Falstone Show

Following his fall from grace at last year’s show – when I had to fumble frantically for the poo bag in front of the dog judges and circled by a mortifyingly sympathetic audience – Fluffy was not allowed back to Falstone Show this time.

Instead I took the family. There was no shortage of things for the children to eat (sausage sandwiches from Dunterley Farm), to watch (dogs, sheep, tractors, people) and to play on (bouncy castle!). And they even happened on youngsters they knew from their infuriatingly extensive social circle. The bar was not unduly undersupplied either, and it was my pleasure to see W there chatting to old farmer friends, and I hope a wordless wave from a distance was enough to signal this approval. The day did not smile on W for much longer, but that is not for me to expand on; suffice it to say his plight broke my heart.

Once more I delighted in the seriousness with which the participants take their dogs – a relatively easy thing to do now that I did not have my Bouvier nemesis with me – and the splendid coiffure displayed by the sheep, betraying long nights spent by their owners washing, combing and possibly, dare I say it, dyeing.

A surprising number of acquaintances turned out to take their photography seriously. AB, for example, had bought an impressive-looking Canon SLR which she was taking on its first outing. Some others I vaguely recognised were also sporting equipment of sufficiently professional aspect to make me envious. But I must not underestimate the humble compact Samsung I have just acquired. The dramatic beauty of where I live and the momentousness of my children’s lives at this time made me think enough is enough: to borrow a camera at every portrayable opportunity hampers spontaneity; I must have a camera again. And who knows, even this Northumbrian Diary might benefit from a little more graphic content.

Falstone Show’s Committee has a new chairman. Although the old one in his time did a splendid job too, I have to salute the impeccable choreography last Saturday. Friendly, well-trained stewards guided you with a strong hand to your parking space, even telling you what motoring manoeuvres to perform to get into it. The food and the drink stayed plentiful all the time, and the whole configuration worked like a well-oiled machine. Well done N.

Bellingham, watch yourself this Saturday.

18 August 2007

Saturday 18 August 2007

Falstone Show day. K decided we should enter Fluffy in the dog class, Any Other Dog category. Following the discontinuance of the Terrier Race on grounds of Health and Safety, it seemed that the dog presence in the show was set to have a lower profile than hitherto. She thought it would be good for the show if we unleashed our Bouvier on it. Who knows, he might elicit a smile or two. In the morning I gave the Bouvier a good grooming, or as good a one as a dog as shaggy as this can undergo. He submitted to it with good grace, as if he knew it was a special occasion.

Once there, Fluffy became predictably excited, especially at the density of the dog population on the show ground. Every time he saw a dog he would make an impetuous dash for it, often causing its owner such consternation that we had to shorten the lead and hold on to it quite firmly. In frustration Fluffy would pull at his lead with such force that once the collar came off over his head. I went to the dog accessories stall and bought a smaller one.

Falstone turned out to be a smaller affair than the only other display of its kind I had been to before, the Alwinton Show. Its scope was further diminished by the ban on transport of animals decreed in the wake of the latest foot and mouth scare. There were no sheep and no cattle. Only some stalls selling produce, a tractor display, a few tents where prior to our arrival prizes had been awarded to the best cake, the best painted egg, the best jam and so forth.

The dog display attracted interesting characters, not only the four-legged ones being entered but also the handlers and spectators. The judges carried themselves with an air of impressive authority, their faces strained by the responsibility they bore in the knowledge that their verdict was going to be incontestable. They choreographed the handlers around the ring, they motioned us one by one onto the platform in the middle, then after a hands-on examination of the dog they would direct the handler away towards the side of the ring and back onto the platform, and then away again. Next the judge would call the three finalists onto the central platform, give them an appraising look and choose the final winner. All this was conducted with a cheerful solemnity.

When it came to the Any Other Dog Category and Fluffy walked onto the central platform, the adjudicator admitted to some puzzlement as to the kind of beast he was judging. He gave Fluffy third prize. No comment.