Friday July 4th
It’s independence day. Good riddance to a troublesome set of
colonists is what I say!
It’s also Callie’s birthday, she is 8. I can’t believe eight
years ago a tiny bundle of fluff came into my life. OK I didn’t collect her
until September but as the breeder was a friend of Dad’s I went to see the pups
in the second week after they were born. I didn’t choose Callie, she chose me.
I held every puppy (after disinfecting my hands) and the one who became Callie
Pup fell asleep in my hand. They were so tiny they just fitted in my hand.
Well, that was it, she found me safe enough to go to sleep on so she was mine.
The breeder painted her claws with red nail polish so she would know that was
Maia’s choice.
She was such a cute baby dog and unlike the adult
weimaraners they all had darker grey tiger stripes in their fur which gradually
faded by about four weeks. Also they had the most striking blue eyes, sadly
Callies’ have turned a pale greeny yellow colour. They would have been even
more beautiful if they had stayed blue. Richard thought I was mad wanting a
puppy but I had this idea in my head and once an idea is there you can’t shift
it! She actually lived with my Mum for 18 months after Richard died and I had
my breakdown in Australia. I was scared she would have become Mum’s dog after
all that time apart but as soon as she saw me again she was my puppy once more.
I can’t believe it. The gossip at work was all about the
tour de France and how it is coming to Sheffield, one of the girls mentioned it
was coming through our village but I didn’t believe her so we went on to the
tour website and sure enough, it does! Rah rah rah. I knew it was coming to
Sheffield, but I thought all the bunting and flags around the village were all
to do with the Oughtibridge Carnival and the party in Coronation Park that
normally accompanies it!
Stage two, near the end, climbs out of High Bradfield
(that’s where we go walking and drinking) up to Kirk Edge Road; it passes the
convent then drops down into Oughtibridge via Worrall and Church Street. In the
centre of the village it crosses the main roads and heads up Jaw Bone Hill,
past Coronation Park. Wowee. From there it goes through Grenoside, drops down
Halifax Road and then wanders off a bit before getting into the city proper. It
doesn’t finish in the town centre though, which I thought would be ideal, but
in the Don Valley Stadium (if it is still called that).
I texted Laura in Repro and she wandered up into Archives to
look at the route. We think we’ll go and see it pass. Somewhere on Kirk Edge
Road would be best to avoid all the road closures that are in place from very
early on Sunday morning. More to follow on this one…
We finished early as usual and drove along past Dam Flask to
follow the bit of the tour de Sheffield’s route from Bradfield down into the
village. It really does explain the yellow bicycles, the flags and bunting plus
the heaps of small knitted jerseys scattered about everywhere. Also (how I
haven’t seen them before I don’t know) there are yellow AA Road Signs at almost
every street corner telling you about the road closures and the route “The Tour”
will be taking. We had our meal and then Laura went off to Dom’s and I took
Callie to Grenoside Woods to stretch our legs and think up a cunning plan for
getting to a view point with the car and not getting stuck in masses of parking,
people and traffic.
The woods were surprisingly busy, it was quite a balmy night
I guess which will have dragged them away from their TV, and we met another
Weimaraner. She was called Heidi and her owner is an engineer for BT. I seemed
to get his whole life story as well as the history of his choosing Heidi and
the antics she has got up to since he bought her. All of this in the space of a
two mile stroll through some woodland.
He asked about me and why I had chosen a Weimaraner and I
just had to explain about our uncle in Unterwirbach in Germany who referred to
them as the ghost dog when I was a little girl. I told him how I had looked to
see a ghost dog during that visit but didn’t see one at all until we climbed
Brocken, in the Herz mountains. A guy walking there had a pair of them, both
girls and I simply fell in love with them. I was probably about 8 or 9 at the
time. From then on I had been determined to own a ghost dog of my own.
When Mum and Dad split up, I tried to persuade Dad to get
one but he wasn’t keen so in the end I bit the bullet, saved up all my vacation
earnings and bought Callie.
John was really keen about the Tour de France and he didn’t
believe I hadn’t realised it was coming until today. At the car park he asked
for my mobile number! What a cheek. I told him I was in a relationship and I
wasn’t going to give my number to him. He seemed a bit disappointed. As I drove
down Jaw Bone Hill it got me wondering if I had been sending out the wrong
signals by being open and friendly. I decided it was him with the problem, not
me.
Laura made over £80 in tips tonight. (One table gave her a
£20 note!) She stuffed the money in her piggy bank. It actually is a pink pig,
too! She was really chuffed because that means the pig has over £1000 secreted in
it since the start of the University year, just in tips! She puts it down to
the Tour de France mania which seems to have swept through Sheffield and our
village in particular. She isn’t complaining though.
Saturday 5th July
Up for our swim as usual (after walking Callie) and
afterwards we talked to Sarah who was the fount of all wisdom about the tour de
France. According to her they are expecting over 50 thousand people to be up
near Holme Moss alone. That is not by themselves, that is in that particular
location. (Just to make that clear.) She was planning to go somewhere near the
top of Jaw Bone Hill as they will have had a struggle to climb that deviously
steep bump. She was of the opinion that if we saw them on the flat, if we
blinked we’d have missed them. I thought somewhere along Kirk Edge Road would
be ideal, we could walk up and cross the top of Coumes Wood, find a suitable spot
and watch them all go past. Then we could drop down Burnt Hill Lane to see them
again in Church Street. Especially if we took our roller blades, we could whizz
down Burnt Hill like the clappers and be in Chruch Street in minutes. Another
great death defying idea from yours truly! Rah rah rah!
Laura (and Sarah) was doubtful. Not about Kirk Edge Road as
a view point but the idea of us zooming down a really, really steep hill on our
roller blades. Laura is still a bit of a novice on hers whereas I have been
blading since I was little. I do have a bike she could use to follow me down
the hill but that would mean a long trek round Lumb Lane to get to our view
point as we’d never get a bike over the stiles and through the gates on the
Coumes Wood path.
Back home we pottered about (OK, I gave the house a thorough
cleaning) and continued our chat about how to best see the men in lycra whizz
past us. We hadn’t decided anything really by the time Dad and Louisa arrived,
after lunch. They had eaten in Meadowhall’s food court which Dad described as a
pathetic attempt to emulate a genuine Australia one. I had to agree; there are
a couple in Perth and Freo that are just brilliant, which would have knocked
the piddling affair at Meadowhall into a cocked hat.
Dad was as excited as a kid again at the thought of the tour
de France driving through Oughtibridge. He was definitely going to stop to
watch it. I was rather taken aback by his enthusiasm, normally he would be
cynical and laid back but he was genuinely keen to go and watch it. To be fair,
he was like this when we had the Olympic Games Baton Relay in 2012 as well, so
I shouldn’t have been too surprised. I told him how we had got as far as the
idea of watching along Kirk Edge Road but were working out a way to watch them
in the village proper too. He thought my roller blading idea was crazy too, and
dangerous. He absolutely refused to let me persuade Laura that she would be
safe going down such a steep hill. He is right I suppose.
We had some pieces of steak for our evening meal, cooked in
four different styles. Louisa and Laura had theirs put under the electric grill
first, then Dad’s and finally, with about two minutes to go on its timer, mine
went under. I love steak almost raw. It is so tender and succulent that way.
Laura is yet to be convinced but I am working on her. Dad used to have his done
the same way as me; I guess his tastes have changed as he’s grown older.
The three of them left at the same time with Dad &
Louisa dropping Laura off at the restaurant on their way into town. He was
really quite excited about seeing Dream Theater but I detected that Louisa may
have been a little cooler about the idea.
They all arrived back at my little house together too as Dad
had arranged to collect Laura from Dominic’s and they ended up chatting about
his family in Germany and importing wine. The wine I brought for Dom had long
since gone and try as he might he hasn’t been able to get any more brought
over. Dad gave him the number of Hilmar’s son-in-law who runs the production
now that Hilmar is getting long in the tooth and told him not to call until
after Wednesday by which time he’d have called Reinhardt to forewarn him (as it
were).
Laura had been run ragged at the place, again, tonight as
they were very busy on the eve of the tour and she had made another shed load
of cash in tips! Dad was a bit euphoric about seeing the band but Louisa’s only
comment was, “They were loud!”
Dad had scribbled down a set list of the songs they played
(he always does this, which is very annoying but probably indicates why I am so
fussy about facts and figures too). I was quite startled to see that, according
to Dad’s list, they’d only played two songs I actually knew. Probably a good
job I decided not to go after all.
Dad walked Callie with me through Hill Top Wood and we had a
long father / daughter talk about life the universe and the price of sliced
bread. I told Dad about the Weimaraner guy in Greno Woods wanting my phone
number and he said, ”I don’t know why you’re surprised; when did you last look
in a mirror?”
I told him how upset it had made Laura and he could see that
she would be worried but she didn’t have cause because I had told her all about
it. He was of the opinion that if I stopped telling her stuff like that, then
she’d have cause to fret.
I told him my worry about what will happen when she
graduates next year. I am afraid I will lose her if she can’t find somewhere to
work in South Yorkshire. He asked me if I would try and keep her with me and
when I said, “Of course not.”
He replied, “Then you won’t have a problem. She will return
to you if she feels the same about you as you feel about her. It is when you
try and stop someone doing what they want that divisions occur in
relationships.”
I asked if that was what had happened between him and Mum
but he told me that was none of my business. He was the parent; I was the
child. I started to sulk but then saw him grinning and realised he wasn’t being
serious at all. He did admit that he wanted to move away from Norwich years
before he had but Mum had insisted on staying as she loved her job, so he’d
hung on as long as he could stand it.
I was tempted to ask about his alleged infidelities with
students but common sense kicked in before I voiced the thought. That would
have been a question too far by a country mile!
I love walking like this with Dad when he comes and stays. I
get to feel all loved and protected yet grown up and adult as he talks to me
like an equal (he always has done, TBH). I slipped my arm in his as we trooped
back through Onesacre and told him how much I loved him. He said it was mutual
and that seeing me happy made him happy.
I had a mini-confession. He was disappointed with the gig.
He didn’t like their choice of set and thought if it was for a festival they
ought to have stuck to a “greatest hits” type format. I was sworn to secrecy
over this however, as Louisa hadn’t really wanted to go at all but went along
to please Dad. The sounds of the party in Coronation Park could still be heard
at home through our open bedroom windows but it was too hot for us to close
them so Laura and I were lulled to sleep by the gently pounding beat of some
execrable disco music!
Sunday July 6th.
Well the mania has hit fever
pitch. Last night the site set up in Coronation Park was buzzing and Dad and I
could hear it clearly even as far away as Hill Top Woods. There are people
camping in there and at various places along Jawbone Hill even though the
thing doesn’t pass through much before 4 o’clock tomorrow afternoon.
Dad, Laura and I had a stroll
through the village this morning with Callie (Louisa decided she was staying
put as the hills might be a challenge in her condition). We went up to Onesacre
and donw the hill over Coumes Brook and onto Church Street. Tour fever was
everywhere. Bunting, flags, signs, bikes. I guess I had subconsciously noticed
it but hadn’t given it much thought. I foolishly thought it was just another
carnival type festival thing in the park.
We bumped into the pub landlady
at Sylvia’s newsagent and she told us that last night’s and Friday’s taking had
been almost double what they usually are. I guess that is why Laura has been run
ragged at Dominic’s these last few nights too. No wonder people are so excited.
Even for this early hour on Sunday morning (it was about 8.30 when we got to
the shop) the village was heaving. The road closures had already started on the
route through the village so we decided that viewing from Kirk Edge Road was
probably the only thing we’d be able to do. Getting anywhere else could prove
impossible.
Back at the ranch, Louisa had a
pile of bacon waiting for our breakfast and we gorged on bacon butties. Yummy
in our tummy. The plan was decided, we’d drive up Lumb Lane straight after
breakfast and then head as close as we could get to Kirk Edge Road with a
collection of our deck chairs and umbrellas and the like in order to stake a
claim on a spot on the roadside. We made a couple of flasks of tea and coffee
and put a few drinks into the old cool box.
There were a surprising
number of people already up on the roadside. We took both cars up there and I
left mine pulled off the road on the wonderfully named Onesmoor Bottom. We
trudged the few hundred yards to K.E.R. and established base camp. This was at
about 10.45. We lined up our four chairs but the cool box in front of them and
spiked our umbrellas in the ground at each end of the row. I was assigned the
first guard duty, then after 12.30 Laura would drive up and take over and at
three-ish the rest of the mini clan would try and park up near to my car and
join her.
It was a good job the weather
was fairly clement and there was a good wall we could hop over for a swift
comfort break, if necessary.
I just sat there reading the
next in the Sarah Paretsky series of novels until Laura arrived. By which time
more and more people had turned up and Onesmoor Bottom was beginning to look
like a miniature car park. Dad had driven her up and he was waiting for me at
the junction of Burnt Hill.
At just before three we trooped
up to join our intrepid seat saver who took the opportunity to climb the wall
and make like Paula Radcliffe! Dad, being Dad, got talking to the folks on
either side of where we were and he seemed to be in his element.
I have never seen so many
helicopters at one time. We knew this must be the herald of the tour getting
closer as they were clearly visible way over to the north east and getting
closer. What I also wasn’t expecting was the whole array of sponsors vehicles ahead
of the race advertising their wares to the assembled crowds. One even had a
person on a mountain bike doing stunts on the trailer as it was moving! There
were press vehicles and camera cars and men on motorbikes (and a couple of
women). All of this long before any sweaty men dressed in lycra appeared. One
of the motor bikes was a real French Gendarmerie bike; that was unusual in its
dark blue livery. (Dad told me later there had been several but I had obviously
missed them.)
Eventually, four abreast, came
a row of men ahead of the others. They were dressed in black with a team logo
on their shirts, it might have been “Sky” but I didn’t pay much attention. It
was all over so quickly, one moment we were cheering – yes, even I cheered –
the four men as they appeared and then in a swift whizz the whole bloody lot
went zooming past. Dad did film the whole thing on his mobile phone and his
footage lasted about four minutes, altogether. (He hadn’t bothered with the
advertising vehicles.)
I whispered to Laura it was all
over so quickly it was like a teenage boy’s first sexual experience! I
obviously didn’t whisper as quietly as I thought because Louisa said, “So true,
so true!” Quite a telling statement. I thought the noise of all the support
vehicles would have masked my words but they didn’t. Laura said that she
wouldn’t know. The only naked man she had ever seen had been the guy in Dublin
on her ill-fated trip to Ireland, with her so called friends from University.
She didn’t count her brother.
Once they had all passed that
would have been it but as we had chosen a spot on Kirk Edge where we could see
Jawbone Hill we decided to wait and watch them struggle up le Col
d’Oughtibridge on the other side of the valley. It didn’t take them long for
the first of the vehicles and then the rider’s group to appear at about the
railway bridge, a few hundred yards up the slope itself. If they had fairly
shot by us on Kirk Edge Road, they didn’t appear to be all that slow going up
Jawbone Hill either. OK, it wasn’t the teenage boy speed, but they were
definitely not laggards going up the slope.
I walked up it once to get to
Grenoside Woods and it is a deceptively steep climb (not made easier for
walking by the absence of footpaths!) so I knew how hard it must be on a bike.
When then last of the men had disappeared around the corner at the top of the
hill we headed back to our cars. There was a mini traffic jam for a while but
obviously all the cars on the north of Kirk Edge could only head northwards
which meant it cleared fairly quickly and we found Lumb Lane and then
Cockshutts Lane relatively quiet.
We agreed on a couple of things
about the day; it had been much better supported than we imagined it would be;
it really was quite spectacular (even though the actual competitors were past
in a flash) and there was definitely a girl in the race. We all agreed we had
seen one, in black, with her blondish hair in a pigtail. I thought I had been
mistaken, so I didn’t mention it when the peloton went by but all four of us had
seen her.
The only down side as far as I
could see was the fact I had been wearing my new sandals and I seemed to have
sunburnt my feet. Later on they really began to throb. (Minor inconvenience
really.)
Dad and Louisa had tea, which
was the Sunday roast held over from lunch time. (A turkey crown and veggies.)
Then they rested to let it all settle sitting on chairs in the back garden. We
were joined by a few of our neighbours who had been down into Coronation Park
and they told us what was down there – a stage and some big screens which
showed the race live, a few concession stalls selling food and hundreds of
people. Literally hundreds. They didn’t think they had chosen a good spot to
view the riders as there were so many others there.
We had (another) impromptu
gathering on our lawn and a few bottles were opened. Before you knew it the
clock had whipped round to 9pm and Dad asked if it was OK if they stayed the
night, neither of them was in a legal state to drive. I agreed, naturally. Then
Dad began to show his Germanic roots and instigated a series of toasts with all
of us present. (He did explain it was a German drinking tradition.) His began
with “To the best daughter a man could wish for!” This silliness continued for
another hour. Luckily we didn’t start getting ridiculous with them.
[On one drunken night in
Magdeburg – when I was a teenager – we had ended up toasting the bombing of
Dresden and the bombing of Coventry!]
As I took Callie for her last
walk of the day, accompanied by Laura, we could still hear the event in
Coronation Park blaring away. Laura thought it had been a very special day
indeed. I had to agree. We sat on the bench at the junction of the Onesacre and
Hill Top roads and had a major league snog. Normally this is quite secluded a
spot but a car drove down and as it passed the bench a voice shouted out, “Get
a room!”
We both stood up and flashed
our boobs at the disappearing tail lights! I doubt if the occupants saw us but
we thought it was hysterical.
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