VE Day 80 years on

 

VE Day 80 years on

VE Day celebrations, London, 8th May 1945

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

We watched the VE Day parade on television and listened to some of the interviews. The weather was perfect, and the rain held off until after the flypast. It was good to see so many young people in the crowd. An understanding of history is imperative if a nation is to survive and thrive.

 I was astonished by how articulate some of the veterans who were interviewed were and how vigorous they appeared. There are unlikely to be many still alive in a few years from now.

Two little girls in the rubble in Battersea, London, on VE Day, 1945
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 I wish there had been more coverage of the supporting services – ambulance, fire, police, coastguard, as well as the Merchant Navy and others. In a war, all participants rely on each other and pull together. No one group is more important than another.

VE Day, 1945, in Trondheim, Norway
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Ruth Klauber spoke for many when she said that she hoped such events as today’s parade did not come to be seen as a means of glorifying war.

It was poignant to see the small contingent of Ukrainian soldiers, and gratifying to hear the cheers that greeted them as they marched past the crowds. They wore army fatigues, rather than ceremonial uniform – a stark reminder, should anyone need one, that they are fighting to preserve their country and their independence. In that, they echoed the example of their president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy.

Agility Course

 

Agility Course

Watching dogs speed around an agility course is pure delight, particularly if they make the course their own, and run under obstacles instead of over them, or miss them out completely. Some dogs are natural comedians and respond to laughter, and they are the ones who steal the hearts of an audience.

We had a liver and white Dalmatian called Buddy, who was actually rather good at agility. He had brains and beauty, and wanted always to please his young owner, our youngest daughter, Bethan. She had spent a great deal of time building agility courses in our not very large garden, for Cariadd, our first Dalmatian. Bethan was three years old when we brought the small, warm puppy home, so Cariadd was around six when she started training her in agility. Cariadd was very obliging, but it wasn’t really her favourite occupation. She preferred cross country running.

 Buddy was a different prospect. He would do anything for Bethan and did well in his classes. However, he was just too big to compete with the dainty little dogs that normally excel at agility and eventually the lessons ceased, and he reverted to being a proper Dalmatian, running miles every day with Barry, Cariadd and Dominie.

We have an agility course in our house. The objective is not to discover how fast we can complete the course, but to see if we can complete it without breaking our necks.

The first obstacles are the slow-moving, indolent cats, who weave their way slightly ahead of us, miaouing if we dare to suggest they could move a little faster, please. Every move towards the kitchen indicates to them that meals might soon be served. They have been heavily influenced by the dogs, whose major loves in life are us, followed swiftly by food. The rule is, ‘If the humans move, we move, too.’

Having negotiated a track past the cats, the major obstacle presents itself. This is Roxy, who prostrates herself before us like a living sacrifice. It is imperative that she is never more than twelve inches away from one of us. I fear that she suffers from the reverse ostrich syndrome; that is, if we cannot see her, we might deny her existence.

Preparing meals, filling the kettle, emptying the dishwasher/washing machine/tumble dryer, packing the groceries away in fridge, freezer or cupboard, Roxy is always there, at our feet. I don’t know how we don’t trip over her.

Gilbert is also part of the course, but his function is to help. He moves around us, bringing us toys if he thinks we need some encouragement in our pursuits.

When we have completed whatever footling task we embarked on, we retreat from the kitchen, but now the agility course has been altered. The recumbent Roxy has miraculously and silently blocked our way out of the kitchen. It would not be advisable to step over her, because she has been known to rise up, mid-step-over, and that is quite hazardous. Slowly, we navigate our path back, accompanied by our four-footed friends.

Nothing can be accomplished at speed in our house unless we shut the animals away. Hence, we have baby gates at strategic doorways, behind which dogs can be contained. They don’t work for the cats – they slither under or leap over. The gates mean that the dogs can still be in contact, but not as closely as they might desire.

It's not so vastly different to having toddlers and at least the animals don’t have tantrums.

Strange noises

 

Strange noises  from the kitchen. 

                   Roxy with her satellites, Jellicoe, top, and Herschel

They were not loud noises, but could not be ignored – a gentle tap tap. My immediate thought was that a box was being knocked around the floor. There are always empty boxes, usually ones that have contained cat food pouches. Perhaps one had not been put into the recycling bin and Gilbert was playing with it. No. Gilbert was in the sitting room, sleeping the sleep of the virtuous.

No food had been left out – we try always to put everything edible away (sometimes we fail!)  and there are locks on the freezer and the fridge, so it wasn’t Jellicoe helping himself to something. Anyway, he was also in the sitting room, along with Herschel and Gilbert.

Roxy was missing!

I found her by the dog food storage container, looking simultaneously innocent and guilty, as Labradors are wont to do. She had been opening the lid of the bin and enjoying a surreptitious snack. The bin has a lock, but it had not been deployed (who was the culpable party?) and Roxy was in seventh heaven. 

There had not been sufficient time for her to test her capacity to the limit; nonetheless, her supper will be adjusted to allow for her over-indulgence.

It's a dog’s life!

May

 

May

It’s May, the sun is shining, and the machines are out in force. At the moment, a tree is receiving attention. I can’t see any men wearing hard hats hanging around in the treetops, so I don’t think any trees will be cut down today. The tree may just be having a trim, an errant limb or two being removed.

There is a background hum of lawnmowers, too. The sun encourages the grass to grow, which in turn incites proud homeowners to sharpen the blades of their mowers and lay waste to the fresh green growth. Woe betide any small invertebrates lurking among the grass stems. What has survived the lawnmower will fall victim to the strimmer.

It's the early spring Bank Holiday weekend, so Monday, which is the actual holiday, will be given over to lawn mowing and barbecues, especially if the sun continues to shine. The scent of newly cut grass wreaks havoc with those who suffer from hay fever, but is soon overwhelmed by the aroma of chargilled meat, with the emphasis being on ‘char.’

Forget about sitting quietly in the garden, enjoying the early spring warmth, pretty flowers, and the songs of birds trilling in the trees.

Mowers to right of us,

 Mowers to left of us,

Stutter and roar,

Worse than before,

Welcome the month of May.

Enjoy the bank holiday, if there is one where you live, and beware the predicted change in weather, and a return to *wintrier days. 

*Adjust according to wherever you live. 

 

 

 

Garden Centre

 

Garden Centre

Something a little different for the garden that has everything!

The only outings I’ve had recently have been to the physiotherapist, and I needed to try my back out on something a little more taxing than climbing in and out of the car and showing the physio what I can (or cannot) do.

This one has flirtatious eyes.

Yesterday, we decided to visit the nearby garden centre. Barry needed potting compost, and I wanted to wander round and look. A trolley provided adequate support, and I galloped off at high speed – well, high speed for me! - enjoying being out in the warm sun and seeing colourful massed flowers.

I think this horse was made from cardboard - quite effective, though.

I was tempted to buy many of the lovely things I saw, but resisted, since we have a lot of sorting out to do in the garden, and Barry’s got loads of seeds to plant. We did a lot of tidying and repotting this afternoon, and I forgot what I had learnt recently – that the stiff hairs on green alkanet can cause discomfort. Ouch! but not for long. Lesson learnt properly this time.

Deer, deer . . . actually, stag, stag

I did buy a large pot of lavender. I buy lavender plants every year and they always die, despite our attention – or maybe because of it. Anyway, I thought a more established plant might fare better than the usual smaller, cheaper ones I buy. After all, rosemary grows exceptionally well in our garden – we have two large shrubs that we’ve had for years – and lavender has similar horticultural requirements, so should thrive, too. We shall see!

Give us a hand!

I’ve been trotting up and down the garden path for a while. I say ‘trotting’ – it’s more like stumbling drunkenly in the dark – but I can now do it without a walking pole. In addition, I have been taking other exercise beside Liz’s physio-authorised ones, with her agreement.

My natural tendency is to go at things with a will – too much speed, not enough control, whereupon I wreck myself and cannot attempt anything further for days. This time, I am being very careful and gradually building the length of each exercise session. I started with one minute on each of three machines, beginning with the recumbent cycle, followed by the elliptical cross trainer and finally the hydraulic resistance machine.

Every couple of days, I increase the time by a minute. This contributes to a steady build-up of strength and stamina.

It doesn’t sound very much, but it’s a jolly sight more than I was capable of doing before February, and for many months before that.

 

Chicken soup

 

Chicken soup

                                        Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I roasted a chicken last night. This was excellent news for the dogs and cats, and their noses were atwitch all the while it was cooking.

We enjoyed the chicken with a variety of vegetables and small roast potatoes.

Tonight, slices of meat will be carved and cut to cook with pasta in a tasty sauce. Tomorrow, more chicken will join lettuce, cucumber, blueberries, avocado, strawberries, olives, watercress, rocket, and spinach in a satisfying salad. The following day, chicken and salad sandwiches will be on the menu.

Finally, the carcase and any remaining meat will be transformed by the pressure cooker into a delicious broth. After several hours, the bones will be soft and easy to crush.

Once it is cool, the bones will be mashed into a thick soup, but this is not for human consumption. I don’t like chicken soup – it repeats on me, which is most unpleasant. (Apparently this is called ‘rumination syndrome’ – mine is mild!) The soup is principally for the dogs, with a little for the cats. It is a treat we make for them two or three times a month, as a change from their usual fare.

They are very happy dogs when they realise they are having a special treat. We give it to them for their breakfast as there is still a great deal of liquid in the soup. The dogs need the hours during the day to deal with the consequential expansion of their guts and the possibility of having to go outside more frequently than usual.

Boot Camp

 

Boot Camp

Arthur's first experience of boot camp, at the beginning of April.

This rather aggressive term is used to describe a rigorous fitness programme, designed to improve physical strength and stamina.

Our middle daughter has been going to boot camp with her dog, Arthur. Because of work commitments, she cannot always attend. Consequently, Arthur hasn’t had much exposure to the regime, so hasn’t fully appreciated its purpose. 

Principally, as he sees it, his purpose in life is to protect Susannah, mainly by trying to get inside her skin.

Arthur at boot camp today (Tuesday). Is he doing a press-up, or trying to prevent Susannah doing whatever she's doing?

There is another dog who attends, a well-behaved whippet.