Friday, 26 March 2010


Have not heard from Reb yet. Will update later.

Kim and I are going shopping in Leon, where I will have a temper tantrum in Corte Ingles and roll about on the floor screaming and kicking my heels.

Max the rooster is getting stroppier and stroppier. A pitched battle every time I enter his domain. And he is tough. I'm thinking of taking in a whip and a chair.

Thursday, 25 March 2010


Reb left Santo Domingo de la Calzada this morning and is proceeding to Viloria de Rioja, where she will be the guest of Brazilians.

We must hope her Samba is not too rusty.

Tuesday, 23 March 2010


Reb jogs while Patrick blogs.

Well, not really - but I'm fond of a little alliteration. (There - there's another bit.)
'Reb slogs' might do, however.

Now she is officially a Scout, she will have to do a good deed every day. Though, I suppose just staying married to me takes care of that.

Fresh details of The Long March later, I hope.

Thanks for the link, Lib.

UPDATE: Reb is on her way to Najera, in good shape. Planning a detour to San Millan, maybe.

Sunday, 21 March 2010


Reb is now at Viana. One of the few places on the Camino I remember because Cesare Borgia , the blueprintl for Machiavelli's naughty old Prince is buried there - right outside the church door, so you have to walk on his grave to go in. Serves him right, no doubt.
However, I do have a startling bit of news - the local Palencia newspaper has run a FULL PAGE on the pair of us. With a photo. Reb looks fine, I look half witted, so the smudger (Brit newspaper slang for photographer) got it about right. However, something has gone a bit wrong in translation, as Rebekah Scott is now Rebekah Scout. These things happen in the best regulated newspapers as we both know - so we will be laughing, not suing.
Scout's honor.

Friday, 19 March 2010


San Jose Day here - in the rain. Don't you just love the smell of wet dog in the morning?

Had a call from the Little Woman hoofing it to Estrella ahora mismo. She stayed in an hotel last night and is now feeling guilty about the expense. I suggested, not only should she make a practice of staying in hotels, but only if there is no parador handy. If there is, book into that. But she won't.
I get the impression that she feels the Camino is going, or has gone, down the Swanee big time since she last trod it.

But you must hear it from her.

Wednesday, 10 March 2010


Not only am I the target of a crazed cockerel,(see previous blog) but even my doggie compamions are a source of hazard and concern. Twice now, Nabi the Greyhound has accidentally (I am sure) run into me in the middle of a field at about literally twenty miles an hour and sent me bowling.
It would seem that her accomplice, Lulu, has settled for afflicting both Reb and I mentally, by going seriously lame for a couple of days and causing us to worry and call the Vet. In fact, Nabi has already done this in the past, twice, (go lame, that is - not call the Vet) but then recovered from the problems quickly. Now Lulu appears to have done likewise. (recover quickly, that is - not call the Vet) We hope.
We are not yet used to Greyhounds. Their legs look so fragile and they run so fast on them that frequent injuries seem inevitable.
And you will have read in Reb's blog of their joint attack on a neighbor friend's very small dog which they ran down and had every intention of tearing to bits. We had to fend them off with my stick. These are the same beasts which, from day one, I have felt confident to pick up, pull mouths open, peer into ears and generally poke about - the same as I do with Una and Tim - without the slightest fear of them biting. And I still do. Very odd. However, muzzles are on the cards for walks.
They both are still very distrustful of anyone but Reb and me, and may always be a bit that way.
On top of that, the Vet hospital in Leon is quoting 450 euros EACH to have them spayed.
Greyhounds, it seems - although demanding of affection - are not cuddly dogs. Big fun so far, though.

Thursday, 4 March 2010

Hen Pecked

Max, our Rooster/Cockerel, is kicking up. Big time - with spurs on. The worm-catcher has suddenly turned.
I think I have written here before on what a coward Max used to be; bristling and bustling and shouting aggressively until I looked him in the eye, then strutting away pretending the bluster was all about something else, over there, on the other side of the coop.
But no longer. No more the Craven Crowboy. He has suddenly become immensely, almost suicidally, brave.
When I go out each morning to feed and water him and the harem, he waits until I am busy with the water dispenser, or whatever, then hurls himself full force into me from behind - like Berlusconi at a Miss Italy contestant.
And when I turn and challenge him, he puffs himself up all over, shouts the chicken equivalent of 'Banzai!' and wades back in for more.
It is well to go armed these days. This morning I happened to be carrying the chain saw, (blade in its cover I hasten to say) and was able to parry him with a smart blow to the wattles, which discouraged him long enough for me to collect the eggs and toe it.
Hard to know how to proceed. I must confess he amuses me hugely - now more than ever - and I would hate to make him all timid again by clouting him too hard. But sometimes, other people have to get the eggs and so forth, and should not have to go toe to beak with the Feathered Fury.
Suggestions welcomed, the more absurd, the better.