BecomingJulie
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Nov 28, 2010
- Messages
- 4,323
Whenever I hear About You Now by the Sugababes, I am transported through time and space to the laundry room of a campsite in Wales, on the evening of the 13th September 2007. There was a stereo in there, on tuner and set to Radio Two, so you could have music while your washing was going ..... Anyway, it was near to where my Grandad used to have a static caravan that we used to stay in every Summer till I was a teenager; though not the exact same site, as they didn't have any tent pitches, and I'd gone there in some sort of attempt to recapture a bit of my lost youth, a kind of mid-life crisis thing. Of course I took Chloe the Wonder Dog with me; she really loved camping. She used to come in the bogs with me. The stalls were so small, there wasn't room to close the door with a full-grown Alsatian inside; so we used to go in the end stall and she would sit in front of me, facing outwards; guarding me in case anyone tried to attack while I was being clean ..... Blind people sometimes have Seeing Eye dogs, but Chloe was like a Thinking Brain dog fir me
I had one of those giant corkscrew things so I could screw it into the round and attach her extending lead to it, giving her a range of about 7.5 metres, and a collapsible drinking bowl with a clip that she could have attached to her collar, ready for if she ever got thirsty anytime while we were out walking. We needed it a lot, too; because whenever we went on the beach Chloe insisted to try every rock pool to determine if they were all salty or if any were drinkable. I can't blame her one bit for that; after all, it is the law that rock pools must be investigated in some way, even if it's just a good look with the unaided eye or dipping a finger to see how warm it is; rock pools are interesting, and absolutely must not be ignored. The next rock pool you encounter might be home to an undiscovered species, or the temperature difference between it and its nearest neighbour might be the final clue necessary to formulate the Grand Unifying Theory of Everything; it is everyone's duty[/u] to investigate rock pools to some extent or another. She couldn't fit into my sleeping bag with me, but I had taken some lightweight fleece blankets to make a bed for her next to me, which worked quite well. Shit, I miss her so much. Even when she jumped off the train at Porthmadog, on a day trip to Pwllheli, and I had to physically insert my body between the doors to keep them from closing so she could get back on, I could never stay pissed off at her for long. (I couldn't even have changed the plan and had a day out in Porthmadog -- even although that was the home of a certain soon-to-be winner in the "Reddest Shorts" category of the Brit awards -- instead of Pwllheli, seeing as my small rucksack with my wallet, mobile phone and shoes was back at my seat ..... Fortunately, she jumped back on board before things got bad.)
Another programme I remember hearing on the campsite laundry wireless featured some "found" home-recorded tapes of Marc Bolan, just messing about with an acoustic guitar and his new toy (i.e., the tape recorder); but there's somewhere between precious little and sod all chance of ever finding any of that material anywhere. Did iPlayer even exist in 2007? Anyway, if you fancy doing your own search, it might be somewhere between a couple of dinosaur pictures out there somewhere .....
Anyway, in lieu of Bolan, here's a gratuitous shot of those red shorts:
And Chloe: Look after Jess now. I can't come and join you just yet, but it won't be long .....
I had one of those giant corkscrew things so I could screw it into the round and attach her extending lead to it, giving her a range of about 7.5 metres, and a collapsible drinking bowl with a clip that she could have attached to her collar, ready for if she ever got thirsty anytime while we were out walking. We needed it a lot, too; because whenever we went on the beach Chloe insisted to try every rock pool to determine if they were all salty or if any were drinkable. I can't blame her one bit for that; after all, it is the law that rock pools must be investigated in some way, even if it's just a good look with the unaided eye or dipping a finger to see how warm it is; rock pools are interesting, and absolutely must not be ignored. The next rock pool you encounter might be home to an undiscovered species, or the temperature difference between it and its nearest neighbour might be the final clue necessary to formulate the Grand Unifying Theory of Everything; it is everyone's duty[/u] to investigate rock pools to some extent or another. She couldn't fit into my sleeping bag with me, but I had taken some lightweight fleece blankets to make a bed for her next to me, which worked quite well. Shit, I miss her so much. Even when she jumped off the train at Porthmadog, on a day trip to Pwllheli, and I had to physically insert my body between the doors to keep them from closing so she could get back on, I could never stay pissed off at her for long. (I couldn't even have changed the plan and had a day out in Porthmadog -- even although that was the home of a certain soon-to-be winner in the "Reddest Shorts" category of the Brit awards -- instead of Pwllheli, seeing as my small rucksack with my wallet, mobile phone and shoes was back at my seat ..... Fortunately, she jumped back on board before things got bad.)
Another programme I remember hearing on the campsite laundry wireless featured some "found" home-recorded tapes of Marc Bolan, just messing about with an acoustic guitar and his new toy (i.e., the tape recorder); but there's somewhere between precious little and sod all chance of ever finding any of that material anywhere. Did iPlayer even exist in 2007? Anyway, if you fancy doing your own search, it might be somewhere between a couple of dinosaur pictures out there somewhere .....
Anyway, in lieu of Bolan, here's a gratuitous shot of those red shorts:
And Chloe: Look after Jess now. I can't come and join you just yet, but it won't be long .....
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