' in our area. Well, I beg to differ. It's the third time in 6 months.

Look, it's not rocket science. It's not law-abiding citizens flytipping, dogging and doing dope. It's the bad breath of society, which has found its way to this quiet spot in Surrey, and seems intent on making its home here.

Well, not on my turf. And next time I see you, you'll have the Boxer dogs to deal with.

Spies versus Aliens

Until recently, I was rather good at spotting the aliens amongst us. Honestly, it's true. Just take a look around you - in the supermarket, at the gym, in the post office. Whose eyes are just a little too close-set? A head a little too high-domed? And what about the size of those feet? That sock and shoe combination perhaps? Believe me, there are clear signs of alien life all around us.

I was quite shocked however when Mr B proclaimed that there are also plenty of spies around. Spies cannot be over 6ft tall, they pretend not to know about Dame Kelly Holmes and have never heard of Feargal Sharkey Junior. You can easily catch them out by asking about their 'plates of meat' or 'Can you Adam and Eve it?'

That's because these are spies from other countries blending in to our village communities, trying not to be conspicuous. So we play our little light-hearted game when out and about, a perfect opportunity at the Village drinks night last week. 

It was a pleasant evening in the pub, followed by us giggling all the way home, as we played 'Spy versus Alien'. I think we both won, but we definitely agreed that she is spy and he is an alien. Try it for yourself.

The Shackleford pong

In a rural village, things can get a bit whiffy at times. We are after all surrounded by farm land with sheep, cows and horses. Once a year, we get a rather strong manure pong from the fruit farm, but now that we know what it is, it doesn't bother us, much.

Years ago, Shackleford was more well-known for it's mushroom farm pong. Well growing mushrooms can be a bit odiferous. They were delicious though.

The more frequent stinks come from overflowing septic tanks. Not ours, I might add. We have a sewage treatment set-up under our lawn. For the interested among you, it's a circulating, aerated system which breaks down organic waste and produces 'clean' water. This is different from a septic tank, which just fills up and needs to be pumped out by the poo truck, a very smelly business. One of the old chaps almost always forgets to get his tank pumped before the rain comes, which results in smelly water in the road. And we have noticed that one of the neighbours doesn't seem to have had their tank emptied in the last year; what horrors will lurk there when they venture in?

But the most irksome stink of the summer is the bonfire. Billows of smoke, loud pops and crackles as green leaves and branches burn. I thought that bonfires were usually lit in the autumn, around bonfire night, after the first of the leaf fall has been swept up. I am dismayed at the increasing trend towards getting rid of summer clippings by burning. Apart from the fact that it makes my clean washing smell, it spoils a summer day, and it pollutes the atmosphere. And it's inconsiderate, too. We seem to have one particular offender who thinks it is appropriate to light his bonfire on a Sunday afternoon; last weekend just as we were serving pre-dinner drinks on the patio. The palls of smoke engulfed us, I had to apologise for it. It was embarrassing. It's a shame, too, that he chooses to make his bonfire within 10 metres of our summerhouse. I don't want to be bad neighbours but....

The Boxers dislike the bonfires too. They sneeze and are frightened by the loud bangs as the green clippings explode like sausages in the pan. What will the chickens make of it all? At least the weather has been kind to us this month.

That's my grump for today.

If you have time, please pop over to #BlogFlash2012, where you will find the link to many other contributors to a fun creative writing challenge for August.

Jolly June (at last)

Pink Peony

What a great weekend! The weather was fab, the garden looks great, England won the football, we went to see the fantastic Guildford School of Acting production of Mel Brooks' 'The Producers' and we had a lovely day out at Open Farm Sunday. It was Father's Day too, so we treated Dad, and all had a jolly good time. The Boxers have settled in to their new routine. Themba gets his medication twice a day, and rests a lot in between. Brin is as bouncy as ever, but seems to know not to bother the little one too much. Occasionally, a squirrel or pigeon needs to be chased, the Postman and Milkman still get barked at (more in greeting than in aggression), and we are woken at 6am by wagging tails and wet noses, ready for their jog. It's hard to believe that Themba has a life-limiting diagnosis, but we won't dwell on that.

The Village is gearing up for its summer season, so there are more and more gatherings of neighbours and emails appealing for help for this and that. We are skulking away, however, as after looking at the calendar and realising it's our twentieth wedding anniversary, we decided we had better do something to celebrate. So we are taking the 'boys' to the New Forest and will miss the Shackleford fete this weekend. It can't be helped. We have stayed at Woodlands Lodge before, but it is under new management now and by all accounts seems much improved. We have always found it to be quite fine, with great food and a very relaxed attitude to the dogs. I'll let you know...

In the meantime, don't forget to check out Jump! mag, an online magazine for your young teens.

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Where does the time go?

Strawberry plant coming back to life,
April 2012, Lesley Beeton

I have asked myself this question twice today. Once, because I meant to reply to an email last week and completely forgot, and secondly because I'm putting the finishing touches to the month end, quarter end and year end accounts. Ouch! Not my favourite time of year, hence I'm distracting myself with all sorts of things I shouldn't. I'm designing our new bathroom. I have chosen the furniture design and tiles and marked out the bathroom with masking tape. Don't stand on the tape when you go to the loo! I've also bought my birthday present. I shouldn't have really. My husband did want to buy it for me, but I was in the right place at the right time, and I've got what I want. Now I have to put it away for three weeks. I've also been blogging and gardening.

The 'boys' have kept me pretty busy too. The recent fine weather brought out a few loonies to the Woods. One lot even offered us a bit of German sausage! We declined. There has been an increase in the number of poo(h) sticks. I know, Pooh sticks is a game played by honey bears and donkeys and piglets in the woods. I mean of course, poo bags on sticks in the woods. But I am easily amused. I'm told that it will all degrade over time, but why can't people just clear up after their dogs?

Occasionally, my lovely Boxers will be disgusting dogs; like the time the big big dog pee'd on my leg in his excitement at going on a new walk. But yesterday, was really awful. They had been on a lovely run across the farm, and had a drink from the bird bath, then decided to run at full speed, which prompted a vomit - into my slipper, when I was wearing it! I screamed so loudly my husband rushed over thinking I had broken my leg! I don't do vomit, or dead mice but that's another story.

When I was growing up in South Africa we had a splendid tortoise as a pet. Meat Pie was his name. He was fond on tomatoes. And he would come when called. I recall my Dad doing mouth to mouth on him after he fell in the swimming pool. We then dried him out in a low temperature oven. He came round with a cough and a splutter and is still going strong in a reptile park near Johannesburg. We think he is close to one hundred years old. *The action shot below is a fun 'on dog' demonstration of 'hardandfast' the British Heart Foundation promotion for hands-only CPR. Check out the Defibrillator Club here.

Hands-only CPR demonstration, for fun only!

The neighbour and I saw off a strange fellow asking for scrap metal. The 'boys' were pretty vocal too. The Village suffers from opportunistic burglaries. Many of us met up on Friday night to chew over the village issues. It was a fun evening in the Pub. I don't think anything was decided but it feels like everyone wants to do something. One of the village matriarchs was propping up a bar stool . I had never met her before. She is a bit fierce, but mostly friendly, I think.

On the dog walker training, we have made some progress. It's amazing what a bit of steak can do for Boxer motivation. We will know tomorrow if we have been successful; when the dog walker turns up I expect two Boxer dogs to jump in the back of the van. Only a few weeks to go now before they go to Kennels.

Gosh, well that is a lot of news, look at the time! Don't forget to read Jill Spain's guest post before you go.

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It's a (Boxer) dog's life

The Brigadier sent me an invitation to the Rector's leaving party. And a request for a donation to the leaving present. That's OK, I can do that. He has been a very good rector, if a bit fierce at times, and always supportive of the Village. There is already talk about who the next rector will be. I don't really mind, as long as he doesn't make too many changes.

A change is as good as a holiday, they say. I didn't fancy the change at swimming this morning. I arrived at the same time as the England U21 rugby team (read: boys to men). They took over the pool for a while so I observed them from the jacuzzi. Until a sweet looking one joined me. I asked him what I thought was a good question 'Are you playing in a competition or just training?'. Grunt. 'Training.' Silence, then to another 'Oi, mate! Did you get your end off last night?'. At which point I went to the steam room.

Afterwards, in the change room, I asked one of the girls if that was rude. Well, that depends she said. Did he say 'get it off or get it away?'. Apparently, there is a difference.

I was glad to get back to the safety of the Village, and the unconditional love of the Boxer boys, lovely snuffly, wriggly boys, now sleeping peacefully. Only two things matter to them - cuddles and walks. They aren't even too bothered about food. They are not greedy boys at all. Sometimes the little big dog has to be encouraged to eat. He plays so hard that he gets too tired to eat. It's a dog's life. Play hard, sleep well.

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All a Twitter round here

OK, so there have been a few frosty days and the dogs had to drink from their water bowl instead of from the bird bath, but all around the garden there are signs of spring. I know, it's way too early, but there is no denying that the jasmine is in flower and smells gorgeous. I was playing ball with the Boxers this morning when I smelled the sweet fragrance. It's in a part of the garden which until the autumn was very overgrown. My clearing up has paid dividends, though, the jasmine has a lovely shape, tiny white flowers and a very romantic scent. I lingered a bit too long, though, and was barked at to hurry up with the ball!

The boys must have their games*, throw a ball, tug a rope, or just run like a mad thing - no, not me, the dogs! There are other signs too. The bird song is lovely. My particular favourite is the little robin who sits on the kitchen window sill, such a shrill, happy chirrup. The little birds don't pay the slightest bit of attention to the dogs. They co-exist in harmony. Not so for the squirrels, who have learnt not to steal the bird food for fear of being caught by a Boxer! Don't worry, the dogs have never caught a squirrel.

Boxer dog, asleep, no change there then!

There are a few changes coming to the Village. The Rector is retiring and several village organisations are having a re-think about their futures. It's the changing face of a traditional village in a modern society. City people coming into the Village bring a wealth of new ideas and much-needed longevity. It is an attractive village to live in because of the access to London, but I do get very cross about the traffic. Yet again, the traffic queue was bumper to bumper this morning. Ever since the Hindhead tunnel opened last sumer, traffic has been streaming up the A3 instead of the M3. I wish I had more than just anecdotal evidence of this.

The ease of access does bring in the undesirables, though. Last week I had to clear up the car park at the Woods where two cars of youths had discarded the evidence of cannabis use. Not pleasant. I was pleased however, that I did get a reply to my email to the Police, if not any particular action.

The changes and interlopers have left the Village people with plenty to say, and not enough outlets to say it all. I wonder if a Village blog and Twitter could help communication?


*For more on Boxer-cise please go to Surrey Life.

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