As the summer sun beams down upon us here in Cornwall (and elsewhere, I suspect) I find that I haven't posted for a couple of weeks. It's been rather nice to potter about in the garden and get a few (a very few) jobs done outside in the nice weather and sitting in front of the old laptop hasn't been my main priority. But here I am again, sheltering from the scorching midday sun and thinking that perhaps, when the heat of the day has subsided somewhat, His Rustiness might enjoy a gentle walk. In the meantime, I'll witter on a bit about what we've been up to.
The pace of life as slowed a little, I'm still off work but expecting to return early in July (huzzah for getting better! Boo for having to go to work!) and Rusticles has had a few adventures including a couple of visits to the vet.
I'll start with that story; I took a couple of photos this morning of Rusty's sore patches to help illustrate. It was Thursday of last week at around nine in the evening that Mrs the Millbrooker noticed our four legged hero's face was swelling up and breaking out into what I can only describe as "hives" - horrid big red sore lumps over his snout and on the top of his head. These shots are five days later as things are getting a lot better:
Not really knowing what to do I rang Glenda from Guide Dogs who looks after welfare issues; she told me to get hold of the vet straight away. So we found ourselves driving to Liskeard to meet the duty vet at 10 o'clock in the evening. Rusticles had a steroid injection and has just finished a course of antihistamine tablets. He's also got some cream that I get to spot onto his sore patches.
He's absolutely fine in himself now, he just doesn't look as handsome as usual. Oh my, but he was sorry for himself for a couple of days. We reckon he must have stuck his head into an ants' nest or perhaps disturbed some bees in the garden and suffered an allergic reaction - but the truth is we'll never really know what caused it.
On to happier things - Mrs the Millbrooker's birthday has recently passed and Rusty was made nice and smart for the occasion, even though we had to change plans at the last minute because he wasn't well enough to travel and be on duty for a long period.
We had all of the younger folk of the family around for a barbecue lunch. Only two of them are shown here - MinorEarthQwake, Dozybean and NooNoo are out of shot. Rusty spent most of the barbecue time under the table, in the literal rather than metaphorical sense. MinorEarthQwake made sure that he got into the spirit of things with a party hat a little later, though.
Since I last wrote here, it's also been Grandma Dong the Legend's birthday but I forgot to take my camera and have nothing to show for the day but a vague memory of being distinctly under the weather the morning after.
A new Morris team has started up in Plymouth and they're calling themselves The Old Town Twelves. As Dozybean has joined up, we thought it would make a decent excursion to head off to Pelynt and its Trelawney Fayre where the Old Towners were to have their first ever dance out. Aficionados of such things might notice that they have a Molly in the team, although they refer to him as Nursie for arcane and perfectly good reasons.
It was another blisteringly hot day and His Rustiness was glad that we didn't do a lot of walking around; it was his first working outing since he had the unfortunate episode with the ants or bees or whatever it was. He spent plenty of time finding whatever shade he could under our chairs and slurping a plentiful supply of water.
Rusty's very favourite bit of the outing was finding something (heaven only knows what) that had been spilled on the grass and needed very careful licking and nibbling for a while.
And lastly, and most definitely out of chronological order, we've had an outing to Launceston Castle to dance at the Charles Causeley Festival, celebrating the famed poet of that rather lovely town. Wreckers Morris at their best....
Now - it's entirely possible that I could have done these things without His Rustiness to look after me; after all I did the same sort of thing last year using only my long cane and the goodwill of friends and family to lead me around when necessary. But every time I go out with Rusty on his harness, I feel a tremendous sense of freedom and independence that I haven't known for some years. Friends and family still help out sometimes - but I know I can do most things without asking for help because Rusty is there and doing his job. I can't thank everyone involved in getting him to me enough: his puppy walker, his boarders, his trainers and his sponsors. Thank you all.
I'll leave you with a short video of me washing down Rusty's spending area and watering the plants and Rusty at the same time - listen for the squeals as he shakes himself off indoors....
This time of year is commonly known at Millbrooker Towers as the Birthday Season. Last time I plonked myself in front of the ancient steam driven laptop to pour forth my drivellings about life the universe and Rusticles, it had just been Betty Slobb's almost-quarter-century.
This time it has just been my slightly over half-a-century. Former readers of my old blog the Daily(ish) Millbrook might remember that a year ago, on turning 50, I was for a short time the highest man in England having spent a fair portion of the day in question slogging up Scafell Pike with a selection of good friends.
This was in the year 1BR (Before Rusty). Here's a couple of shots from back then. Facebook friends who are curious enough (bored enough?) to want see more can find loads in my photos there.
Which brings me to this year's birthday celebrations. There was no great planning or organising involved this time, but I still fancied doing something a bit climby to mark my slipping gently into my dotage. I decided that this year, instead of being the highest man in England, I'd settle for being the highest man in Cornwall. And so an expedition to climb Brown Willy was set up.
We had a slightly smaller contingent of climbers than that for Scafell Pike: Mrs the Millbrooker, Betty Slobb, MinorEarthQwake, His Rustiness and me. Rusty was too short to appear in this multiple selfie (by MinorEarthQwake) at the beginning of the trek. It is now year 0AR. Year 1AR will begin on the 17 February 2015. Work it out for yourselves.
As we've had nary a single glimpse of the star of the show yet, here's an entirely gratuitous one of His Rustiness at the start of the birthday hike, just as we left Rough Tor car park. For the benefit of non-Cornish readers, it's pronounced "Row Tour", not "Ruff Tor". Amusingly, this is because "row" is Cornish for "rough", apparently.
It almost goes without saying that our four legged hero pretty much got the day off. We were walking over rough moorland - he just ain't built or trained to guide in that sort of terrain.
Objective number one was Rough Tor Holy Well, which we found without much difficulty by following a line of reeds marking its outflowing stream down the moorside.
Legend has it that the weather on your birthday is an indicator of how good you might have been in the preceding year. Sunshine and you've been good all year. Hissing down in ropes, you've been a bit naughty. We got a fair mixture of both. Here's a shot of the sort of stuff that mostly skirted us by and occasionally hurled itself down upon us.
As a consequence, our waterproofs were on and off like a bride's nightie.
After summiting Rough Tor and walking the ridge to Showery Tor (which lived up to its name) our route took us down into the valley between Rough Tor and Brown Willy. Just in case there are any juvenile sniggers from the cheap seats, Brown Willy is the highest point in fair Cornwall and its name is a corruption of the old Cornish Bronn Wennili, meaning "The Hill of Swallows". Perhaps that's every bit as snigger-worthy, depending on how your mind works.
Interestingly, there is also a weather pattern named the Brown Willy Effect, in which warm air flows inland from both the Bristol Channel to the north and the English Channel to the south, converging over Brown Willy as the highest point and creating a long thin stream of rain sodden air that can reach as far as Oxford.
Anyway, back to the narrative. We crossed the stream at the valley bottom; most of us used the bridge. Rusty liked the water, which was just as well as we'd discovered several areas of peat bog that he'd also enjoyed and a bit of cleaning off was a good thing.
From the stream it was a straightforward steady climb to the summit.
And, eventually, in a howling wind which very nearly took all of us straight back off the summit again in something of a tumble, I was able to give my now habitual summit speech: "Ladies and Gentlemen, I was born (insert number of years here) ago and today I am the highest man in (insert county, country, continent here)". And those members of the party with an approximation of humanoid vocal chords kindly sang me the traditional song on occasions such as these, which I decided would be best if conducted by the recipient from the highest point in the nation of Kernow.
It was just after leaving the summit to begin the return trek that the weather gods decided that the occasional shower that we'd seen off thus far wasn't enough and the heavens well and truly opened. We took shelter as best we could behind granite outcrops in the lee of the wind. Unfortunately, MinorEarthQwake took shelter some distance from the rest of us along with Betty's waterproofs. So she and I had to share my poncho for a while. How very cosy.
The rain eased marginally and MinorEarthQwake rejoined the party, bringing with him a birthday treat of a couple of litres of my favourite Cornish beverage: Skinner's Heligan Honey.
I'm informed by my nearest and dearest that this is the official 51st birthday portrait. Heligan Honey, in the rain, at altitude (well, about 420m which is as high as it gets in Cornwall).
As we rounded the base of Rough Tor on the return trek to the car, the rain eased back nicely and we were all pretty well dry by the end of the walk. Except MinorEarthQwake, who'd not worn waterproofs during the downpour on Brown Willy as we shared our liquid gold. It is believed that was a misguided attempt to win the non-existent wet tee-shirt contest.
Which brings me to the question posed in this post's title. I reckon that, having now climbed something two birthdays in a row, it's become a habit. If I do it again next year - it'll become a tradition. Do you know what? I'm going to make it a tradition. Plans are already afoot to climb Great Gable from Seathwaite next year on the appropriate day. Anyone from last year's Scafell Pike expedition is very welcome to join us again, perhaps some newcomers might come along too. Expect accommodation to come in at around the £100/£120 mark for the week if you self cater with us in a holiday cottage, plus you'll need food and drink money and a stout pair of walking boots etc........do let me know if you're up for it (assuming I actually know who you are!)
There was still a right old slap up at the Bistrot Pierre to be had (the second time in just over a week - huzzah!) As before, we all got very well fed and His Rustiness remained spark out under the table throughout.
I was very pleased, amongst other cards and gifts, to get a hand made card from NooNoo and his mummy Dozybean, suitably addressed to yours truly.
And, finally, I shall draw this probably over-long wittering to a close with the shot that I'd rather prefer was the official 51st birthday portrait. Sadly, Dozybean had left us for her own pad by the time it was taken and equally sadly Reece the ferryman didn't get Rusty in shot. But here us is in our birthday finery, before things got rather silly back at home when we were joined by Slocombe and Shazzerooneypoos. Cheers.
This particular outpouring of drivel might seem a little "after the Lord Mayor's"; I have nothing to offer in the way of excitement like holidays in Brittany this time - merely the aftermath of that excitement. This doesn't mean nothing's happened, oh no. There's been quite a few minor occurrences in and around Millbrook and Cornwall.
Lets try and be at least moderately chronological, shall we? I'll take my cue from the assorted photos that I have to play with from the last few days.
Not long after finishing our holiday, we needed to head westward to Truro to see Betty Slobb so we could collect some furniture that she's donating to her big sister. We did the almost traditional walk out to Malpas for a pint at The Heron where I had my first ever (and very minor) brush with someone's house rules about dogs.
The landlord came over as we stood at the bar and started fussing Rusty, but as he was in harness (Rusty that is - not the landlord) I politely asked him not to. We were then directed to the right hand side of the bar "dogs are allowed over that side" said Mr Landlord. "He's a guide dog and he's allowed anywhere by law," sayeth I. Mr Landlord immediately backed down and told us to make ourselves at home anywhere we liked. We actually chose to be outside so the whole, brief, conversation had been entirely unnecessary, but that's how it was. I have no Rusty photo of that walk or pub, but I do have one of Betty Slobb borrowing my jumper as it got quite nippy when the sun went down.
Mrs the Millbrooker and I decided to stay overnight with Betty and MinorEarthQwake (we always carry a couple of Rusty meal portions just in case of such eventualities.) Here's His Rustiness and me the following morning during the all-important strong black coffee.
Friday of last week then saw Mrs the Millbrooker, Rusty and yours truly heading northwards for one of my favourite pub dance outs in the Wreckers Morris calendar: The Race Horse Inn at North Hill near Launceston.
Rusticles stayed with Mrs the Millbrooker for most of the evening while I was busy hitting the twelve string for all I was worth - my amp had run out of battery so I lacked a touch of volume next to Wrichard Wrecker's melodeon and Gordon's well amped bass.
Rusty thoroughly enjoyed his Morris evening, making friends with a local pooch and charming all and sundry. Our good friend Julia who lives in North Hill took the Rusty shots here...
I think someone told Rusty the old joke "Why did the German Shepherd have to go to court? He hadn't paid his barking fine". I've mentioned before that Rusty's sense of humour isn't sophisticated, but he does enjoy a corny joke...
And then the really BIG DAY came around. While I was training with Rusty in Weston Super Mare, I was told his birth date. And it's the 31st of May. Yes, indeed, on Saturday just gone His Rustiness turned 2. Needless to say we thought it the least we could do to hold some sort of a gathering.
The weather was warm(ish) and changeable, but I took the risk and declared it a barbecue day. Earlier we'd noticed that Rusticles had a bit of a lump on his head which turned out to be a tick embedded just above his right eye. We smothered it with Vaseline as advised by the vet pending getting our hands on a tick remover. Apparently the Vaseline smothers them and sometimes they drop off by themselves after this treatment. This one certainly did.
Before Rusty's guests arrived, I took him out for a special birthday walk up towards Wiggle over the fields and took the official birthday portrait.
In the early evening, people started arriving and Rusty got to eat his special birthday tea (exactly the same as every other tea, that's how it is for guide dogs) as his guests looked on.
Aperitifs were were quaffed by the assembled throng, and barbecuing got underway.
Here we have Slocombe (with ale) and Grandma Dong the Legend at the aperitif phase.
Cooking got started in earnest and Rusty helped to supervise while Grandma Dong the Legend stood by.
Soon we all sat down to good old slap up in Rusty's honour. Can you spot His Rustiness in one of his favourite places in this photo, boys and girls?
Yes, well done eagle-eyed readers - there he is......
After he'd been underneath the table for a while, Rusty decided that wandering his domain would be more fun and chose to spend some of the time hiding behind a clump of crocosmia in the weed patch that we laughingly refer to as our garden.
There are, of course, a minimum of two rituals to be observed on a birthday. Firstly a toast to the birthday boy (or girl).We did that one.
And then there's the cake, candles and singing "Happy Birthday". We did that one, too. And Rusty blew out his own candles by walking past wagging his back end enthusiastically and creating enough draught to extinguish the flames.
Here's that very wagging in action as he gets some fussing from Grandma Dong the Legend. Followed by the result thereof. I have no photo of the candles alight, Rusticles was a bit quick to blow them out.
With Rusty's birthday over, it was time for another: Betty Slobb celebrated her birthday just two days later with a long walk from Looe up the West Looe River to Duloe. Here she is with MinorEarthQwake at the start of the walk, just before treading in a pile of Rusty's recently emitted "spend". She even knew it was there, I was looking for some leaves to clear it up and into the undergrowth.
I'll tell the rest of the walk story in photos only - it was very muddy and obstacle strewn. Quite an adventure, I'd say.
Regular readers might remember that our destination of Duloe is the village that Rosemary calls home, we called in and enjoyed a nice cuppa, some birthday cake and a spot or two of bubbly. Oops, might have got a tad over excited with the bubbly.
The day was rounded off with a slap up feast at Bistro Pierre in the Royal William Yard. Where Rusticles once again assumed his accustomed place among the table legs and did one of his favourite things. Sleeping.
Phew - what a social whirl. I'm just off to pop an ice pack onto my fevered brow........ tune in again soon for more Rusty news and utter nonsense from me.
.JPG)
