Banjo on dog trial?

July 19, 2010

tags: Dog Trial, Ferretting, Moving To France

Suddenly, I have a reason to like respect the evil cocker spaniel Banjo. Yesterday whilst I was guiding Little Horwood cricket club to a famous victory, that nice lady garden designer paid a visit to old friend Paul North, pictured a few days ago on this column.

Regular readers will remember the cheeky smile and unkempt hair of the art exhibit seen recently at the lost (now found) gardens of Heligan, but for those who missed it, here it is again.

A spitting image of Paul North, with that cheeky smile

She sensibly decided to remove Banjo from my presence and took him to visit the North’s. The nasty cocker showed his hitherto unseen value by having the vision and foresight to charge through the North’s newly planted bamboo hedge and followed that by urinating on Paul’s new gazebo.

Paul understandably states that should for any reason the malevolent canine ever enter his property again he willhave his arse kicked from here to eternity.

Now this provides me with an interesting opportunity to kill 2 birds with one stone.

If I can smuggle the stupid spaniel on to Paul’s property, persuade him to continue with his urination programme, and then draw to Paul’s attention the despicable acts Banjo will undertake, I can get his arse seriously kicked and derive a great deal of pleasure at the same time.
And so, the journey to the frozen north is upon us. Rain has fallen on every single day since I stepped back into England, and despite yet another extremely optimistic weather forecast from the clearly politically motivated weather politbureau, which was predicting 25 degrees Celsius and dry conditions, showers dogged us throughout the day.

The real temperature could not have been many degrees above zero, thus quite pleasant for the locals of Yorkshire to undertake their ferretting or dog trials, or whatever unpleasant activities that passes for recreation in these parts.

Actually, I have just thought, Paul North threatened me with a County Court Summons for Banjo’s activities, so perhaps Banjo should go to a dog trial? I would happily go to that. Imagine being able to pass sentence! I could get one of those little black hats that judges wear when they are going to hand down a death sentence…but I digress.

We walked across the muddy fields to a place called Bingley, which sounds like a down-market version of Bingo, a “game” that is apparently the highlight of most Yorkshire residents week.

Once there we found The Bingley Arms, an outpost selling the second best beer in the world; Timothy Taylor’s Landlord. Now my normal maximum intake in order to maintain my exceptional powers of observation is around 3 pints, but etiquette required me to match the consumption of out hosts John and Rachel Surtees, and I lost the ability to count after 6 pints..

I suppose given the obviously limited recreation opportunities open to the residents of Yorkshire, I should not have been surprised by the gusto with which an opportunity to drink beer until oblivion was grasped by all and sundry, but I confess I was.

Vague recollections of splashing through marshy backwaters, dogs in ponds and whippets, merge into partial recall of dinner (Sicilian Lamb I think). Then suddenly at 4am I awoke, lost and disoriented in the ice caked north, in a bedroom I do not recall seeing before.

And so ended the first 24 hours of my sentence.
Chris France

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