Macclesfield Sheepdog Trials

Yesterday we decided to take Badger out to show her what proper grown-up dogs do. We thought that Macclesfield Sheepdog Trials might be just the thing. The place was crawling with border collies, slinking around, looking shifty and generally lurking. Some of the dogs looked terribly inter-bred: blue-eyed dogs, brown-eyed dogs, some with one blue eye and one brown eye!



Some of the dogs waiting for their turn to show off on the field.

We watched intently, pointing things out to Badger, but all she was interested in was a nine month old puppy playing with a paper cup. OK, we said, just a quick sniff. The two of them romped for a bit, then we called her back to watch the show.



This is called the 'outrun' and the 'fetch' we told her. She seemed to be concentrating.


This is herding them towards the pen. Badger wagged her tail. Oh no, another dog wanted to play. A big male dog with a very woolly coat this time. They played boxing for a few minutes, then Badger sidled up to the old farmer sitting next to me. He had just arrived with a bacon sandwich and she thought she might con some out of him. No chance.

Come here Badger and watch what's going on.




This is what you should be doing with the sheep, not scattering them.

Badger was now intent on making friends with Devildog. This be-muzzled little creature was frantically snarling and foaming at the mouth trying to extracate herself from the restraining grip of her owner. She doesn't like other dogs much, she explained.

We then took Badger to the point where the penned sheep were herded after the trials.



This really caught Badger's imagination. She was looking lovingly at them, and then at me. 'Can I go in there with them?' she seemed to be saying to me. 'Don't even think about it' I replied sternly.


Badger trying to look appealing.
By this time my toe was throbbing and Peter was looking thirsty so we went back into Macclesfield to visit our Musician who has just opened a bar! We went to the opening night a few weeks back, but thought it was high time we paid another call.



The Musician behind his bar with his new hair style. His fiancee has plaited some red braid into his hair and then gelled it up a bit. We had a drink and some lunch, and very nice it was too.




Pulling a pint for Peter.



Another view of the bar.

Poor Badger was getting very tired by this time. She showed just what a real, proper, grown-up dog she was during the evening when she wearily climbed up on her Mum's knee for a cuddle and a sleep!



Badger, really! You are supposed to be a tough, working dog who lives on a farm, runs wild, rolls in shit and eats disgusting objects, not a pampered little lap dog!

The Simpsons

Tickets had been booked for Ann, Nina, and myself to see The Simpsons. When I told Peter, he said he wanted to come too. He hates being left out of anything. We hadn't included him in the first place as he has often made his views on the Simpsons very clear and it didn't occur to us he might actually wish to attend. We couldn't get him a ticket on the same row as us, but we did manage to find him one on the row ahead. I had visions of going 'shhhhhhhh ...' if he so much as rustled a sweet paper during the performance. I have always wanted to do that.


Peter fortifying himself with a large Jack Daniels before the performance.

The cinema was packed with shouting, yelling children rushing about. They were stuffing their faces with nasty, smelly popcorn and making slurping noises while sucking up disgusting looking liquid through a straw. Eventually the racket died down enough to hear the familiar Simpsons music. The little boy on my left finished slurping his dayglo green drink and carelessly tossed the plastic beaker down a few rows, landing on a small girl's shoulder.

Oh how I love the Simpsons, especially the womenfolk.


Hero of heroes, lovely Marge.

Budding hero Lisa


Potential hero Maggie

Just as I was really getting into the film, in spite of the boy on my left, who was now stuffing foul smelling popcorn into his mouth, I glanced across at Peter on the row in front, and HE WAS ASLEEP! How can anyone a) sleep during such a noisy film with Homer shouting the odds every few seconds and b) having various missiles landing in his lap by some of the more enthusiastic children. I nudged Ann, sitting on my right, pointed at Peter and we both sniggered!

The film progressed. Ouch. I had to turn away. Poor Homer. I'm such a wimp I can't cope with people being hurt on screen, even such anti-heroes as Homer and Bart!




What a couple of plonkers.

Peter woke up, and started watching. 'Who is that?' he mouthed across to me:

'Grandpa' I mouthed back.

The child next to me was picking his nose.

We sat and watched until the very last credit had disappeared. So did the boy next to me. He had decided to sit quietly and watch the screen, so we all had to squeeze by him to get out while he just sat on in a state of total oblivion.

Peter and I then went to have a meal in Il Pomodora, our local Italian restaurant. This is a really nice little place, unpretentious and fairly inexpensive if you go easy on the liqueurs. Once a few years ago, we were having a meal there and David and Victoria Beckham were a few tables away, with one of their little boys and a couple of heavies looking after them.

In between courses I sent Maalie a text: 'Just seen the Simpsons'. A couple of minutes later I got one back simply saying 'wah. nonsense'. He's turning into a really grumpy old man!

I wonder if anyone else but Ju's Little Sister and Raela have difficulty when trying to type. This is Scaredy, asleep on the printer, waking up and spotting me and then coming to get me.





I'll just have to take Badger for a walk now it's stopped raining. Sorry Scaredy!



My toe is beginning to heal but I still have to be careful. I find I can cycle ok, but Peter has somehow manage to deflate my front tyre while trying to pump it up for me, and it doesn't appear to want to be inflated again. TCA ..... HELP !!!

Manchester, A Different Angle.

A couple of weeks ago Peter and I went into Manchester and generally hung around like a pair of disfunctional teenagers. First we went to the Buddhist centre, and had lunch in their wonderful vegetarian caff. I had split pea soup, bread, a mince pie thing and a freshly made veggie juice and Peter had two bowls of soup, bread and a veggie juice.

We had intended to go to the museum to look at the Egyptology exhibition, but as we wandered into the shopping area, I spied the Manchester Eye. Pleeeese, pleeeese can we go on it? OK, he sighed wearily. We took our place in the queue and a little later we were sitting in our car waiting for it to begin. We were told to press a little yellow button if we wanted to get off. Fat lot of good that would have done if we were at the top of the wheel. I noticed there was also a red emergency button. I wondered what would happen if I pressed that.


On our way up.


Oooo! There's Harvey Nics, The shop that Patsy hangs out in. Patsy, from Ab.Fab. is one of my role models. The other one is Jo Brand.


Going up a bit higher. This is the glass dome of the Corn Exchange that collapsed during the Manchester bombing. On Saturday 15th June 1996 during peak shopping time, a 3,000 lb IRA bomb exploded injuring more than 200 people and ripped into the main fabric of the city centre shopping area. Because of this bomb, the centre of Manchester was closed off for goodness knows how long. The buildings have been replaced with architectual wonders and delights, and now Manchester is a vibrant and lively city says Peter.


Up higher and a good view of the Cathedral and the Shambles Public House. Although fairly cloudy it was warm and a lot of people were sitting outside having their lunch.


This is the view to the South. The glass dome is on top of the Royal Exchange building which is now one of the best theatres in the country. We get top rate actors here and I have personally drooled over Tom Courtney many a time. The large building still under construction is the tallest building in Manchester. It is so tall that I can see it from the Canal and Lyme Park when I take Badger for her walks.


Looking towards the Lancashire hills in the far distance. We had three rounds on the wheel before we were removed. I didn't press the red button or the yellow one.

We wandered around Manchester and was dismayed to find Muji had shut down. Oh well, I'll just have to go to Tokyo for my bits and bobs! Marks and Spencer was a nightmare. It's so big with so much choice, I started getting panic attacks, so we left to have a coffee in the Royal Exchange cafe. We meandered back to Piccadilly
Station, taking in some of the boutiques selling expensive clothes and grumpily tut-tutted at the extravagance of those who bought such things. Came across a Food Market in St Anne's Square and bought three exotic pieces of cheese and a loaf of olive bread. Amazing how tiring shopping is. I was glad to get home.

On Saturday Maalie paid a visit. He wanted to break his journey back to our childhood haunts of Essex and Canvey Island. He will be doing a blog on that in due course or so he assures me. All his bluster about cats actually didn't stop him stroking Scaredy, and then look what I found:



After forcing a vegetarian meal down, he fell asleep with Badger. Very unfocused picture as I was also falling asleep and a bit unfocussed too.



I lost Scaredy yesterday. He changes his 'favourite place' regularly. I searched and searched until I heard a little tinkle from his bell and I found him curled up in the bottom of the wardrobe amongst all the flotsom that accumulates there.



I tested my broken toe yesterday by trying to take Badger for a walk. I wore thick woolly socks and a pair of Wellies. It took me an hour to walk around the field that usually takes about fifteen minutes. Today my foot is telling me I didn't listen to it yesterday telling me not to even try. The toe and foot is swollen and painful again, but I might try going out on my bike later.

Pottery making

I have been asked by halfmom AKA Susan if I will do a posting on pottery. I don't have any photos of my own pottery or pottery making on the computer. All my pictures are of the old-fasioned 35mm film, so the pictures shown are all pinched from google.

We are very spoilt here as we can just slip down to Stoke-on-Trent, the famous Potteries town and buy clay already cleaned, seived and pugged, and in 25kg bags. True potters dig their own clay and then do all the processing themselves, but they have to be lucky enough to live near good clay seams. If I started digging the clay from around Stoke I would be arrested as it all belongs to the clay processors!

Before anything can be made the clay has to be worked well. This means wedging and kneading.





The process of kneading. The clay ends up with the classic 'ox head' look. Once the clay has been prepared then it is torn into suitable sizes and is then ready for throwing on the wheel. This is great fun. First the clay has to be centred. This is the famous 'Ghost' sequence with Demi Moore doing naughty things with clay, dressed only in her nighty. As if. Clay and water splash everywhere. I usually wear a big pinny, a towel over my lap and a man's shirt with the arms cut off.




The actual throwing is quite easy once you get used to it. Some people say that when they tried to throw, their clay shot across the room and stuck to the wall. Don't believe them. They are just saying it for effect. I have never, ever seen that happen in all the time I have taught and potted myself. What happens to beginner throwers is that the clay slides off the wheel and into the tray, where you just scoop it up and put in back in the bin for recycling.






Pots being thrown.

After the pot has been cut of the wheel it is allowed to dry out until 'soft leather hard'. Then the pot is put back on the wheel upside down, and secured by soft blobs of clay. Turning then takes place. This is the trimming of the bottom of the pot to make a foot ring. It is like wood turning and also uses similar tools. The wheel is used instead of a lathe.




Pots being turned.

When turning is complete, the pot is allowed to dry out slowly, and when thoroughly dry it is time for the first, or bisque firing. This is quite a low firing, only about 980 degrees C. This leaves the pot still porous and ready for glazing. Glazing is a whole new post, so I won't go into it here, except to say after glazing earthenware pots are fired to 1100 degrees C and stoneware pots are fired to about 1200 degrees C. Porcelain if used goes up to 1300 degrees C.

Opening the kiln after a glaze firing is always very exciting. It can be wonderful or it can be very disappointing. It depends what has been happening in the kiln. Chemical reactions occur at high temperatures and often the glaze has a mind of it's own. Sometimes I have had amazing results. Nothing to do with skill but simply a reaction of the glaze chemicals in the kiln. You should be able to predict results, but actually it is often arbitary.

That's enough for now. If anyone wants further posts on pottery then I would be happy to oblige. But now, I have to rescue Badger who has managed to get herself shut outside and is now stuck halfway through the catflap.


Poor little Badger!

An old Christmas Present

When Jack was here recently from Japan he came across this book. It was one of my mother's. When she was a little girl she was allowed just one Christmas present, as my grandparents were not very well off. She always, without exception, chose a book. This is the one Jack found.



He spent some happy moments reading through it and this is the bit he read out to me:



There is a thrill in punting, in the feel of the long yellow pole as it comes up gleaming and dripping on one's hands, in the willing response of the heavy yet obedient craft, and in the delicious lap and trickle of the water against it's sides. It is good, too, to lie in dreamy peace upon the cusions and to watch the smooth water slipping past, and the ever-changing reflection of the willows on the bank, while a more energetic companion poles up the long green reaches of the Cherwell.



Isn't it amazing. I love the style of writing and the illustrations. This book must have been published in about 1925. I also found this piece from a chapter entitled 'Do You Look Your Best?'

'Undergarments may spoil the set of one's frocks. The underslip is another factor that helps to make or mar ones's appearance. Sateens and hairy surfaced materials wrinkle up, cling to the frock, and bunch up round the hips when walking. Choose underslips made of materials that hang slick without catching to your other garments. The woven artificial silks now on the market are excellent for giving no trouble in this direction.'

I'm now going to make a cup of coffee and read 'Susan's Week in Camp'. This is the story of Susan Maggs, who was terribly, terribly, shy! And after that, I'm going to look for some of her other old books. I know she has one somewhere called 'Chatterbox'.