Ella's Coat, omnibus and covered statues.

Versailles, Ella's coat and sailing on the Seine.

Six ladies of a certain age, away for the weekend. We had boarded the coach giggling like schoolgirls, happy for a weekend away from the busyness of daily life. Working in stressful jobs all needing a break from the life events that had taken their toll on resilience and energy.  It was (and still is) a regular occurrence to have a few days of "letting your soft out".

The journey to Paris was by coach via the Eurotunnel, a long journey from Liverpool. Travelling through the night.  It was a journey that passed quickly for a group of friends who needed to catch up on gossip, news and all of recent events.  That, involved talking all the way, for hours on end.  Tired from the journey we disembarked the coach near to the Eiffel Tower ready to take up our accommodation for the weekend. We boarded the MS River Cruiser ready to set sail along the Seine taking in the Parisian sights on the way to stop off for the Palace of Versailles the next day.

A nights rest and all were refreshed ready for the days adventure.  Off to the Palace of Versailles to marvel at the famous Hall of Mirrors.  A horse drawn omnibus had been booked to take us around the grounds to admire the beauty of the manicured grounds and amazing statues.

It was February, a cold snap had arrived and the cold air had the feel and promise of snowfall coming.  Sure enough, as we arrived at Versailles, the first flakes of snow were falling on the cobbles.  We made our way gingerly towards the palace as the cobbles were slippery with the light covering of snow.   Then, all of a sudden, A slipped, and lost her balance falling heavily onto the slippery and wet cobbled roadway. Helped up, embarrassed by the inability to stay upright, putting on a brave face and trying to ignore the pain.  She was now being propped up by two of the others, we all continued towards the house. Normally we would have been in fits of giggles but it wasn't hard to see that A was badly hurt by the fall, so any rising mirth was suppressed.

 Once inside we marvelled at the beautiful, paintings, decor and opulence. Off then to the hall of mirrors only to find out that it was closed off for refurbishment. Disappointed we made our way to the pick up point for the omnibus ride.

Shiny black horses pulled a black open top carriage which was rather funereal looking.  The driver was wearing a black frock coat and had a long whip.  I thought that he looked like the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

The snow had stopped but it was freezing cold and we huddled together to keep warm. The carriage set off around the grounds, flurries of snow falling intermittently.  Teeth chattering we wondered why on earth we had booked such a trip. All of the statues and topiary were covered to prevent damage from the winter frost and the fountains had been turned off to prevent them from freezing. So, there was nothing to see. The horses hooves were clip clopping on the icy paths, when there was a crunching noise and the carriage leant to one side, almost tipping over. One if the wheels had fallen off the omnibus.  We descended from the stricken carriage and waited in the freezing cold for a replacement to take us back to our coach. We were now numb with the cold. Our coach driver, when  he had stopped laughing long enough after hearing our tale, made us coffee and shared his precious, well hidden, bottle of emergency brandy.

Back on our comfortable vessel we thawed out and enjoyed the comfort of the upgraded cabins. Smugly observing those who had the lower graded, lower deck accommodation stating "we used to be down there" and "I wonder what poor people are doing today". That's what a small upgrade does. It gives a feeling of smug superiority.

Next day we sailed back to Paris to enjoy the famous sights and travel to Sacre Coeur Basilica via the Metro.  Directions were asked for in what can only be described as grammar school French,  but we were understood and were understanding of the instructions given by a well presented French lady. A change in the weather resulted in a pleasant day with a promise of pre spring sunshine. We spent our time enjoying the entertainment and street artists of the cultural quarter, before finally entering the Basilica to admire the beauty if this fine building.

We embraced the serenity, each having our own thoughts and prayers. Remembering loved ones and praying for those needing some spiritual intervention, lighting the candles on the alters.  Suddenly, P announced she could smell burning. E responded that of course she could, it was the candles. "No"said P "your coat is on fire" as the smoke came up from the sleeve of E's coat. "Be Jaysus"said E, her native Irish accent becoming more pronounced as she battered the singed sleeve to ensure it didn't burst into flames completely. "Me coats, on fire an I gave more to St Anthony, than St Theresa, I put a Euro in that box."  Serenity turned to chaos and we quickly left unable to contain the hysterical laugher any longer.

We stopped at an Artisan cafe for coffee, still laughing hysterically at E's singed coat. Still smelling of that distinctive smell of singed faux fur.  F had descended to the ladies toilet which was down a small flight of stairs, quickly followed by the others, one by one. "F" said A "have you noticed the drawings on the walls?"  "Yes they are very good" said F "unusual". "Mm certainly are, they are all cartoons of copulating couples, in some very strange positions".  Fits of laughter again, we made a hasty retreat back to the Metro and the banks of the Seine where our river cruiser was docked.

After dinner it was decided that we would enjoy Paris by night and take a boat trip along the river to see the Notre Dame Cathedral. A dark place to go inside, but Gothic splendour when viewed from the river.  As darkness fell, so did the temperature and the freezing cold air howled through the tourist boat. Nothing much to see in the pitch black and freezing cold. Notre Dame was merely a black shadow against an even blacker sky, broken up only by the twinkling stars.  Thankfully it was a short trip and we disembarked to head for the magical carousel. Those bobby horses are so cold. The coldness of the metal could be felt through winter coats and trousers. We didn't care, we rode merrily, bobbing up and down, round and round to the tunes of the brightly lit carousel.  Laughing and enjoying our last night in Paris before the long journey home.

On the way home we stopped at the obligatory Cash and Carry to buy duty free goods to take home. Various wines and cheeses were purchased with F buying a bottle of finest Olive oil in a glass bottle shaped like the Eiffel Tower.  The bottle was carefully nursed for the whole 18 hours of the journey. We all alighted the coach at the Liverpool Bus Station, collecting our luggage from the hold.  Oops, the bottle of olive oil slipped through F's hands and smashed on road. A slimy, slippery olive oil lake was now formed and the oil would never be enjoyed in a Liverpool kitchen.  With looks of dismay, we said good bye to the last remnant of our trip but to each other knowing we would be doing more of the same, some time soon.

 Letting your soft out  is essential, to keep you sane,  and we would dine out recalling the tales of burnt coats and crashed omnibuses for years to come. It didn't matter about the cold, or covered statues, all that mattered was the bond between like minded friends who appreciated each other's company and the experience.

Cow stories

Cow Stories.

I quite like cows. They have soft brown noses and eyes that look at you with a cross between an air of curiosity, fear and disgruntlement at being disturbed.  They also scare me just a little. Mainly down to their size. I would never want one to fall on me.

I am a seasoned rambler. Having walked literally hundreds of miles through fields and woodland over the years and have never found a herd of cows particularly daunting. Always follow the country code, stick to the paths and close any gates.

Given my cow experiences I wonder if they sense that somehow they can give their fellow herd members signals to show that they are up for a laugh at my expense.

It all started one night driving home over The Moss when there was an eerie sort of something further down the road in the distance. They looked like cats eyes, but higher up. And then I realised! It was a herd of cows across the road heading towards the car. Oh my goodness, this is a scary sight in the pitch black. The cows looked even bigger in the dark.  Hazards on, I stopped the car.  We were the only car on the road but just in case another vehicle came hurtling along into the herd. Then sure enough some numpty thought he'd overtake, slamming the car brakes when he realised why I had to stop. Luckily no cows were hurt. The cows were advancing towards the cars.  Then arrived a very tired and disgruntled farmer with a couple of Collies and the cows were herded safely back in the field. Saved.


The next cow incident was during an innocent walk in the Douglas Valley near Parbold where we needed to cross a field to get to the Fairie Glen.  We arrived via the public footpath which then crossed the field. A route we had taken many times before.   There was a herd of cows and they looked quite menacing in a cow sort of way. We decided it was OK as they would move case went towards them as this is what usually happens.  Three walkers and two small dogs.  Suddenly,  I really didn't feel comfortable, something wasn't right but knew that we needed to get to the opposite side of the field.  Then the farmer arrived, told us to stay back, and cows were herded on to the next field.  Saved again but wonder why we were apprehensive.  We will  never know, we just continued on to the Fairie Glen. Saved again.

You would think we would know by now not to brave these situations and just take a normal route, nothing too far from the beaten track. Well sort of. It was a lovely summers evening and we were walking our dogs along the Fishermans Path near to where we live. The Heath is accessible through a kissing gate and a stile.  The sign warns people to keep dogs on a lead as there is livestock grazing. This is fine, we had done this many times before.  The cattle and sheep have usually kept their distance as we walked along the perimeter footpaths of The  Heath with our two dogs safely on a lead. As we walked along, we discussed the recent newspaper article about the woman who had been crushed to death by a herd of stampeding cows and jokingly hoped that it wouldn't happen to us.

Then we saw it. Coming towards us. That cow was GALLOPING!! Now joined by two of her friends.  This was the day that I found out that cows can gallop at quite some speed.  I yelled to my husband RUN!! I turned and ran as fast as my legs would go. I never run anywhere but I ran like the wind. Not looking back to check if Tony and the William dog were behind. I threw Penny dog over the stile and leapt over to safety, quickly followed by the others. We stopped, out of breath and laughing at the crazy experience.  A man with a dog was the other side of the stile about to go in to the Heath. I told him we had been chased by cows. He laughed, looked at me like I was crazy, and carried on over the stile.  A few minutes later he was back, oh I wonder why!!  I just smiled and thought to myself "told you so".  I'd like to say that I avoid fields of cows but it's impossible if you enjoy a good walk, sooner or later the public footpath will cross a field of cows.  if you are a rambler it goes with the territory.

Apparently, it is when they have calves that they become over protective and bordering on aggressive. They can't be blamed for protecting their babies.

And I still like their soft brown cow eyes. Have you seen cows eyelashes they are really thick and long?

Owls in the Garden

Sometimes you hear a familiar sound and realise that it's been missing for a while. You don't know when it went missing, but it did.  I am guessing it was just as the nights became longer, as the winter started. Then you hear the sound and realise it's back.

 We were off to bed, the window was open and there it was, faint at first but then it was the distinct familiar "twit twoo"  sound of the tawny owl.  We have never seen them and only know they are somewhere in the trees, as they call to each other, usually around the time that we are going to bed or if we return late at night.

We see the barn owls, around the moss hunting at dawn and dusk. Their ghostly appearance, white against the darkening sky, swooping down on their prey, is a familiar sight.  They sometimes even perch on a fence or gate post during daylight. A peculiar but welcome sight.

Not so the elusive tawny. They let us know they are there with their familiar calls but never to be seen.  Camouflaged in the woodland against the tree trunks.  The return of that welcome sound means they have nested in an empty tree bark or a crows nest or maybe in a discarded squirrels lair, in the local woodland. Welcome back Mr and Mrs Owl, perhaps you have returned with your babies. I hope so.