Fluffy cat and fluffy tunes

People who know me are well aware that I have an awful taste in music, and I make no apology for that.  (Sorry).

Last night, Vanessa and I journeyed into Leeds to watch a-ha.

For once, we even had decent seats.  (I felt it was important that Mrs W could properly compare my youthful appearance with that of lead singer Morten Harket.  He's just turned 60.  Meh).

a-ha were fabulous, to be fair.   I bought all of their albums, 12 and 7 inch singles back in the day, although my walls were reserved exclusively for posters of Madonna, Debbie Gibson, Belinda Carlisle, Bananarama and the Bangles.  (Oh, and the Communards but that was only because the female singer with the deep voice on Don't Leave Me This Way signed my programme after their gig at the Grand Opera House  in Belfast in September 1986).

In the coming weeks, I'm booked in to see Seven Drunken Nights (a Dubliners tribute show), plus the real Happy Mondays and Snow Patrol.  I've chosen not to accompany Vanessa, Charlotte and other girlies to Little Mix in a couple of weeks.  That would just be wrong.

In other news, Cleo the Cat is yet to escape and might even like living in our house.   

She's already bowled Charlotte over.

Made a new friend (herself).

(Charlotte, in her Halloween dress, did too but forgot to look behind to say boo).

Cleo also likes rugby, a definite plus.

And doesn't appear to hate my wonky feet. 

All good.           

Meet Cleocatra Frances Clara Willow White

We've got a baby cat.

Whilst we admit to giving her lots of names - the product of allowing everyone to have a say - the kitten herself has asked that we simply address her as Cleo. (She's really clever, as most cats are)

Born on 18 August 2019 and previously known as Haze, we picked her up from Bradford Cat Watch Rescue at lunchtime yesterday.  There was a big queue and we were very lucky to get her.   

When it was our turn to visit the little area where the kittens live, there were only three left.  Two were with still their mum - Cleo and her sister.  Charlotte chose Cleo, the people next in line chose her sister and her mum.  A happy outcome - hopefully - for all three.

Cleo spent much of last night surveying her new home from under the sofa.  So I slept on it to keep her company during her first few hours of darkness in Guiseley.

All was quiet until around 6am when she decided she wanted to play and, other than a couple of long sleeps during today, she has been a fluffy-faced dynamo ever since.

She's also been shockingly well-behaved.   Not only has she eaten her food and drunk her water, she has used her litter tray right from the off which I really didn't expect.  Her mum clearly trained her well, for which our carpet will be forever grateful.

And now the adventure begins.  She can't leave the house for a few months, which is why the litter tray action is so welcome.  But when it's time for her to explore the outside world, hopefully the fun she'll have had by then will convince her to come back home for her tea.

I'll keep you updated on progress.         

Pussy hunt

I've been doing a little bit of online shopping. 

In the last hour I've bought:

• One interactive cat toys set including 2-way tunnel, bell crinkle balls, sisal mouse, novelty catnip figure and feather teaser wand

• One cat litter scoop with stand

• One cat feeding bowl (with cat ears)

• One cat water bowl (with cat ears)  

• One cat soft slicker brush

• One jungle stripes design patterned scratching board with catnip

• One Trixie Paulo cat litter tray with rim (taupe/cream)

• One bag of Catsan hygiene cat litter (20 litres) 

Yesterday, Charlotte and I visited Pets at Home to pick up a cat carrier.

I also insisted on splashing out £2 for a cat advent calendar.

Yes, you've guessed it, we're getting a dog.  Sorry, cat.

We've talked about it for ages and, as a confirmed cat lover, I've always been in favour.  But Vanessa was less convinced, which was why Charlotte had to settle for a hamster some months ago. 

Unfortunately, Luna has turned out to the most boring hamster in history and her demise can't come too soon. I would imagine our new cat can probably help with that; either by eating her or playing with her in her see through hamster ball until her tiny heart gives out.  I'll keep you updated on that.

Once our purchases arrive tomorrow, we will be missing just one thing.  An actual cat.  

The plan is to tour rescue local centres at half-term and hopefully we'll find one that suits the name Theo or Kit.  Or something totally different, depending on how creative Charlotte is feeling on the big day.  The only name she has definitely ruled out is Barry (which I would have done at birth if someone had bothered to ask me).

So, fun times ahead, until he/she starts bringing dead baby birds into the house, at which point Vanessa will tell me to take it back.  But no, the cat is staying.  Hopefully for about 20 years. I suspect Luna might not see many of them.      

Two's company

We've had a couple of extended family gatherings following our return from the South-West.

Saturday's started in warm conditions but ended in the freezing cold.

Thankfully Holly came well-prepared.

The temperature held for a bit longer yesterday and star guest Guy, pictured below on the right, told a great tale.    

Guy and son Josh are over from their home in Malaysia.  And, being a Sunday, Guy fancied a bit of Holy Communion.

But when he turned up at eight o'clock yesterday morning - and waited for a bit - it became apparent that he was accompanied by just one other. 

The vicar.

Being a man of strong character, Guy didn't make his excuses and leave.  Instead, he stayed and had a personal Communion.  Just him and The Rev sharing a bit of bread and a drop of wine.  All good.

To Guy's relief, his new best mate excused him from belting out a hymn. 

Cornwall conquered

Our road trip is almost at an end.

It’s our fourth and final night in Cornwall, following seven in Devon and three in Dorset.

And do you know what? It’s just about enough.

Since Monday, Jamie has had a fine time jumping the Cornish waves.

And harassing the Cornish crabs.

Whilst Charlotte, as is a lady’s prerogative, has enjoyed doing as little as humanly possible.

Often going to exteme lengths to avoid forward movement.

The sights have been tremendous.

The food has been good.

And the drink has been plentiful.

They’ve also made new friends, including two from Otley who they plan to meet up with back in Yorkshire.

A staycation might not be to everyone’s taste, especially when the weather isn’t kind. But we planned it, we went for it and we’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.

The two-day journey home begins tomorrow morning. And new adventures await.

Looking pasty in Cornwall

Greetings from a field in Bude which you may be aware is in Cornwall rather than Devon where we spent the past week.

You can tell we’ve moved because the rain has a slightly different taste (thankfully it wasn’t raining earlier).

Our final three days in Woolacombe saw the kids reach new heights.

Including this...

...and this.

Thankfully both were safely tethered to ropes at all times.

They also had an hour each harassing a pony.

And Jamie indulged in a bit of hardcore bodyboarding.

We went shopping yesterday in a lovely little town called Ilfracombe where Jamie stumbled across a mini-electric guitar which he now plans to restore to its former glory.

He played it the whole way to the car just like The Edge in the “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” video.

Against our better judgement, we chanced the camp entertainment on both of our last two nights.

And it doesn’t get more camp than this.

Last night’s main event was two nice chaps playing tunes on strings, including an electric mandolin.

Jamie was almost as excited as I was and he’s now thinking of asking the Norn Iron wing of his family circle to buy him one for Christmas.

And with that, Devon was done and the caravan left behind at 10am today.

Our new home for the next four nights is another tent.

Unlike in the caravan, we have to share these with the other guests.

But, hey, we’re still on holiday and - unlike in our caravan - we don’t have to provide our own bog roll.

Laters.

Spirits undampened

We’ve reached the midway point of our road trip and it’s fair to say that the weather could’ve been kinder thus far. But the whole country has been under a black cloud, so why should we be any different? (For the record, I blame Boris Johnson).

Since I last reported in, there has been a further beach trip with lots of rain on either side.

Let’s start with the sun.

Despite the militant seagulls, Woolacombe beach is a fabulous place.

Huge area, surfer dudes and dudesses everywhere you look with long-haired lifeguards aplenty. (I’m almost certain I spotted one who was female). Everyone very cool. And then we rocked up.

Jamie and Charlotte had been threatening for days to bury me and experience has taught me it’s best to give in early.

All I can say is that being smothered up to your neck in sand is heavy on your chest.

Especially if, like me, you haven’t got one.

That’s the sunny stuff done. Now for the wet stuff. 

And, to be totally honest, we’ve more than coped. 

There have been lots of board games played.

Some in the pub. Which has also provided the opportunity to sample a bit of live music.

Upon Jamie’s request, this band played Hotel California. (The fact that the only two words of the song the lead singer knew were “hotel” and “California” is irrelevant. He had a go. It was four yeses from us).

On the subject of guitars, Jamie visited a local shop and road tested a posh one (Christmas is coming up).

We also visited other retail outlets. 

Jamie didn’t buy this bought Charlotte bought a lot.

And earlier today, we finally got round to watching Toy Story 4 in the cinema.

I’ll not spoil the plot but it did bring back memories of previous Toy Story movies...

....when some of our number...

....were more enthusiastic Toy Story fans...

...than they would ever admit now.

If the forecast is to be believed, the worst of the inclement Devon weather is finally behind us. 

So tomorrow we start again.

One port of call might be nearby Croyde, the beauty of which wasn’t immediately obvious when we drove through earlier today whilst the rain lashed down.

But no one was downhearted.

Onwards.

Do you know this seagull?

At shortly after 2pm yesterday on Woolacombe beach in Devon, a crime was committed.

Aided and abetted by other seagull bully birds, this character assaulted my son and stole his meat and potato pasty.

I’d already had mine. Sitting alongside me on the golden sand, Charlotte had gobbled up her cheese and onion equivalent. And Vanessa had performed a disappearing act on a crab salad sandwich.

All good. And then the nasty seagull struck. In the space of no more than two seconds, it glanced off Jamie’s head, making him drop his pasty. It then grabbed a large chunk of it whilst three other birdie robbers arrived on cue to snaffle the remnants.  Not a crumb was left.

Understandably, Jamie - a confirmed bird lover - was a bit shaken up. I’ve heard stories of seagulls snatching people’s chips and knocking ice creams off cones, but I’d never seen anything like this.

Thinking about the incident overnight, I started to blame myself.  I don’t know if you saw the final Jaws movie - the one where the son/daughter/whatever of the original Jaws arrived with revenge on its mind and the objective of eating Chief Brodie’s family. 

As it happens, back in my beach cleaning days, part of the job was to pick up dead seagulls and shove them in bin bags. However, occasionally my fellow Wombles and I would get bored.

I’m naming no names - Pete Wilson, Colin Andrews, Stephen Barr, Tommy Millen, Rodney McAleese, Jason King, Roger Woodend, Jason Kyle, Alan McClarty plus Jen Trohear who watched - but some of us did develop an unfortunate habit of giving the birds the opportunity to make one last flight. None of them ever did manage a final flap, on the grounds that they were dead.  But perhaps our actions could have been interpreted by some as undignified on the part of the deceased.

Following yesterday’s vicious attack, I now fear that our lapse of judgement all those years ago may have been seen by living seagulls at the time with tales passed down through the generations. And yesterday’s attack on Jamie was an attempt to get at me through my son.

So I end with two messages. First, to the nasty seagull pastyjacker.  I’m hoping to be back on Woolacombe beach again tomorrow.  You and I have unfinished business.

And to my fellow Wombles, watch your backs lads and lass. They’re coming for us.

Any F in Food?

Good afternoon from Devon where the White family road trip has now dropped anchor.

We’re on Woolacombe beach which used to be the best in the country, but isn’t any longer.

Still, it’ll do for us.

Jamie has just completed an extended bodyboarding session, during which I watched on dutifully in case he required fatherly assistance.

Not that I would’ve been much help. 

I’m not really a fan of cold water, just one reason why I never applied to be a lifeguard despite growing up on the Causeway Coast.  That and the fact that someone told me the doggy paddle was unlikely to get me through the exams.  So I spent six summers picking Belfast people’s litter off the Portrush beaches instead.

As you can see, today’s weather here is bright but not especially warm.

That is still a major step up from last night when we went for a drink in the freezing cold before the rain forced us back inside.

I brought shorts so I’m wearing shorts, that’s the deal.

One positive aspect of a staycation should surely be that the language barrier is removed. But last night the barman appeared never to have met a customer from Coleraine.

Despite the late hour, we thought it would be nice to order the kids some desserts whilst we waited for the monsoon to pass. 

“Are you still serving food” I asked.

“Sorry?” the barman replied. Not sure why, I wasn’t aware he’d done anything wrong. 

“Are you still serving food?” I persevered.

“No, I’ve not heard of that.”

Several thoughts ran through my head, some of which would not have reflected well on me nor, indeed, future Coleraine visitors.

So I decided to knock together a quick cocktail of chippiness with a hint of sarcasm and a large shot of disdain.

“YOU’VE NOT HEARD OF FOOD?!”

“Oh, food! Yes.”

F****r. 

I’ve haven’t yet come up with tonight’s teaser but I’m thinking it might have something to do with evolution.

A prolonged thunderstorm is due with us tomorrow, so I expect to have even more time in the bar to quiz my new best friend.