Palace under the Pier

As the sun came up and the grey light of dawn crept into our sleeping place, I could see it for what it was. A stone folly, as found at the end of many beaches and promenades, three sided with doorways on two of those and an arched roof. Just as well the weather was holding, because had it rained we would soon have been soaked.

EYES: A word, if I may.

Maddog is old now and his health is failing. At 13 years, 5 months and one day old, he is doing very well for a dog of his breeding - 13 is generally accepted to be "last legs" territory for Collies, and "dead" for the other breeds in his makeup. In other words, we are very lucky that he is still with us at all.

Given the above, it is unrealistic now that he will fulfill his aim and finish telling his life story for himself. He simply hasn't got long enough left. I do not exagerrate (sp?) when I tell you that he has cost me more in vets' fees in the last month alone than the house in which we live costs me in mortgage payments. Just this morning I forked out yet another £110 for his various drugs, dressings, creams and special foodstuffs. He eats like a king now, as he is under vet's orders to be spoilt rotten and fed "whatever you can tempt him with". So far today we have managed to get half a tub of Liver Pate, half a homemade (by one of his many friends) caramel slice, several tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches and a few mouthfuls of actual dog food down his now spectacularly scrawny neck.

He has a neurological problem in his spine, which has left his back legs extremely weak. An ear infection in his right ear has alerted us to the presence of a tumour which makes his balance iffy to say the very least. He has such advanced muscle wastage that he is skin and bone, a condition which results in the appearance of pressure sores, which he then chews into gaping wounds, which in turn have to be cleaned, creamed and dressed twice a day. He is on a cocktail of medications to help him enjoy his last days as best he can, all delivered wrapped up in wafer thin ham. Preferably honey roast. We did not expect him to last the summer, hence the lack of postings to his blog - it has simply been too painful to look back on his youth when every week I have expected to come home and find he has passed in my absence. That said, it is now late August and he is still tottering on. So maybe we need to think about getting him out to do his business once the weather is too cold to leave the back door permenantly open, after all.

Reading the above, it would be understandable for you, the reader, to consider me cruel in keeping him going at all. In fact only a few weeks ago, when what turned out to be the aforementioned ear infection was causing him acute distress, we actually got as far as paying for a vet to come out and put him to sleep. Those few hours, thinking my first love would be leaving me forever, were some of the most heartrending I have ever experienced, and when it turned out we could help him after all the £250 bill was merely a relief. The point, though, is that when it is time I know I will have to let him go, and I am prepared to bite the bullet and do it. But that time hasn't come yet.

He still scarpers down the road every time anyone leaves the gate open. He still barks for attention and hauls himself across the garden when he needs to "go" - unless you leave him with a dogsitter (in the form of my husband's nephew) for a few days in which case he feigns incontinence. To go into too much detail about his other little geriatric escapades would be to spoil his story for those who stick with it to the end...Suffice to say there's life in the old dog yet. This morning he sat bolt upright in the Landy on his way to the vet with the biggest erection he's had in years. Of course, the second we stepped through the surgery door his legs went everywhere and he looked a mess as he collapsed in a pathetic looking heap by the counter. He then suddenly managed to summon enough energy to haul me across the car park on the way out again, pausing to stick his nose up a very unimpressed young Rottweiler's bum on the way past. Draw your own conclusions. His heart, at least, is still strong - in every respect.

I shall step back now, for as long as he is still here he can speak for himself. I'll return when he finally says his last goodbye. In the meantime, you can rest assured that there never has been, and never will be, a dog as loved as Maddog.

Slow Boat to Brighton

Travelling by bus is never the most efficient way to get from A to B, but since I had no idea where we were going, or how long it should have taken, who was I to complain?


As we boarded the first leg of the journey, abandoning bags in the luggage rack by the door and climbing the stairs to the upper deck, anticipation ran high. JD had one seat, with Man behind. Eyes took the seat behind that and I sat alert in her lap, watching the road to the South Coast go by. As the day wore on, we wove through villages and along country lanes, until eventually the view became more urban, and the smell of salt was in the air. Noses twitching, we climbed down and out, into the bright sunshine and holiday bustle of Portsmouth, with it's Naval harbour and seafaring spirit.



Thinking we had arrived, I relaxed and prepared to stretch and run as I was set down on the pavement and water was poured into bowls. The sound of ferries drifted in from the water and I started to wonder what this new place would have in store for us, casting around for people and dogs who were, if not familiar, then at least of our kind. There were none to be seen, so maybe we would have to get out of the bus station to find them, in which case what were we waiting for? Why, after all the time it took to get here - 2 hours seeming a lifetime when you're a pup - were Eyes and Man not raring to go? Nothing was happening at all, we simply moved ourselves and our bags from one stand to another and sat down again. What was the point of that?


The point became clear with the arrival of another bus. We clambered on once more and this time, feeling somewhat misled by the idea of this travelling lark, I curled up and dozed, the rocking of the suspension lulling me away into my own thoughts.



I have no idea how much time had passed when we eventually got off, but I do know that the sun was low in the sky and the shadows were lengthening in the afternoon sun. Worthing is a penshioners haven, but for us it was home for the night. At the end of the prom was an old folly, and it was here that blankets were rolled out and dog bowls filled. I fell asleep in my usual place inside the sleeping bag, sniffing the sea air and wondering what tomorrow would bring. The answer, although I didn't know it then, was the bright lights of Brighton.

SNAPSHOTS: People left behind, Salisbury, Early Summer 1994

Mick and Dog. A tall ex-Navy man from Ayre and his shaggy black and tan Collie cross. Enough said already.

Ian and Miles Dog. The first in his late 20s, the second so called because Ian had to go "miles and miles" to get him.

Gimme Jimmy, AKA Animal and Pup. Gruff old timer, with his tiny tan bitch. On licence after stabbing his wife 24 times and serving most of a 14 year sentence. Heart of gold.

Catweasel. Mad, filthy, but irresistable funny. Fondness for Valium. Not anythign like as old as she looked.

Jason AKA JJ. Had a black and white mongrel who's name I forget but who left scars which still remain. Mean and mercenary little sod, but kind of endearing with it. Much like his owner.

Steve Mac. Hapless Glasgow lad turned worse. Usually found in a pool of his own vomit demanding "twos up" on cigarettes smoked by innocent passers by. Women couldn't help but try and mother him. Favourite song - "All Together Now", usually belted out on the way to soup kitchen.

Mick AKA Ed the Duck. Green Mohawk. Thought a lot of himself. He was the only one who did, except perhaps for his girlfriend Alex in her drunker moments.

Tina. Ex-Warrington girl, former model. Hard but decent lass, sadle mainly attracted to arseholes.

Tweaky and Niamh (pronounced "Neeve") - Ex traveller, now settled down in a house with the mother of his former girlfriend. Didn't drink or toke, smoked half a roll-up at a time. As sound as sound could be.

Ian and Carey, with Mutley and Socks respectively - Travellers again, forced into various forms of accomodation by heroin addiction and general chaos, but basically more together than the rets of us.

Jimmy Buchanan - Another loud middle-aged Scotsman, lived in the Friary Estate with on-off "bird" Mel, who was even louder.

Babs, Old Jo, Jenny, Nat and Tyler, Mad Gary and his three labs, Gary D and Vic - the lad responsible for his near-fatal and brain damage inducing car crash, still his friend...the list goes on and on. Good people, despite the rough exteriors.

They would not all be there when we returned.

24th March 2007

I am 13 today. Where did it go?

Time to Go

The laws of Physics say that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The laws of Skippering are no different. A few days after returning to town, we were pushed out onto the streets once again.



It was a Sunday, and we'd had a lie-in. Mick had reappeared mid-morning, Dog in tow, after spending the night in the Police cells. He'd been arrested for Drunk and Insensible (D&I) again, but as he said, at least he'd had breakfast. After sparking up the first of the day's joints at about 11am, the munchies set in and Eyes busied herself pulling out the gas stove and opening a tin of meatballs. The sun was streaming in through the window, Mick and Man were bantering rather than bickering, and all was good in our little world. We were looking forward to a well deserved lazy day, toking and relaxing and working through our thoughts about the Shaftesbury experience - Mick had been on site up until a few years previously, and both Man and Eyes had harboured dreams in that direction for a good long time. Our visit had only strengthened their resolve.



It was just as that first tin had been opened that the door downstairs was kicked in and heavy boots could be heard down below. We all froze as they headed for the stairs and it wasn't until we heard them start to climb up towards us when Dog and JD finally came to their senses. They were closer to each other than they had ever been as they shot down towards our "visitors", barking for all they were worth. There were sounds of a struggle and a yelp, followed by an angry of "Gerrof me you manky fucking mutt", the sickening sound of plank being swung at JD and then bouncing off the wall, and a second voice shouting "Fuck this, I'm getting mi'shotgun, filthy fuckers". More footsteps as the intruders backed off to the bottom of the steps, low warning growls from the two canines, and then the first voice again, giving us an hour to get out or they'd be back, and warning that no fleabitten mongrels would stop them beating us out if we were still there when they paid their second visit. We didn't need telling twice. We'd thrown everything together and run within twenty minutes. The can of meatballs may well still be there to this day - my last image of that place remains the sight of it sitting on the floor, all glistening and tempting to a hungry pup like me, and thinking what a waste...

I don't know where Mick went - he had his boltholes, as we all did. Our little family headed into town and called in on a friend of Man's called Tina, a girl who worked in the local Wimpy bar. He had been new to the area just a few months before I found Eyes - they hadn't known each other long when she got me - and Tina was an incomer too, lured from Warrington by the promise of Stonehenge and the New Age. He called in to the shop for a cup of tea one day and things went on from there. Sometimes we visited her at her tiny bedsit on the edge of town, but we were never able to stay the night there for fear of being caught by her landlord. This emergency was no exception, but it was in the course of talking things over together that Man announced that it was time to move on. He had drifted from town to town before washing up in Salisbury - getting run out of most of them, it later transpired - and now was the time to do the same thing again. Eyes readily agreed. If we couldn't get onto a Traveller's site yet, the next best thing was just to up sticks and get travelling. Tina was disillusioned by the reality of the small Wiltshire town in which she found herself beached, and said we should go for it while we had no ties. After the usual "waste" from the burger bar had been fed to me and JD (the sausages were our favourite), we headed back to the tunnel we had squatted in previously to make our plans.

Neither of us had any way of knowing it at the time, but this decision was to be one of the first big mistakes that Eyes made. A few days later Man signed off and collected our meagre dole money - a glitch in the law meant he could claim for Eyes too, even though she was too young to claim for herself - and we said our goodbyes before getting on a bus and leaving town.

Shaftesbury Site.

As we headed out to the Blackmore Vale, the windows were opened and I could smell freedom on the wind as the roads narrowed. Eventually we turned down a dirt track and headed deeper onto the common, bumping along until finally dark shapes started to loom out of the by now twilight mist. Closer still, the shapes began to emerge as trailers, buses and trucks, each tucked into a clearing of it's own. The car stopped and the doors were opened. JD and I were set free and left to explore, whilst Eyes and Man took our bags and put them inside one of the caravans.

Running, sniffing and leaping through the grass, we rolled in delight at the space and the clear, natural smells. Here and there woodsmoke reached our noses, along with the scent of wild animals and other dogs. JD vanished in search of those dogs after a short while, but I was still small, nervous, and easily tired, so I made my way back to Eyes.

She scooped me up and we headed towards another trailer, this one painted marroon, with curved front windows and another smaller set along the top. Chas and Man talked about it as we walked, commenting on it's "mollycroft" and distinctive shape which marked it out as "a Safari" and "classic".

By this time it was dark and cold, so I was both surprised and comforted to feel a blast of heat as we opened the door and clambered inside, shedding footwear as we entered. Inside was candlelit, with a small kitchen room to the right with a sliding door, and a larger area to the left. Turning into the warmth, I could see a long bench seat with coloured throws and cushions along one wall and a woodburning stove on the other, with a tall stack pipe leading out through the roof. At the far end was a double bed, again with a coloured throw, and a dog basket underneath in which lay a tan-coloured bitch. Sitting on the bed was a girl in a red jumper, with a ring through her nose and a head full of thin, finely woven dreadlocks. She was smiling, and reaching out to pet her dog, and next thing I knew I was being held down for the older female to investigate me, ears up and nose quivering. Once she was satisfied that I was too small to intrude on her territory, "Carolyn" (the dreadlock girl) lifted me up onto the bed and I sank into it's warm and cushioned softness. Within seconds I had company, and I curled up with my new canine acquaintance, nose on the edge of a large cushion so as not to miss anything.

As the evening unfolded, it passed in much the same way as any of those we had spent in the skippers. Wood and hash smoke mingled, and conversation flowed in it's usual mellow fashion. JD reappeared at some point and took up a place in front of the stove - after a thorough vetting by the mistress of the house, naturally. Dogs were fed and at some point thick slices of toast slathered with lemon curd were prepared by Chas in the kitchen by the light of a hurricane lantern and passed around - a good quantity making it's way to the slobbering chops of the canine members present. Endless cups of tea were made from a big kettle which was refilled and kept permanently just off the boil on top of the stove. No-one present was a drinker, so the atmosphere was soporific, all of us slowly succumbing to the haze.

The big difference to a normal night, however, was the feeling of safety. There was plenty of wood to keep feeding the fire, collected and cut by Carolyn earlier that day. There was no need to hide our lights lest anyone should see - when I ventured outside to do what was needed, I only had to look up to find my way back. The door was always left open for me to return. The food was basic, but fresh and hot. No-one was concerned about what happened outside, and it was only as we relaxed that we realised the extent to which we had been permanently on guard for trouble. Here we could let it all go. Here we were secure.

Eventually Man, Eyes, JD and I headed back to the first trailer - Chas's, it turned out - and bedded down. It was cold in there as it had been empty for a while and didn't have the comforts of the Safari, but we soon cuddled up as a family, and the feeling of release continued. We slept like babies, even JD finally letting out a deep sigh and going off duty.

The next morning we awoke to birdsong and headed back to town. It had been a short respite, but an important one. Now we had a goal. We didn't know how or where we were going to do it, but we all knew that site was where we wanted to be.