Warthog surprise....

            Well what a pleasant weekend it has been, what with a favourable rugby result, an ongoing battle of strategy and bloodshed, a concoction to make the three witches’ of the ‘Scottish’ play smile with glee and a surprise regarding the Warthog.

            Should I enlighten you, my dear reader more, or should I leave it at that and refill my emptying glass of cider and settle down for the evening, content to bask within the pleasant feelings weekends like this bring about? I mean tis a rare event due to my draconian shift pattern that I get to receive a full weekend away from the grind and time with Clare (twice every ten bleedin’ weeks) and then to have a an enjoyable one such as this well perhaps I just ought to keep it to myself…..

            Oh go on then ya buggers just a little insight then……

            Ok the few readers that have managed to put up with my ramblings for a while will know that I’m a fan of Welsh rugby union. I shall not attempt to explain the game nor my infatuation with it to my American friends as it’s a proper sport and not one frequented with lashings of refreshment breaks and the use of, from what I can gather, four hundred different players during one match nor shall I explain it to followers of football (soccer to some) for that is far beneath a true follower of a proper sport. Each to his own I hasten to add but the holy game of international rugby is the one for me. And what be my reason for much smugness and joy this weekend? Well much needed 19 too 9 win over the old enemy, England with whom the national press over here have a love affair with and who ever fuel the belief that England are the only team of note with the world cup looming upon the horizon – well this result may just have but the smallest of spanners in the works for England and their stick the ball up the shirt and run with attitude on Saturday. So that’s happy reason one…

Try time...Mr. Hook puts England to bed...

            Happy reason two; I have now extended my ‘home brewing’ and doubled the demy johns bubbling merrily away in the kitchen (that’ll be four then). So apart from the two gallons of elder flower wine there I’ve happened to have er acquired a couple of litres of concentrated apple juice and from this I’m attempting to produce something resembling a wine of sorts. So mixed at about 4.5 parts water too 1 part apple concentrate and with added yeast I’ve two gallons merrily brewing for the next two to three weeks so it should be ready when I’m off from the grind for a twelve day break – happy days indeed.

            I guess that the vast majority of you will have paid scant regard to the above paragraphs as you couldn't give two hoots about my comings and goings but have‘power read’ to this point because it’s the bit concerning Willow aka the Warthog. Well let’s be setting the scene then for you hardy lurcher loving folk. You all have heard me lament often about the grind and it’s rota that prevents Clare and myself enjoying weekends together so when they do occur we try to make the most of them. This weekend we were fortunate enough to have coincided with the Welsh country fair at Bala. So loaded up with water, boiled sweets, poo bags for Willow, Willow her self and the usual paraphernalia (now that’s a big word for this here Hobbit) off we headed in the fun cruiser.

            The show, though not as large in scale as the Cheshire show and the like, proved to be well worth the visit being entertaining being perhaps that little more friendly and country if you like. There was plenty to enjoy from lumberjack demonstrations to falconry, green wood turning to gun dog retrieval displays, shooting to fishing in fact all manner of interesting ‘get out there’ stuff.

            The place was littered with all manner of working dogs passing through the throngs; retrievers, sheepdogs, and terriers but the predominant breed was lurchers – bloody well scores of them. We several friendly folk all who were interested in Willow and her history and from these an interesting chat with the group pictured below occurred regarding the possibility of matching here with one of their Beddlington cross whippets, Smokey.

Smokey, a boyfriend?

Myself, Willow,Smokey and Ben

Ben, Woody, Fred and Myself with 'the pack'

            It was Woody who suggested we enter the Warthog into the show rings that were taking place. So with some misgivings yours truly and the Warthog found ourselves parading in the 12 months and under, below 23 inches high,  rough haired lurcher class….

            So here’s me now in the line up tickling Willow’s ears and telling her that we’ll soon be at the hog roast tent when bugger me the judge presses a rosette into my sweaty palm with the words ‘well done, lovely bitch’. For a second I didn’t quite fathom what had happened but then looking at the word 1^st on it dawned on me! The little tyke had only gone and won it, well bloody hell fire I thought. I glanced over at Clare and our new friends and the smiles all round were just magical. Ten minutes later we’re in the ring again against all the 12 month and under class winners – she only bloody well got reserve, who would have believed it!!!

Didn't she do well....

Plum knackered.

            So you can see why the weekend has been a good one, oh and the battle of bloodshed and strategy? Well I am now locked in a battle of chess with my good blogging friend ‘Damn’; we e-mail each other the moves and snippets of conversation and taunts. Truth be told I think that regarding the chess I slightly up against it but I think I’m holding my own come the taunting….Well me thinks I've just time for a couple more ciders before the threat of the early start to the grind draws be to bed.

Till the next time take good care my friends,

John