Bats, vampires and pumpkin soup

Halloween is fast approaching and I have a skeleton in the closet that I need to lay to rest. Whilst nearly every one else is excitedly planning their fancy dress costumes, which scary movie they are going to watch and what ghoulish tricks they are going to play on each other, I'm just waiting for the whole thing to be over. You see I don't really like Halloween or the horrors it entails.  So here's my list of nine reasons why Halloween and I don't get on.

1. I don't like being frightened. Other people seem to find being scared thrilling, but I just don't get it. I've tried to watch horror films many times and have either bottled out a few minutes in, often before the title scene has finished, or have regretted it for months after. I think that I have only ever watched 4 frightening films all the way through; Salem's Lot, Con Air, Carrie and Scream, all of them have given me nightmares for weeks, and in the case of Con Air I've had bad dreams for years. I reckon that there must be a gene, which I'm lacking, that's responsible for the enjoyment of fear. It's a well known fact that nature abhors a vacuum so instead of the scary appreciation gene I was given an extra ah! what a cute puppy gene.
2. I'm allergic to cats so the iconic black cat of Halloween really is an evil omen to me as when one comes near I start sneezing.
3. For years I've bought sweets in the expectation of trick or treaters calling only for none to come knocking, so I've been left with a load of cheap sweets I don't really like. For the last couple of years I've bought chocolates that I enjoy instead. So if any trick or treater's call this year they'll be offered dark chocolates with sour cherries, I'm not sure how popular these will be with kids though.
4. I'm not keen on spiders, severed limbs, ectoplasm and call me fussy but zombies and the living dead leave me cold. 
5. If I hear the noise of a door creaking eerily on its hinges, as a candle splutters and an owl hoots, I am tempted to reach for the WD-40 and turn the electric light on rather than go looking for the phantom who is probably lurking in the cellar.
6. I'm confused also about when vampires became so sexy and often goodies in modern media portrayals. I'm sure that Bram Stoker's Dracula would be turning in his, well his coffin if he could see how vampires have become the stars and often heroes of teen dramas and literature.
7. Orange and lime green really aren't my colours.
8. Werewolves? Unlikely, to say the least. In fact when I think about it I'm not convinced about ghosts, goblins, ghouls or Frankenstein either.
9. Bats are really cute and not the evil creatures they are made out to be. One flew into my living room the other day when I had the patio doors open, it swooped around the room a couple of times then headed upstairs. I followed it up to the bedroom and after a couple of circuits of the room it alighted on my bedside cabinet and I was able to get a good look at it. It had brown fur, was bigger than I thought it would be and although looked very elegant when in flight whilst it was trying to pull itself across my cupboard it looked most ungainly. I opened the bedroom windows and it soon found its way out.

So this Halloween I won't be getting my ouija board out, or heading down to the graveyard at midnight dressed in a sheet with eyeholes cut in. But be reassured I'm not a complete killjoy, I'll probably get a pumpkin to make some soup and may well serve it with garlic bread, just to ward off the vampires you understand.

Squirrels, Zebedee and Freddy Krueger.

This week Billy dog has been getting in touch with his inner squirrel. He has decided that he likes nuts which he gathers from underneath trees. It started with hazel nuts a few weeks ago which he crunches up to get the nut out, discarding the shell, and now he has discovered chestnuts.  Again he chews up the tough brown skin, which he spits out to get to the kernal inside. He's becoming a bit nut obsessed, like Scrat from Ice Age he's always on the look out for them and refuses to let me prise them out from his tightly clenched jaws. It was when I got home after a walk where he'd been eating nuts and checked online, that I found that acorns and beech nuts can be toxic to dogs. I'm not really sure how discerning he is, so I think I'm going to have to discourage all nut eating from now on. It won't be easy though as  it's the time of year when natures bounty comes raining down from the trees. The woodland floors are littered with hazel nuts, acorns, beech, chestnuts and conkers and I have one greedy little dog who although he likes meat and bones seems to be toying with the idea of becoming a vegan, like his squirrel mates.

Generally when we go for woodland walks he is on the alert looking out for squirrels and if he thinks that he has heard or smelt one he takes off through the undergrowth in hot pursuit. If he knows that there is a squirrel up a particular tree he practically tries to climb up to catch it, bouncing off the ground like Zebedee from the Magic Roundabout. He's never got near catching one though. Unlike my sisters dog Ceilidh (pronounced Kayley...yes I know, but that's my sister for you. Can you imagine the various names the dog gets called at the vets! I always like to spell the name differently, as if it's not spelt strangely enough).

My Mum and sister took Keilijh out on one occassion and she was chasing after every pesky little rodent she spotted. My Mum was worried about her catching one, as our cousins dog was bitten by a squirrel and lost his toe as a result, so Mum kept trying to call Cmayligh back. My sister assured her that Khazum would never catch one. Famous last words, no sooner had she said it than the dog catches the end of a squirrels tail and flips it up in the air. Apparently there are 44 breeds of flying squirrels, well this one wasn't officially one of them but by all accounts it did a pretty good impersonation. The story goes that the squirrel did some aeronautical gymnastics that the Red Arrows would have been proud of before landing neatly, pausing to get its breath back and then scuttling up a tree, none the worse for its encounter and no doubt still dining out on the tale. I'm not sure who was more surprised Mum, my sister, the dog or the squirrel.

I've just remembered another dog versus squirrel incident that happened in my family. When I was young we had a spaniel called Suzy and like most dogs she liked to chase squirrels. One autumn day we were walking through a wooded area when we came upon a squirrel ahead of us on the path. Suzy took off after it and for a few seconds the squirrel took flight, suddenly though it changed its mind, stopped and turned to face the dog. Suzy immediately put the brakes on and came to a skidding hault just in front of its twitching whiskers.  Dog and squirrel stood and stared at each other just inches apart. We stood watching expecting a squirrel massacre any second, a Freddy Krueger moment, or quite literally a nightmare on elm street. I suspect that the squirrels life flashed before its eyes: it probably remembered snuggling with its litter mates in the drey; possibly it looked back fondly on its first excursion onto the forest floor and learnt what a rich larder it was and maybe it thought about its own children waiting in the nest for him. It was a tense moment but then Suzy, upset that the squirrel wasn't playing by the rules, tucked her tail between her legs and scuttled back to us whimpering.

So in my family, despite what you might expect, it's squirrels 4, dogs 0. The natural order has been reversed but despite this the world keeps turning, night still follows day, toast still falls butter side down onto the carpet and the thing that you have lost is still always found in the last place you look. I guess this is all a long winded way of saying that the world won't end if you do something unexpected or unpredictable, in fact it might turn out surprisingly well. If you're still unsure then ask a squirrel.

Strictly Come Dancing, Margaret Thatcher and sandals

"To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven" (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

This is one of my favourite Bible quotes and always seems appropriate at this rather melancholy time of the year as we start to move towards winter. Autumn is finally, definately here. I know that officially it started a few weeks ago but for me it has now undeniably arrived.

You might be wondering what has brought me to this realisation. What were the telltale signs that drew me to this conclusion? Maybe I should have realised sooner: the leaves changing colour and drifting to the ground like golden confetti; The Great British Bake Off ending (go Nadia!) and Strictly Come Dancing re-starting; the sloe gin is steeping so that it will be ready for Christmas; the mornings and evenings getting darker; Halloween goods appearing in the shops; going to a cafe and fancying hot chocolate instead of iced tea; getting a flu jab and buying some Lem-sip just in case; people firing up their central heating and lighting their log burners and the general drop in temperature should all have given me a clue. For me though the definite sign that summer is over is that I bought a pair of sandals.

The rest of the northern hemisphere is probably buying boots at this time of year but like the fashion magazines I always plan for a couple of seasons ahead. It's not that I am organised but rather that I am a cheapskate. I wait to buy my summer sandals for the following year till right at the end of the sale so that I know that the price isn't going to be reduced any further and that way bag myself a bargain. So ok this does mean that I occasionally have to jam my feet into shoes that are too small if they've sold out of my size and yes I am always wearing last years styles in some unusual colours but as I am not exactly a fashionista I don't care. So for me Spring starts when I buy next winters boots, summer begins when I get the following Easters pastel Mary-Janes and Autumn begins with the purchase of flip flops and sandals.

I've been thinking a bit about time passing and the cyclical nature of history recently. Not just because of my bargain sandals but because of the new job that I've just started. You see I've got a job back in the secondary school I attended when I was a teenager. It seems really strange to be back there, its familiar in many ways but also so different from how I remember. The basic structure of the building is the same and familiar, there have been some new additions and some of the rooms have moved around, but most of it is as I remember.

It's the people who have all changed. I walk around the corner of a corridor and expect to see my friends waiting to meet me after lessons, but there are strange young people there, kids waiting for their own mates. Teens wearing blazers and ties who look way smarter than we ever did. When we attended the school the uniform was much more lax and as long as you wore something vaguely blue you passed inspection. They also now seem so much more confident and assured than I ever felt, maybe this is down to bravado but I hope not. These pupils are noisy, enthusiastic and so full of potential and looking back I think that I was probably like that at their age too, what happened to that energy and passion I wonder.  I remember sneaking into the 6th form common room after lessons one day to put up CND and anti Reagan and Thatcher posters, convinced and passionate about my political beliefs. This year in contrast I had trouble deciding who to vote for in the General Election. So maybe it isn't the school that has changed, maybe it's me.

So Autumn is here, a time to reflect and take stock. A time to make soup and stews and buy t-shirts and sandals, a time to remember being young and to try and resurrect some of the passions I felt then, a time to put on wellies and walk through the woods kicking up leaves.

I started this post with a quote from the Bible and I'd like end it with another quote, not the Bible this time, but Elton John via The Lion King.

" From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done
There's far too much to take in here
More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
In the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round".

Autumn is here but I have sandals ready for next summer, thus the circle of life goes on.

St Francis of Assisi, kilts and optimism

Another new month, that means another new job, how time flies. This week I was going to write about the changing of the seasons and the passage of time but events on Sunday have put paid to that. Maybe I'll write about Autumn next week.

I stayed at my Mums house on Saturday night, she lives about 20 minutes away from me. Sunday morning Mum and I met bleary eyed in the kitchen, at the kettle, both having been woken up by the desperate need for a cup of tea. Ah, the first cup of tea of the day, there can be no finer drink. The first sip, maybe still just a tad too hot, but delicious and reviving none the less. So we stood at the kitchen counter, mouths drooling in anticipation, as we waited for the tea leaves to perform their magic, and Billy dog sat expectantly on the back door mat, drooling too as he waited for his breakfast, when Mum remembered that the church she attends were holding  a pet service that morning. She wondered if Billy and I would like to attend.

I have not attended church for many years now except to go to weddings and funerals and I'm ashamed to admit that Billy has never been, but Mum attends religiously each week (pun intended). I suggested that Mum take Billy herself, but she wasn't keen on this idea, so with some trepidation I agreed to go with her. We both looked at Billy and realised that he wasn't looking his best, he was less West Highland White and rather more West Highland Beige, I wondered if we could pretend he was a Cairn terrier but decided that he would need to be spruced up a bit before he could make his premiere appearance in church. This meant the dreaded bath!

Billy loves water, he will happily splash around in muddy puddles, paddle in streams and loves to lie and cool his belly in the sea, but warm water when combined with shampoo is, in Billys mind, a particularly cruel forms of torture. Over the years of trial and error I have come up with a routine at bathtime, its not a good routine but it's the best I've been able to find. First I get undressed, normally I'll take my trousers off and just keep a T-shirt on, then I put Billy in the shower cubicle, close the screen doors slightly and the kneel in the door opening with the dog towel over my lap. This way I don't get too wet, although I am often wetter than Billy, and my body blocks him from escaping. Then its simply a matter of trying to get some water and shampoo onto him as he writhes, wriggles and piteously cries. Once rinsed and towel dried he runs around the house, growling and moaning whilst rubbing himself on accessible furniture and carpets. The final part of the ordeal is to dry him with a hairdryer, although he minds this less as he gets lots of treats during it. I didn't have time to dry him completely on Sunday as we were running late, but he certainly looked a lot cleaner.

Off to Church we went, desperately hoping that Mum hadn't got the date wrong. As we approached the Churchyard I could tell that this indeed was the right Sunday for the pet service as people with animals were all making their way towards the Church, the bells pealing out a welcome and adding to the cacophany as dogs barked, chickens clucked and children laughed and shrieked. I saw a tortoise in a cardboard box being taken in, Guinea pigs wrapped in towels and held in children's arms like babies, there were rabbits, rats and lots and lots of dogs. One little lad who I don't think had any pets brought an armful of soft toys.

Once inside the Church we found that preparations had been made and that at the base of the font were plenty of poo bags and baskets containing disinfectants and cleaning products. A sensible precaution I thought. The service started, the dogs joining in with singing the hymns and generally making their presence known through out the sermon and prayers, but overall the animals behaved very well. A couple of dogs went walk about during the service, no doubt keen brass rubbers or stained glass window fans, a few dogs sat up on the pews next to their owners probably so that they could get a better view of the flower arrangements, but Billy sat well behaved and quietly at my feet through out.

As we sat in the pew listening to the story of St Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, whose Saints day it was, I was suddenly transported back to my school days. No we didn't have any animals at our school but my memory was stirred because of a particular smell, the girls at my primary school wore red and white gingham dresses in the summer and red kilts in the winter. Sitting in Church on Sunday as the aromour of wet dog rose up from Billy to meet me, it smelt exactly like wet kilts drying after a rainy break time. I can clearly remember the classroom after a wet playtime being filled with the fug of our kilts drying and it smelling rather more like an Australian sheep shearers convention than a primary school. Funny how such a horrid smell can bring back such a warm memory. Yes Billy was clean but he definitely wasn't dry and the smell of his wet fur would have out-ponged any incense, if it had been an incense burning type of Church.

Part way through the service, everyone who had brought an animal was invited to take their pet up to the altar rail for the animal to receive a blessing. What a motley procession we looked, all shape and size of dogs queueing alongside Guinea pigs, chickens, rats and rabbits. I had to keep Billy away from a certain Chihuaha, who I knew from previous encounters really hated Billy, and from the other Westie present who was beautifully groomed and would have shown Billy up, but other than that it all passed off without incident. Billy sat reverently at the altar rail, looking as innocent as any choir boy, and no one was to know that he wasn't actually showing respect as he was in gods house, but was actually hoping for one of the treats I had in my pocket. Put a dog collar on him (again pun intended) and I think he could look like he was a candidate for a papal election.

On the way out of the Church the dogs were given a dog biscuit, Billy did embarrass me a bit by insisting on sitting on the coir mat inside the door to eat his and then triple checking the mat and surrounding area to make sure he hadn't missed any crumbs. The trouble is now, I suspect, Billy won't want to walk past the Church as he will expect to go in and have a biscuit.

I'm not a very religious person, but you've got to admire the church for being such optimists to lay on such a service. It could have gone very differently, there could have been fights, wee and poo everywhere, animals escaping and a real hullabaloo. I do think that if you expect things to turn out well, they probably will do though. So maybe it was the churchs' optimism that made the service a success, maybe it was us all having well behaved pets, maybe it was because there were no c, a, t, s present and maybe there was intervention from a higher level. Billy doesn't care, he had a biscuit even if he did have to suffer the ignominy of a bath to earn his treat.