Ruff guide to a great British road trip
When man first tamed wolf, he chose the best to guard his flocks. Millennia later, this produced me – a blue merle rough collie, an ever-vigilant watchman, or as Mummy puts it “a never-ending nervous breakdown that wags”.
The main cause is the “colliewobbles”, a condition caused by perceived threats that multiply daily. When these dangers manifest I have to woof and bounce around to warn my pack – that’s Mummy, and a small squealy thing called Ella who she brought home a few years ago – because they are virtually deaf.
Sometimes things are so scary I can only whimper – especially if we go in the car. BAD CAR.
But I was delighted when Mummy said she was taking me to my ancestral Scottish homeland, staying at Caravan and Motorhome Club certified campsites. She packed our house into a fourberth Bailey Alliance 76-4T, which she said was a Collie Lorry. The beds are comfy. Ella can sleep on the floor. Day 1: Home in Kent to Hatfield
House 74 miles, 2hrs YE GODS IT MOVES! I clung to the floor and cried. We arrived at a big old house in the countryside, and walked around it while Mummy talked about someone called
Princess Elizabeth who was a prisoner here. She and Ella waved sticks and fought the Spanish Armada, but I could not find it no matter how many trees I looked behind. Afterwards I helped Ella practise her ball-throwing.
Teaching humans to throw balls, and
Beds in the Collie Lorry are very comfy. Ella can sleep on the floor...
then pick them up for you, is an important part of being a collie. Mummy said watching us play was the best 20 minutes of her life, but I think the wine she opened while sat on a deckchair may have helped. I slept on the floor. Day 2: To Sherwood Forest
127 miles, 2hrs 12mins I panic-panted in the passenger footwell and gazed at Sherwood Forest, which looked a lot like the A1.
Mummy said there used to be 100,000 acres of widdle-spots, and this was once the Great North Road where a fox called Robin Hood stole biscuits from travellers.
When we arrived at the Sherwood Forest Visitor Centre people were watching Robin fight the Sheruff of Sniffingham. They were waving pointy bits of metal so I woofed to let them know it was dangerous.
Afterwards we walked to an old tree called the Major Oak. I was not allowed to wee on it. After tea, Ella was taught to empty the chemical toilet. I have shown them how to use trees, but they refuse to be toilet-trained.
Mummy put the dinner plates on the floor for me to lick, but I was so tired I told her to wash them herself. Day 3 – to Whitby Abbey 108 miles, 2hrs 15mins I decided to stop whimpering and try stress-farting instead. My digestion was not aided by the Collie Lorry up-and-downing over the North
Yorkshire Moors, although Mummy said they were beautiful with purple heather and a “glowering” sky.
We stopped near the sea and a ruin called Whitby Abbey. Mummy said a man called Bram Stoker had put it in a book about a man who could turn into a bat. This was where Batman began, but it is a long way from Robin.
Suddenly, a man in red spectacles attacked a lady in a hat! I barked, because I do not approve of spectacles, but another man appeared with a gun and a lady had her head chopped off. Ella was a bit upset, so I told everyone off.
The spectacles ended up in a coffin where they belonged. Mummy said it was a “play”. It was not. A play would have a ball in it.
Day 4: To Hadrian’s Wall 111 miles, 2hrs 12mins
We drove to Northumberland where a man called Adrian built a wall to stop Scottish collies getting in. But I climbed over it loads.
There was a big tree at a place called Sycamore Gap, and I was not allowed to widdle on this one, either. I looked at Scotland, which is further away these days.
I sniffed it, barked a bit, then told Mummy I would go wherever she was, preferably on foot.
We saw some sheep, so I performed my duty with a woof about mint sauce. But they ganged up on me and pushed us out of their field! The ignominy.
“Laddie wants to go home!” I emoted at Mummy, but she only scratched my ears and said I was a prawn. We lived that night in a field, where I taught Ella more throwing tricks. If this itinerant lifestyle continues we can form a double-act to earn money. Day 5: To the Lake District
68 miles, 1hr 24mins The trauma of driving ended suddenly. We got out of the Collie Lorry and ohmydog it’s Gran and Grandad! We will all live in this layby for ever! The relief. Then we went to a car park in Kendal but Mummy could not get out again. The Collie Lorry got stuck. There was lots of swearing, which I barked over so Ella did not hear.
I was told to shut up. I barked at everyone to shut up so Mummy could concentrate. A lady who smelled of lorries told us how to escape.
We went for a walk by a lake called Windermere. My pack did not like any of the sticks they found, so threw them into the lake. I got the sticks back, but they threw them away again! The next day I was left in the Collie Lorry for a sleep. They went to The World of Beatrix Potter, where there was a rabbit called Peter. Ella liked it so much she threw herself on the floor in the gift shop and refused to leave.
I tried the same thing in a patch of burdock at the campsite, so that we do not have to drive anywhere.
Everyone stopped barbecuing sausages to pick the burrs out. Then Gran and Grandad abandoned us,
Mummy unplugged all the electrics, emptied the toilet and off we went.
Day 7: To Haworth Parsonage, 55 miles, 1hr 21mins
I was told off for trying to cuddle Mummy while she drives, and was left behind to guard the Collie Lorry while she took Ella to see some dead women.
They were called Emily, Charlotte and Anne Brontë and they lived in a place called Haworth that used to be horrible but is nice now and smells of cream teas.
We had a walk on the moor to a waterfall the dead women used to go to. Ella and Mummy talked about Jane Air, Woofing Bites and someone who was a Tenant at Wildwolf Hall. I barked at people, sheep, the sky and some trees. They all stayed away.
Day 8 – to the Peak District 86 miles, 2hrs 15mins
It is raining. We baht ’atted Ilkley Moor, and then went to Saltaire where a man named Titus Salt built a model village around his factory.
There are lots of wonderful, carefully tended gardens which Mummy loved, and a big park and a play area that Ella liked, and other dogs had widdled on everything so I enjoyed it too.
We did not stay, because while Titus built healthy houses for his workers he didn’t build any pubs.
Mummy drove us to things that were out of the rain, but she did not have the cash to park anywhere, and Ella refused to go in caves, so we went to Morrisons. Mummy bought scones
and cream and we ate them and watched films in our onesies. There is heating in the Collie Lorry so my furry onesie got all warm and stinky. I am starting to like it.
Day 10: To the Cotswolds, 114 miles, 2hrs 15mins
The next morning I woke at dawn when someone exploded a bomb. It might be fireworks. No, it’s a gun. I don’t care, it’s horrific. I sat next to Mummy and panted in her face until she woke up. She said it was probably a farmer shooting rabbits. It must have been a helluva rabbit, because it took two hours to subdue.
When Ella woke up Mummy took us on a walk through cowpats. Me and Ella were supposed to go around them. We didn’t.
Then we drove south to a farm where we were the only guests. We went for a long walk through fields of oats. We laid down and looked at clouds and Ella chattered about Romans and Robin Hood and women who write books. I kept an ear out for monsters, and/or pheasants.
Day 11: Home 154 miles, 3hrs 15mins
After breakfast Mummy took us to sheepdog trials, in a field with spectators sitting on chairs drinking tea. I wondered what crimes the sheepdogs had committed.
A collie less fluffy than me rushed off, a man whistled at it, and some sheep wandered casually up the field like they were going this way anyway.
The dog chased them around and pushed them through gates and then brought them to me. I was nice and quiet but a farmer told Mummy “could you move your wolf ”.
The sheep had to go past us and I
had struck fear into their hearts. The farm collies do not think I am a wolf.
I overheard a sniff that said “pampered overblown face-puff ” but I looked down my nose and pretended not to notice. Finally, Mummy took us home. We had driven 897 miles, sniffed nine different national parks and beauty spots and widdled in places we weren’t expecting.
Ella’s throwing came on a treat and Mummy only spent money on diesel and clotted cream. All the Caravan and Motorhome Club campsites had excellent facilities, views and people.
But I don’t see why Scotland can’t come to me. Don’t they know who I am?
Bram Stoker put it in a book about a man who could turn into a bat...
AS TOLD TO SUSIE BONIFACE