Birdy the Immigrant Cat

Birdy the Immigrant Cat

In early summer of last year

a scruffy cat appeared my dear.

Stepping inside our cosy home

strolling about, a nosy roam.

She stepped into our living room

what was there? Or indeed whom?

Turning tail to run up the stair

curious to find what was up there.

The next few times she would call

by climbing over our high back wall,

she followed me at my feet

I in turn, gave a little snack to eat.

In time she chose to live with us

(bringing a mouse in caused a fuss).

We had to get rid of some pesky fleas

the scratching ended; that should please.

She stays at home whilst it’s light

and then goes out to hunt or fight,

or find a mouse with whom to play,

then sleeping soundly half the day.

She comes running in when I get up

on china plate, food and milk to sup

Now her coat has a silky shine

and I consider that she is mine. 

From years ago some of our many other cats Pu Yi here

 

This morning I grasped the nettle well and truly and realised very quickly what a big mistake that can be for some. The nettle grasp took the form of trip to the vet. I had been putting off this moment for some time but after a talk with my daughter I realised that it had to be done.

                                                   This was Heidi also a Rex cat

The beautiful cat that the poem here is all about Birdy, who first started to visit us early last summer on a casual basis but long ago well and truly moved in to our home and we have come to love her to pieces. Of course she is very independent as is the character of most cats. As with the old and very true expression; Dogs have owners but cats have staff! 

                                                    The Great Babar our first rex cat

The reason I have put off taking her to the vet is that I realised that there was a possibility that she might be chipped and registered to an earlier owner. When she moved in with us, I did post photos of her always adding that “This is not my cat”, even though she struts around as if she owns the place and is very demanding, making her wishes very plain without having to speak cat fluently. She feels like very much our cat now.

                                        Wion, Pu Yi and Heidi at the top and Perry the rag doll cat in bed 

About two weeks ago I bought a cat carrier from Amazon because of the impending visit to the vets. I should add at this point that my husband Steve and I have not had a cat for many years, we had always had several cats before, due to a nasty virus that one cat caught, and then passed on to another and another. This is just like we are seeing in the world now with the Corona Virus. We lost our three cats in quick succession and were so distraught about it that we did not want to get another cat for a very long time until this minx arrived because we could not face that hurt again. It has been many years maybe as many as fifteen years that we have been cat less.

These two are Pu Yi again who was a Devon Rex and a rescue cat Tempest from Shepherds Bush market.

So this cat appearing and working her way slowly into our affections have been a long slow final therapy and we are happy again to have a new member of our family.

As I sat waiting for my turn this morning my stomach was churning at the thought that maybe even after nine of ten months that she may have another family who were wondering where she was.

Sure enough when I told the vet that I wanted to register Birdy, they took down the details asking how old she was. That was the point when I said that she was a stray squatter who had moved in gradually and had lived with us from a quite long time. Well cutting this a little shorter the vet checked to see is she was chipped and sure enough she was. Having finished checking her over the vat agreed that she was a beautiful cat and that she was obviously well cared for. However the fact that she was chipped had to be checked out. 

                                               Another rescue cat Tigger

The vet rang me this afternoon to say that they had tried to get in touch with the previous owners but not succeeded and there was no record of any treatment. Amazingly the vet who realised that she lived close to the previous owners had gone to the house but had found a sold notice outside. She told me that she would write, from the practice to try to contact the original home and let me know what the outcome was.

Obviously we are on tender hooks now because if they are contacted and if they want her back, we will have to hand her over and face heartbreak all over again. 

   

                           The Gayer Anderson Cat In the British museum

                                  Copy of the Gayer Anderson Cat in our home

Run training wrecking weather.

Run training wrecking weather.

For much of this year so far, we in the UK have been bombarded by one storm after another. In the area where we live trees have been blown down, the countryside has been flooded and pebbles washed all over the seafront promenade and the sea road. It is the worst I have seen during the nearly sixty years that I have lived in the Littlehampton area. 

For us being quite selfish about the state of our area, it has wiped out some of the run routes that we have taken for granted over the rather long time that we have lived in the triathlon world. The worst affected run being on the west side of the river Arun as far as Clymping, where the sea defences have been completely washed away and the farm land behind the beach has been flooded cutting that two hour run for me down to a forty minute run before it is too messy to use. 

   

For thirty years give or take, on the weekends that we were not either on holiday or competing in a triathlon somewhere far away, we would be going out for our favourite Sunday run in Angmering Park this has also become a muddy, slushy mess for a while and we have moved our run to Arundel.

Traditionally we start our Sunday run roughly 8-10 minutes before our slightly faster and younger friend who turns up that fraction later coming from a different direction. We start our run with a short brisk walk to the gate that that is our set start point. 

 

Our friend catches us somewhere along the way and if we don’t see her until the end, it is because she is a seriously ‘Green’, not just a thinker but a doer, in that she runs with a backpack and picks up plastic litter that the thoughtless and I venture to say brainless oiks, have thrown aside into the hedges and ditches along the way. She also runs barefoot some of the time on the unmade up sections.

I do carry a shopping bag on the beach when I walk there and on my way home in my neighbourhood. The littering never used to happen when we first moved into our little cottage twenty five years ago when it was a country lane. However the council have seen fit to allow the building of over a thousand new houses to surround our formerly pretty lane, that now has eroded banks from the bus service that was introduced for the new estate residents of the two large new estates here abouts. The result is a regular trail of Mcdonald’s wrappers and beer tins thrown down by, and there is no nice name for these people, nothing that suits them better than plain, environmentally ignorant pigs! 

Getting back to the training for my husband/triathlon coach and myself; Angmering Park is a stretch of well managed wooded countryside that we feel we are blessed to be able to use for our run training. Half of our run route travels along part of the Monarchs Way, an ancient long national footpath dating from the battle of Worcester on 1651. I often think what a great holiday idea that would be, to walk the entire route taken by Charles II after his defeat at that battle, I have always been dead keen on our nation’s history so it really appeals to me. This full walk is 615 miles or 993 km. 

I am afraid that my busy life as a triathlete puts that big bright idea right out of the window for the next couple of years at least, though I have completed a number of long point to point walking holidays in the past that were rapturously engaged upon. How-jolly-ever; because of my incredible race programme, that will have to wait. 

The 2020 race plan starts with a fabulous looking Ironman 51-50 (Olympic distance) event in Poreĉ, Croatia, on the Istrian Peninsula on the 10^th  May. 

Two weeks later the race that I am most excited about this year will be an Ironman 70.3 (half Ironman) in Graz, Austria I have looked up as many travel websites as time allows and Graz looks wonderful and it is incredible that with all the travelling Steve and I have done through Austria, that we seem to have missed a precious gem somehow. Well that will be rectified soon enough. 

Below is a reminder of what this mad old bat of triathlon is looking forward to this summer.

         March 27-28-29^th Swimathon Triple Challenge

         (5000 mtr. Pool swim three days running).

April 26^th Bluebell run. 10km off road woodland run

May 10^th Poreč, Croatia

Ironman 51-50 1500mtr sea swim- 40km bike-10

May 24^th Ironman Graz 70.3, Austria. (Half Ironman distance)

1800 lake swim- 90km bike- 21 km run

May 30^th Run-2-Music Sea front 10km running event in Brighton

June 14^th Royal Windsor Triathlon 1500-40-10

July 5^th Klagenfurt Ironman Austria

3800 lake swim-180km bike-marathon run

July 12^th National Aquathlon Championships, Worthing.

Sea swim/promenade run (current 2019 title holder in AG)

26^th July Dawn on the Downs 26th off road downland run

August 1^st Pier 2 Pier open water sea swim Isle of Wight

Sandown to Shanklin 1.8 miles

August 30^th Zell am Zee Ironman 70.3 (distance as Graz race)

September 6^th Koper, Slovenia Ironman 70.3 (as Graz race)

September 13^th Brighton and Hove Triathlon

1500mtr sea swim/ 40km bike/10km run

Qualifier for 2021 World Championships in Bermuda

Stopping to think

 

It is always at about is time of year, when I am checking that everything is looking as though all the thought and planning is coming together and looking good. Then I halt in my tracks and think; 'Oh my God' that race programme looks massive! What have I done? Have I bitten off more than I can chew?

But then I get back to the old, what will be, will be, attitude. Piece by piece the plan looks like fun, lots of exciting travel, new places to see. Still I think it looks like a lot of events, but I reason that all I can do is take one step at a time, one day at a time. After all I have been training all through the winter and have got through all the horrible short dark days that take their toll on me. I admit to probably being one of many people who suffer a little bit with the S.A.D syndrome. I keep all the lights on to stop myself sinking into a fit of the gloomies.

Spring is coming though, the signs are all there. It stays light for longer in the afternoons. Even though we have had some horrendous storms and trees have been brought down, fields and peoples homes flooded and the Sea Road is covered with pebbles. Yet the Daffodil's are bursting into flower, yellow trumpets blaring 'spring is coming'. Some trees are bearing blossom already. I should be reassured.

I must stand by what I have committed to and should therefore push past the moments when I question myself. For goodness sake I am only one year older than I was for last years races. EEEK! Panic. Pray. Calm down for pity's sake girl. Get a grip.

This is my pre-season call for confidence and strength. I wrote it years ago but it is one of my poems that I turn back to many times. I have changed it here and there, now and again but the content is stone solidly full of my fears that I must overcome, little change there then.

Archangel

Will there be an angel above to watch over me

as I pursue my continually active path.

Will my angel be pleased with what in me they see?

Will my enemies ever see my guardian’s wrath?

My angel knows me well but I can only dream

as to how my heavenly partner would appear,

do I fit with the Almighty’s planned scheme?

Or do both God and Angel think me queer?

Ultimately I am left with a freedom of will;

making the best of each branch of life’s tree.

Just try my hardest my dreams to fulfill

as I launch myself into an earthly Grand Prix.

Hold firm in my mind what I think is the theme

Then ride the waves and heaven help me steer.

If I’m wrong let the angel send a warning beam

and check the reins for a path more austere.

Demeanour be approved as I ride a wild sea

protect me with your sword held high in goodwill;

Your armour glinting as I run before you free

send me your warnings via a plucked wing quill.

Gold Angel tresses reflect in sunlight’s gleam

mighty wings wafting my spirit with good cheer.

Pray for my safety and find it in my celestial team,

with perseverance push and hope the way is clear.

Fight for success ‘til the end of the mission see

gather interest from my training hours drill.

God give me strength I ask on bended knee

push on doggedly my focus kept on icy chill.

The Archangel rides on, inside my soul’s sphere

and has my back, as I feel tender muscles scream.

Then at last the end is in sight, to the finish veer

to complete the work so many think extreme.

Power Hour Interclub swim session

Last Saturday evening our usual club swim was transformed, as was the club swim for Littlehampton's original tri club, Tuff Fitty Triathlon Club who, just so any reader of this blog might discover, was founded by Steve and I roughly 27 years ago or maybe longer than that when we first took up the sport ourselves. Now every Saturday evening we share the pool for training of two clubs. Our club is much more a swimmers club although there are still a few of us that are also triathletes.

Although I am not sure exactly whose brain child the Power Hour was, I strongly suspect Clive and Nicole Patterson-Lett had much to do with bringing it about. It was such a success that I hope it will become at least an annual event. 

What it boiled down to was something to lift our swimmers spirits in the midst of yet another major named storm (Dennis) blowing its head off outside, whilst inside the brand new this year Littlehampton Wave pool complex, there was a very friendly inter-club event going on.Members of both clubs were placed in teams of mixed ability for a non stop Power Hour of continuous 100 metre swims. There were two teams per lane with half a lane for each team of course. Tumble turns were not allowed.

Whilst we gathered before the event start, Nicole handed me a list of teams so that I could advice and introduce my Trinity members to the TFTC members that they would be swimming with and see that they found their team lane. The reason I was not actually participating was that I had been to nearby St Richards Hospital in Chichester and had three biopsy’s done on suspect sun damage spots on my face, on my poor old skin ravaged by thirty years of long races, in when I would be out biking and running all day long in the sun. Note here: slap the sun block on folks. Anyway they were not healed fit for me to join in the fun by that evening. 

My husband/triathlon coach Steve had been working in France at a series of Antiques fairs for ten days and only arrived home in time to grab his swim kit bag and join me to head down to Littlehampton Wave in time for the fun to event to begin, though his daily routine had been ten days of drive the truck-work-eat-sleep. No training! He thought that the session would wash the weariness away. E did enjoy everything apart from a touch of cramp, probably due to so many hours sitting still driving on the approach to the invitation evening.

So when the red hand of the timing clock reached the top, at 5pm, the teams were off, doing continuous 100 metre swims, then getting out of the water whilst the other team members thrashed through their own 100 metres before getting back in for the next. I spoke to a number of swimmers as I wandered around checking on my chickens, who all said “I think I went out too fast on the first one”! One swimmer got out a little way after the thirty minute mark saying “I want my Mum”! My husband has a catch phrase to use at those moments which is “Shut up and swim”! Over the years he has been presented with a caps and poolside shirts and tee shirts with that slogan printed on them.

It was a truly fun evening and I think it honest and true to say that everybody thoroughly enjoyed it, so thanks to the Tuff mob for inventing it and inviting our lot to test themselves in a slightly different way. 

I think the photos confirm my words that the mixed ability and ages of the twin club members were at least equal in the pleasure taken from the session. As a prime example, the top photo is of Verity-Jane Lacey with her daughter Darcy who are in fact, photo-bombing my long shot of the pool. Verity was a member of Tuff Fitty when we first started the club and she was about the same age as her daughter is now. Verity's mother June, was Manager at the Aquarena in Worthing, where we held a couple of our weekly club swim sessions. One was at 6.30 am on Wednesdays, where we picked up a number of police officers who had been on nights and some staff from the hospital the other side of the park. Among the swimmers doing the Power Hour some a have similar history, proof of that is a group shot of a swim camp at Club La Santa. Among the glamour is a paramedic, fire fighter,

nurse and a doctor.

Below is a short Facebook report from TFTC 

CONGRATULATIONS Tuff Fitty and Trinity swimmers. 52 of you blasted thru a total of... 32miles, just over 51km. You’re ALL winners in the eyes of your Captains 😉 but Team15 (Tom Frith, Lee Cullen and Spencer Scott) claimed the most 100’s
Thanks to all those that made the effort to turn up and be on time.
Thanks to our motivational coaches - Cliff, Debbie, Kev and Daphne.
And a special shout out to DJ Roper for the tunes!
Watch this space for more Captain’s events throughout the year 😁

'Friend' of the CFT on a soap box

 Chichester Festival Theatre

‘Friend’ on a soap box.

My postbag yesterday instantly got my wild up. It contained the new seasons programme for my favourite twin theatres, The Chichester Festival Theatre and its utterly wonderful sibling the Minerva Theatre. My husband and I have been fans of the complex since it opened in the sixties, all recently renovated at great cost.

They have loyalty schemes in place but unlike the Boots store card, that I feel is the best of the bunch, the CFT is obviously for the benefit of theatre, so that it can maintain its most excellent reputation for presenting fine theatrical art works. No complaint from me on that front. 

I subscribe to the ‘Friends’ system myself. This is the base level of support for the theatre, of course the levels go up and up depending on how generously patrons give their support. The reason I felt miffed enough to make the journey to Chichester from my home in Littlehampton yesterday was that I felt there was a kind of failure in sending out the Friends information in time for them to benefit from it.

The winter programme Friends priority booking information did not arrive until 11.30 am on the morning that the priority booking opened at 9 am! I was horrified. At this point I should come perfectly clean and state that I do not pay my Friends membership fee of £37 for the benefit of my beloved theatre, Oh no! I pay the £37 which is close to the cost of seat, purely for my benefit, the idea is that I can get good seats for all the performances that my sweet hubby and I want to enjoy during the season. On most occasions, a friend from our own inner circle joins us. My darling man, wants to sit in the front row you see, or with a bit of muttering, he will settle for the second row.

So that is how come when we went to see the BBC Concert Orchestra playing pieces from the musicals that we scraped into with one seat in the second row, one seat in the row behind that and the last of the three required place was in the row behind that. Not ideal at all.

In fact we only acquired one set of front row seats for the whole season, that for the superb production of MacBeth. Yesterday the delivery of the new summer programme and members leaflet arrived at 11 am and I noticed that one of the events shown was for the evening before. So something sadly amiss with the postal plans.

So I puffed my chest out a drove over to Chichester to go in and make a personal complaint. When I arrived, I asked at the box office if I could speak to somebody connected to the Friends administration department who could hear my complaint. I was asked to explain what the complaint entailed and having responded I was directed to the Stage Door and told to speak to the man there who would call somebody to speak to me.

The lady who arrived before me, introduced herself as Julie the Friends administrator. She listened politely to my complaint and admitted that they knew some of the information for the winter season had arrived late. When I mentioned that there was an event shown this time, that was in fact for the evening before, the Thursday before the Friday that I presented myself, Julie told me that I could not have gone to that anyway because it was A Festival Players Event and not a Friends Event. Nice put down! 

OHHHHHHH I thought, here we go with the upper crust tier system. However that made me feel even more put out, and at that point I launched into how very unimportant ‘Friends’ of the CFT really are and suggested that we are fractionally more advantaged than Joe public who must wait a few more days to book seats. We are like friends that are long forgotten, like somebody you knew at school and lost track of. 

The discussion between Julie and I went on for some fifteen minutes when upon a sudden; A tall man strode towards us and introduced himself. I was so taken aback that I may have made a remark about 'sending in the cavalry' or reinforcements, but I do recall turning to the gentleman and asking if he wanted to pat me down to see if I were armed with weapons on some sort. A one to one verbal exchange was then unbalanced to say the least, and I do recall mentioning in the conversation that I would be 81 on my next birthday and that old as I am, my husband still likes to sit in the theatre and hold my hand comfortably and not from the row behind me.  

 The tier system of benefits goes on and on. You are invited to leave a legacy, or name a seat; you’ll like this one! Naming a seat costs FROM £1000.00 for 10 years right up to £10.000 for fifty years by which time the building would have been replaced or renovated again and certainly your £10.000 seat would have worn out and been replaced. After that, Oh my Lord, don’t ask, Festival Players , Commissioning and Patron circles, Corporate partners and ever onwards.

When I looked all this up, having been a devoted CFT ticket buyer since it opened many years ago and having the level of support well and truly explained to me, it just confirmed what an unfair system it is to the poor of 'Friend'. When I searched further having been told by Julie and the tall gentleman that they could reassure me that nobody got to buy tickets before the Friends Priority date and time, I wonder, that even that is not so, according to their own website that shows other levels of supporters being able to get tickets several days before the ‘Friends’ Priority booking. So they did not tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth did they?

 An unhappy ‘Friend’ and faithful ticket buyer of many year standing.

In dreams

Evening Ritual

There he is again;

Then there is always pain

every time seeing him

is it just a mental whim?

Thoughts in my head

of my father, a long time dead,

standing at the Belfast sink

what brings me racing to that link?

The image takes me so far back

something my heart and I still lack?

Stripped down to his waist,

the image I then faced

after he came home from work.

passing me a weary loving smirk.

his old trade bike propped against the wall,

I sat on the front of that when I was small.

A big cup of tea he’d brew;

Then the next thing he would do

was shut the scullery door with a wink,

as he stood bare chested

at the Belfast sink.

Music has always been a joy to me,

I listened, whilst I ate my chips

my dad whistling through his teeth

and never through his rounded lips.

My mother sang and music played

the radio each day, just blared away

a wide range of programmes

and to any music I would sway.

My Dad had played the cornet

or mill works brass band horn,

taught by his well known uncle

long before I was born.

He joined the Salvation Army band

at the bandstand there was no doubt.

We’d listen happily as they played

smiling to ourselves inside and out.

Pocket Photo

Wearing a light summer frock

Patterned design of little flowers

A small boy of seven or eight years old

Leans on his Mum's right leg

With a serious sad sullen expression

Eyes on the camera lock

On the mothers other knee

A small girl

Little more than a baby

Hair, ribbon tied, a curly shock

A ringlet falls over her forehead

A satin bow fights to hold an unruly lock

Both children reflect the look in mother’s eyes

Both sadly missing their soldier Father

Away serving in the Army

In his regiments Army block

The war not over until

Some years have passed

And by then the little girl

Is as old as the boy is in the photograph

The image sits beneath the clock

The professional photo taken

As a reminder that whilst he fights for his country

To keep his family safe.

Their worried faces

A reminder of how much they love him

How badly they want him to come home again.

The photo now a crumpled block

Kept in a pocket next to his heart

All through those

Terrifying war years

When the huge searchlights

Of night skies take stock

When sirens wailed

Before bombs dropped.

 

The Hitchhikers Guide to Our Truck

The Hitchhikers Guide to Our Truck

(Travels with Stephen Belt Antiques and Shipping)  email: belties@btinternet.com

Steve, Stranded during a ferry strike on the island of Panarea, can't feel that sorry for him can you.

My husband/triathlon coach Stephen, is by profession a fourth generation antiques dealer. His family ran a shop in Kingston-Upon-Thames, Surrey. Steve was born and brought up there. As soon as he could after leaving school he bought himself a truck and started doing deliveries around the UK and Europe as well as buying and selling antiques along the way. The Antiques business was good in those early days and Steve soon found American clients and started couriering them around and then packing the furniture they bought into 40’ containers and that business did well. 

When Steve and I first became an item I worked with him as he bought goods for clients and then I wrapped the antiques and Steve and a work colleague packed the containers. At eighty years old I still do some work within the business but mainly in the office now, typing up manifests and making email and phone contact with clients and business associates. I gave up heavy lifting a number of years ago, though I am sure it accounts for some of my strength in my sport. I should explain the Stephen is eleven years my junior and is still doing the container work and travelling to Europe with delivery’s and working with clients as he presently is; in France working at the three major antiques fairs in the South.

 

When he left home on Wednesday afternoon this week he went to pick up the guy that would be helping him with the work during what is always about a ten day trip. Michael Harris, who we have known for many years and is in the delivery business himself. Very pleasant man who is very willing and helpful read to turn his hand to whatever needs to be done.

So that night they were booked into the Ibis Hotel in Coquelles, Calais right by the huge shopping centre there. Steve uses that hotel often as a start or finish point, since it is also very close to the Channel Tunnel point. The advantages are that he can park the truck against a wall so that it is impossible the break into. There is high security fence around the car park at the Hotel Ibis and we have noticed that it also is used by the police to park vans and patrol cars, so one would think that it was an all round nice safe and secure place.

When Michael and Steve started their journey toward Burgundy the next morning they were not very far along the motorway when they started to hear shouts and screams coming from somewhere behind them. The first thought was that immigrants had got into the truck which is a massive problem when working in the close ports to the UK; except as Steve reminded Michael that he had parked against a wall so that could not be.

                         Shot of the truck base showing how little there is to secure oneself to!

 Anyway as soon as there was a safe place to pull in to take a look they discovered that there was a large man securely roped in UNDERNEATH the truck, tied in suspended above the prop shaft!

                       Michael showing how difficult it would have been for the stowaway.

Can you imagine what could have happened if the man and prop shaft slipped together?

However once they stopped, the man quickly unbound himself. He crawled out from under the truck apparently unharmed but shaken. Steve and Michael did not attempt to hold the man and he quickly gathered his wits and ran off as fast as his legs would carry him. 

Now if he had been noticed under the truck as they sped along the motorway and the situation was seen and reported by anybody, Steve would have been arrested and held and later, hugely fined. The driver is held responsible and accused of carrying immigrants for profit.

Although we do all feel for people trying to find a better life in the UK from whatever horrible life they had suffered that had forced them along a new road. It is still a nasty shock for the poor driver who makes the discovery, because one never knows if they are carrying a weapon of course.

In this case the man’s screams were not totally because he realised the danger he was in but maybe more that he saw that this truck was not just about to get on the shuttle train through the tunnel under the English Channel to a new life, but on the contrary it was heading South, away from the escape route under the sea. Probably at least ten miles away from the channel port at Calais.

 

Not long ago, only weeks, I was with my husband on drive toward Hanover. We stopped briefly in a lay-by having just disembarked from the Shuttle. Steve didn’t even turn off the engine because we only wanted to start our new Audible book and check the Sat-Nav. On that occasion we felt a shaking where we were inside the cab and Steve realised it was people trying to get in the truck from the back. As he went to get out, he was faced by a man reaching for the truck door handle.

 

Thankfully with the truck still running, Steve was able to pull away very quickly before there was any trouble and the people were left behind in the lay-by. These are no, once in a life time, experiences but are happening all the time now. We just thank heaven, that on these two occasions, nobody was hurt but these people are desperate, that’s for sure. They are not peaceful hitch hikers, they are trying to most aggressively find a way into the UK.