No such thing as a stranger.

Angus and Sophie are still on French time. 6:30 in the morning there is 5:30 here. This has the advantage that we are up and about when it's quiet and  pretty much have the place to ourselves. ' The Font ' is already  firmly on UK time and sleeps on.

On our start of day walk we greet the ladies who clean the university buildings. They start early.  Yesterday, he ladies were getting off the bus from Dundee and met Sophie for the first time. By today four of them already know her name.

Then as we pass the Old Course we meet pre-dawn  rising Americans queuing up for the first rounds of the day. These patiently waiting golfers fall into 3 categories. Corporate types who stand in self absorbed silence, excited golf nuts who have saved up for a once in a life time chance to play the 'Mecca' of golf, and fathers and teenage sons on a rite of passage. The golf 'nuts' and teenagers chat to Sophie. The corporate types don't. 

On the beach there are seagulls to chase.

On our way back home the family diva heads off at high speed to her rendezvous with a half sausage. What's already apparent is that when you travel with a PON you are never alone. There is no such thing as a stranger.

New character 1

Did I say yesterday that the location of the sausage dispensing hotel kitchen was hardwired into Sophie's brain ? How right I was. This morning we find ourselves back at the exact same spot. The breakfast chef emerges, has a lengthy chat with Sophie, disappears and then re-emerges with half a pork sausage. This I will wager is going to be a fixed point in Sophie's day. 

Down the hill to the harbour. This morning we watch a heron, a flock of geese, half a dozen cormorants and some small brown fluffy ducks of a breed I've never seen before.

Scotland has become quasi-continental since we last lived here. Street cafes full of folks laughing and enjoying themselves in the morning sunshine.

We're spending a night or two in the wee house before the purchase of the new property is finalized. The kitchen fridge provides evidence that the last tenants were  soda loving Americans.

Sophie's truly wonderful Scottish adventure begins.

 

Yesterday sees us head off early . After five days on the road both dog and owners are keen to get this journey over and done with. The traffic quiet as we head up over the border hills and the short hop home. Soon the sign posts start to record names that previous generations of PONs knew by heart.

St.Andrews is busy or what passes for busy in these parts. Groups of American families studying guide books. Dutiful fathers pointing out sights of interest to bored teenagers. The teenagers wondering why they couldn't have gone to Rehoboth Beach like all their friends. Amazingly as we head towards home a parking spot opens up right outside the Wee House. This makes unloading a doddle.

Sophie has a revivifying snack. A fed PON is a happy PON.

Then its time to head off to explore this urban wonderland. This morning we're out on the beach as the sun is rising.

There's water and bird life to be studied

and the scent of lobster pots to savour. Down by the harbour there are scores of rabbits to chase. How marvellous is that ? On our way home the breakfast chef at a local hotel stops to ask me what sort of breed she is. He comes from Toulouse and in a world of serendipity knows the village we've until recently called home. ' Stay here a minute ' he says before reappearing with half a pork sausage. This is gratefully received by my shaggy companion who wholly approves of sausage snacks as part of her perambulations. I have a feeling the coordinates of the hotel kitchen are now hard wired into Sophie's brain.

Nearly there.

Whatever it is the British government spends its money on it's not road improvements.The A1 north bound from London not changed from the way is was when my father drove the family back and fro to Scotland 60 years ago. The infrastructure may not have changed but the volume of traffic has increased tenfold in the intervening half century and a bit. If we do this journey again by car we"ll go south round London and up the M1. Reduced lane widths, traffic jams and roadworks make this penultimate leg of the journey slow and tedious. There is good news. In every service area we stop at Sophie finds a dead bird - one dead seagull, a dead pigeon and something that has been dead long enough to make a firm and authoritative description impossible. From her perspective this ornithological cornucopia makes the journey borderline wonderful.

After seven hours we arrive at our destination near Hexham in time for a fashionably late lunch of mackerel pate and  chicken caesar salad. The hotel chosen from one of those 'where to go with your dog' websites so we're unsure what to expect. As far as the family diva's concerned it couldn't be better. Acres of soft grass underfoot and herds (?) of unsuspecting rabbits in the flowerbeds . Is there any bliss ( Ginger Snap biscuits excluded ) that can compare with finding unsuspecting rabbits in flowerbeds? There is much commotion but as with all Sophie's hunting experiences the rabbits are never at any time in anything approaching danger.

Dogs aren't allowed into the dining room but the receptionist offers to dog sit during dinner. Any reticence on Sophie's part about heading off with a stranger is dispelled by the promise of something to eat and the scents emanating from the kitchen.  So much for family dog devotion. Pre-dinner we order a glass of champagne in the 'Great Hall'. The glass it's served in hints that the hotel remains firmly in an earlier era of hospitality. So does the decor which combines swirly patterned Wilton carpet with an eclectic mix of furniture covered in all sorts of colors and patterns. Suits of armour lurk in unexpected niches. We, having chosen a bottle of wine with dinner, and presumably having thereby marked ourselves out as 'foreign'  are shown into the modern dining room that has been attached to the Edward III era keep by a glass tunnel. We share this room with two Dutchmen who have the unsettling habit of scratching their heads in perfect unison every five minutes and a large Berlin family who are visiting Hadrians Wall and were unnerved to see a man fall off it and break his leg. A helicopter was called which greatly impressed the children. The meal is reasonable and the wine almost so. The fact that Sophie is safe and happy elevates everything several notches. Despite its idiosyncrasies ( or perhaps because of them) we would go again.

Back in the UK

My fears about the veterinary check at Calais completely misplaced. Thanks to the wonders of licence plate recognition Sophie's travel documents were on the screen and we were through the process,  chip read and paperwork completed in 90 seconds . Sophie was unaware that anything was happening.Not a para-military border veterinarian in sight just a cheerful young Frenchman guarding the frontier with his equally cheerful mate..

Same with the Eurotunnel. Time from leaving the veterinary centre to driving onto the train 12 minutes exactly.The UK passport officer said ' It says here you're travelling with a dog. What type is it ?'  At this very moment Sophie gives vent to her displeasure which enables me to answer ' It's a noisy type". We are waved through with a chuckle. Sophie slept through the boarding and the 20 minute journey under the channel. We were at the very front of the upper deck which sways rather  more than the lower deck. Again, despite the heat and the pressure in the tunnel our shaggy companion, journeyed on completely oblivious to her surroundings.

Our first night in the UK at a hotel near Ashford. The same hotel we stayed in when we left the UK with Wilf and Digby eighteen years ago. A natural in and out balance to life. In the interim it  has changed hands and has now become a spa hotel. The guests all wear white bathrobes which hints at a zest for health.They also all seem to be carrying a glass of champagne in one hand which hints that health may not be the sole motivation for them being there.  The hotel charges high prices but exhibits what might most politely be described as a 'cheerful' atmosphere. Sophie is allowed to join us at an outside table on the terrace for dinner Tempura prawns and fish and chips  tell us we have arrived in the land where everything is battered and fried. Even though it"s August and extremely hot by British standards all the radiators in the room are turned up to maximum  and pumping out hot air. A maintenance engineer is called to switch them off. Sophie is given a ginger snap biscuit by a guest. After that life can never be the same again. The chapter of her life with croissants has closed. A new one featuring ginger snap biscuits lies ahead.

We leave at five in the morning to get underway before the dreaded Dartford Crossing becomes jammed. Sophie is calmly enjoying the journey. She dines en famille every evening, gets given treats and is quietly experiencing a lifetimes worth of adventures in just five days. Braised and roasted shoulder of lamb has now been joined by ginger snaps in her panoply of ultimate delights.

The PONettes quest.

The drive up from the nightmare in Angers to the cooler temperatures of Honfleur bumper to bumper busy but the traffic keeps flowing . It's absolute peak vacation season in Europe. After two years of Covid seclusion everyone and their dog is out and about on the roads. Amazingly, roadworks, that bane of  the French travellers life  are notable for their absence

The hotel for day three of the journey to Scotland nestled in a small valley five miles inland from the coast .The sort of post card Normandy village that the satnav has difficulty finding.'Do a U turn if you can' the accompanying and frequent refrain on the back roads from our ever cheerful electronic guide. We arrive early having set off from the heat while it was barely light. Comfort for Sophie and quieter autoroutes for the driver.

Although early The room is ready and we collect our key. The Font notices that there's a table out in the courtyard that's empty. We decide to leave unpacking until later and enjoy an impromptu Sunday lunch by a stream solid with brown trout. The table is near the kitchen which enables Sophie to practice her 'I'm an orphan girl that's never been fed ' routine. The kitchen staff are  having none of it. Eventuallyn the chef emerges and asks if the diva would like some lunch. A metal bowl of cold water appears followed in quick succession by a small pot of sauteed carrots topped with two small slices of lamb shoulder braised then roasted. Sophie's tail does that 'I have died and gone to heaven' beat that all our PONs have displayed at moments of life defining  culinary import.

Just as well we got to the hotel early. At the end of lunch two cars draw up carrying two German couples. The first car a very glossy and presumably mega expensive Lamborghini SUV. The second a slightly less glossy but very new looking four door Porsche. At reception there is a problem. The two couples have a reservation for the night. The hotel has no record of it. The sweet young receptionist is clearly still learning the ropes.The atmosphere goes from bucolic to Dante-esque inferno in seconds. The SUV driver bangs the desk, kicks the porters trolley and turns a shade of red that can't be healthy. Time for dog and owners to retire to their  room away from all this action. In the evening both couples appear at dinner. They're calmer although not necessarily politer to the staff. Curt can become plain  rude if not done right. Seems the owner has found then an AirBnB on the coast and is providing dinner gratis while it's cleaned. Sophie seems unaware of this human drama. For dinner she gets roast salmon and rice.  The PONette's quest for heaven has come true.

Less of a success

Less of a success  on night two of our journey north; The hotel was willing to take dogs and greeted Sophie with the sort of effusive welcome she is rapidly becoming accustomed to. That's where the good news ended. Our room on the ground floor of a sixteenth century castle didn't have air conditioning.  Usually this wouldn't matter  but in these infernal  temperatures the inside was unpleasantly warm. The humans found it just about bearable; their canine companion extremely uncomfortable; We took it in turns to go to the bar to ask for a glass full of ice cubes to cool her down.The barman parted with these reluctantly as if we had a secret drinking habit and were mixing Whiskey Sours in the toothbrush mugs in the bathroom.The ice cubes were added to copious amounts of  cold water and a few tempting kibbles to keep our shaggy companion hydrated and cool. A large party of wedding guests were there for the weekend and had taken all the available fans . "Monsieur There are rooms much hotter than yours' the understandable but unhelpful response from, the front desk. The bathroom had a coolish tiled floor but for some  reason Sophie refused to go into it. That PON logic that says if I go in there I"ll be murdered . So she suffered on the thick pile carpet  

At eleven thirty and again at one Angus and a heavily panting Sophie did a tour of the garden to try to cool down. At two thirty the heat broke and the thunder rolled in. Dog and master were a strange sight sitting out on the terrace in the pouring rain and relatively chill winds . I reassure the nighttime security man that  I'm  a guest and that I"m enjoying the rain. If I'd been French he'd have called the police. Being foreign he accepted this behaviour as if it was the most natural thing in the world. There is a brief and noisy run in with a Belgian man taking his Pomeranian for a restorative early morning walk. The less said of that the better . 36 at ten at night. 20 by three in the morning. Hallelujah.

The grand total for the devilish night ( inclusive of a rather good dinner and a so so bottle of Macon ) came to e666. 'The Font' finds this to be highly amusing. Let it not be said that there is no such thing as Swedish humour.

à

Dog owner Recommendation number 1

Quick update.

 Friday was the hottest day of the year. 42 degrees as Sophie is loaded into the back of the car. It's also peak French vacation time so the autoroute is busy - as in bumper to bumper busy. After two hours we try to find a service area for a comfort break. The first four we try are so crowded we find ourselves circling the car park looking, unsuccessfully, for a parking spot, Our fifth attempt finds us parking on the side of an area of what might have been, pre heat wave, grass. It serves Sophie's purpose.

There is a God. The hotel we've chosen for the night is near Limoges airport. As we drive through endless suburbs and past the control tower our hearts shrink. No need to worry. The suburbs give way to woodland and fields of corn. Nestled by the side of the road  La Chapelle Saint Martin. A place for dog owners travelling through France to enter in their address books. Lawns, lakes and shade from ancient oaks. In the room a letter from  the owners welcoming us and our lady dog to the hotel.

Dinner at the outside bistro, Sophie under the table, nose twitching with delight. She ignores a well behaved German couples Schnauzer and a Belgian Labrador  that is clearly taken with this long haired beauty.Overnight we all enjoy air conditioning that despite the torrid heat manages to maintain a cooling 23 degrees in the garden level bedroom. This morning freshly baked croissants outside on the breakfast terrace. Sophie thinks they're to die for. The family diva is quite simply in heaven. The stress of moving replaced by the joy of new sights and scents. You can see her absorbing this fresh and unexplored world. She quickly learns the quickest way from the room to the kitchen . Before we head off there will  be an hours walk to the lakes before returning to the room for a quick pre journey napette. Dog owners this place is a 10/10.

Will tonights hotel choice be as dog friendly ?  

16 hours to go.

Touch and go with the i-Phone, laptop, temperamental wi-fi signal interface but here goes.

Our  last full day here. The vet gives Sophie  a full hour of his time. The poor wee things not surprisingly a little stressed either because of the scorching heat (42) or because of the steady stream of visitors to The Rickety Old Farmhouse. She  has her pet passport stamped and a Praziquantel tablet is swallowed 'under veterinarian supervision'. The vet has been an important part of our life here. He's seen PONs come and he's seen PONs go and throughout has been a sage , kind and trusted advisor . He has a line from Beckett for every occasion. We are privileged to have met a professional like this. The vet becomes the latest local to burst into tears as we leave. Last night it was the turn of the Anger Management Man to come to the front door to say farewell. 'The Font' gave his 16 year old son a telescope which was the cue for the tears to start streaming in a remarkably unreserved way. Angus gets both a hug and a kiss - on both cheeks. This is not the reaction we expected from a man noted for his 'volcanic' temper.

The Scottish removal men worked hard all day until eight and the sun was setting. Packing in 40 degree heat was difficult but they did it. They planned to drive off straight after they finished but they were booked into the local gites for a second night and were able to relax with steak and chips, a few beers and the gites swimming pool. They set off at four thirty this morning to clear customs in Paris. They are on the first ferry across the Channel on Saturday morning. Removal men have a hard life.

Preparations are underway for the arrival of the new owner tomorrow. After introductions are made ( and Sophie fed ) we shall quietly head off to new places and new adventures. We are excited. It is for us to bow out gracefully and let him be the centre of attention. 

Our long journey with PONs has shown us that despite what the media would have us believe people are generally kind and thoughtful and considerate. This has certainly been the case with the inhabitants of this quiet, deeply unfashionable, little village.

Au Revoir

 

The Scottish removal men are very efficient. The Chippendale sofas have been taken out through an upstairs window and the bulk of the pictures put into specially made wooden crates. All the books are off the shelves and packed.  I've no idea how long we'll have our desk tops so here are some gratuitous start of day photos of Sophie amid the sunflowers.

Four French 'helpers' are supposedly on their way to pack up the kitchen and the snug but they're an hour late. Despite this the foreman thinks they'll be finished and on their way to the customs clearance station in Paris by seven or eight tonight. We've booked them for a second night in the gites just in case they run over.  Pre-Brexit  moving would have been a case of putting it on a van here and taking it off at the other end. Now, it has to be screened in Paris by the douanes for the princely sum of e450.

On Friday there will be a reception for the villagers to meet the new owner of The Rickety Old Farmhouse. We want this to be a joyous affair. The old and new mayors will be here at noon. Madame Bay ( who wonders if the couturiers workshop can make new curtains for her bedroom ) will be here at 11:45 and the other villagers will show up some time after 12:15. The reception is a perfect chance to use up all the wine that we're not shipping back. The new mayor is quite chuffed. Other mayors have been phoning up asking if it's true that this well known Parisian figure has bought a house in the village. Last week I gave him the couturiers French Wikipedia pages so he has been talking away with great knowledge about this seasons perfume range. I am reminded that the grapevine in French villages is very efficient.

After the gethering for the new owner we shall amble slowly northwards with Sophie in the RHD Volvo. All the passengers will be delighted that it has a fierce aircon system. On Friday the temperatures are due to be back above 40 again. 

If Angus can work out how to coordinate Blogger,  the laptop, the i-phone and French country wi-fi there may be updates on our journey north. Of course it's equally likely that he will be defeated by one or all of these.

So until we meet again a hearty 'Au Revoir' from Sophie to all her friends. Her blog will soon change its title to 'Sophie's simply wonderful Scottish adventure'.