It’s Father’s Day today, but my first experience of the day was waking up from a horrible dream of being taken before sunrise, to a wine farm, which was closed, and at which there were over 50 beagles.
It could have been the virus I’ve got, but there were cold sweats all round.
Then I realised that this wasn’t a dream at all. The wine farm really was closed and there really were more than 50 beagles in attendance. This was a Beagle Run, and we were in the midst of it. With a beagle.
The cold sweats returned. And they were very cold, because Paarl is very cold on June mornings before sunrise.
The Beagle Run is a fortnightly (or so) opportunity over winter for Beagle owners to get together and
wonder why the hell they got a beagle allow their dogs to run as a pack while chasing a scent trail. Which is basically what beagles are meant for.
Some beagles are very good at this. Those beagles win prizes. Other beagles (and here I include our beagle) are less good at it, and cower pathetically on the start line as the pack heads off, before glancing up half apologetically, half questioningly at you as if to say “Well, that was quite an exciting moment, wasn’t it? So what do we do now, then?”
What we do now is walk, beagle in tow, to meet the beagles that have done things correctly, and then repeat the process four or five more times until – covered in mud and disappointment – we get back to the car.
It was good exercise, in fresh air, with wonderful views. And then we came home and I got showered with Father’s Day gifts. I’m still a bit (very) bleugh from my virus, but I’m lucky to have such an amazing family, and the beagle is very lucky to have us too. Other families would have left it at the closed wine farm in disgrace.
Most of the photos were taken by Mrs 6000 because I was trying to find the beagle most of the time and the light was terrible.
And it does feel a bit that way. School projects, housework, a sleepover, an Eisteddfod winners concert (following this) in Sea Point and some spicy political email revelations – all underpinned by the remnants on a nasty upper respiratory tract infection that has meant sinuses leaking with pus.
I’m sorry. You probably didn’t need to know that last bit. Or maybe even the bits before. Anyway…
The folks in the UK have got a bank holiday tomorrow – the only one of the year that doesn’t have a direct SA equivalent. We’re banging another long weekend in on the 16th June though, so no-one is fretting too much.
Right now, I’m off to spend a few moments with the long-suffering Mrs 6000, before I pack her (back) off to Namibia in the morning.
I’m running behind. I wanted to have sunset pictures here for you today (proper ones), but we spent much longer on the beach today that any of us expected, and thus everything is running a couple (or more) hours late.
Meanwhile, I have got some Mavic photos up from the weekend: here.
Here’s one of my favourites…
The boy was frantically gesturing at something. But I had no idea what he was trying to point out. It was only when I flew overhead that it suddenly became clear what it was… 🙂
“Actually,” as the old joke goes, “it’s pronounced ‘quiche'”.
But this really is a quickie, just to fill some space on the blog because today has been hectique. Mother’s Day celebrations went well (I think); there was a trip to a popular DIY store and a building site in Observatory before we had lunch at a steak place in Newlands (you know the one) and then all the other weekend jobs got done when we got home. Nearly.
It’s left very little time for blogging. I did put some more photos in the Shamwari Day 2 album yesterday though, so if this hasn’t sated your thirst for all things 6000, maybe head over here and have a look at them.
My eight year old daughter took part in her first Eisteddfod this morning. She stood up in front of 50 or more strangers in a hall with terrible acoustics and which was surrounded by a million or more noisy seagulls and delivered a flawless performance of Maybe from Annie.
Flawless, at least I thought, to my musical (but naturally biased) ears. But then the very experienced and very honest adjudicator stood up and told us (in so many words) that actually, she shared my opinion.
The result? A Gold Diploma for a score of 90% or above, and some very positive and encouraging comments from the lady in charge.
I’m not intending to show off, but I think that every so often we parents should be allowed to crow about our kids’ achievements.
And this is one of those times.
Proud dad moment.