Ladybirds of the night.

We wandered the streets this morning and came to a sign that screamed 'Prostitutes'. The sign didn't actually scream the word 'Prostitutes', it didn't even say the word 'Prostitutes'. In fairness, it didn't need to. No, it simply read 'Lady Birds', but we all know what it really means. It means 'Prostitutes'. Ziggy and I peered in to find a cage like door, leading to a corridor. God knows what lurked beyond the door at the end. But it no doubt leads to a dingy flat above the takeaway where Lady Birds make sweet, fast, expensive, plastic love to drunken slobs and hen-pecked drifters. This place was never going to be the site of a children's nursery or an insect zoo was it? I ran a quick Google search and found that Lady Birds is classed as a 'Massage Parlour' or a 'Men's Health Studio'. Ha! The website provides a full list of the Lady Birds available and as can be expected, we have the obvious names on the rota.... Demi... Candy... Coral... Nikita and Miley. Classy.

 

Ziggy and I moved hastily along lest we be tarnished as dirty dawgs and made our way back home via the weir on the River Mersey. Aloft a tall pole stands the beacon of Northenden and a symbol of the wildlife that live in this delightful little area. A large metallic heron sculpture hangs over us and reminds us that Lady Birds are not the only creatures flying around fishing for tit bits.

 

 

Past the lovely heron comes the crashing sounds of water. Ziggy likes to peer over the fence and look at the weir. I don't know why. I think the loud noisy water gives him a thrill. Maybe somewhere inside that hairy brain of his he imagines a pretty lady dog screaming for help as she struggles in the foamy water created by the weir. In a flash, Ziggy has thrown off the shackles of his harness and dived into the river to aid the dogsel in distress...

 

In reality we know this to be nothing more than a dog dream. Ziggy can't swim and he probably wouldn't risk life and limb to save a lady dog from a bubbling river. The poor boy cries his little eyes out when a bowl of warm soapy water gets poured over his head for a wash, so there is no chance of any acts of heroism coming from him.

Cruising the streets with my 'emergency' 5th poo bag.

The sun was shining as we strode out on our little 60 minute adventure last night. A spring was in Ziggy's step as he pulled me towards his first toilet stop. The boy is like a pressurised bottle of fizz ready to explode after having baked the contents of his bowel for a good 5 hours. Lovely. My rule of thumb is always carry 5 poo bags. I have known the little machine to lay 4 turds in 1 walk. Therefore the 5th bag acts as a spare or in case I personally get caught short. Be prepared, that's what the Cubs taught us.

 

We headed out to the River Mersey for some rolling in wild garlic and I took this little snap of the happy chappy shortly before he very nearly did a kamikaze roll down the river bank and into some rather rambunctious rapids.

The Mersey banks are alive with buzzing and the whiff of the garlic is strong. Ziggy rolls in the corpse of a dead magpie, which amuses him no-end and propels me to hurtle towards him, arms flailing, head shaking violently like a mad man. It's no good. He's rolled in it and before I can get to him, there's half a decomposed wing hanging out of his gob. Horrible little beast. It doesn't take long for him to realise that the wing tastes like a zombie and it falls from his mouth. He gets a drink from the river to wash the death from his mouth and the lead goes back on the harness.

 

We get back onto tarmac and come across this secluded, abandoned public toilet. George Michael would regard this sort of thing as a 'love-nest'. If this is the option, then I'd rather use the 5th 'emergency' poo bag. No thanks George. No thanks.

 

The wife and I have so far frequented only one of Northenden's drinking taverns. We had a couple in the Crown Inn on Ford Lane. My sort of boozer. Old tele in the corner, warm Guinness and token, red-faced, old bloke talking to the wall. Fantastic. Next to the Crown Inn is Northenden police station, which looks suspiciously vacant. On the side of the outside wall is a large banner detailing the force's latest crack down. Knife crime? Nah. Rape? Nah. Village drunks? Nah. It seems Northenden's priority is stubbing out 'Off-road bike nuisance'. Operation Motorcross aims to 'crush' this obscenity into oblivion. Brilliant, so while the bobbys are off chasing kids on mopeds and toddlers on balance bikes, I'm left to fend for myself with just the 5th 'emergency' bag full of poo to swing at my attacker. Eat shit mate.

New dwelling in Northenden.

It's been a while, but in fairness the iphone 3GS does tend to struggle taking photos on a dark, wintery morning. Never fear. We're back! With a new camera! A new home! Lots of new/ordinary/odd/beautiful/shit things to see! Welcome back to my dog walking blog!

 

For existing readers, you will know that the majority of my posts in this blog were based in and around the suburb of West Didsbury. My dog, my girl and all our worldly possessions have now upped sticks and bought a house further south in the little Mancunion village of Northenden. It's not all pound shops and randy pigeons round here ya know! We found this nice little house and this is where we live (as you can see, my Daewoo is still standing):

 

Today's walk was a quick one through the familiar territory of the village and along Palatine Road. 6:30am is a little early for alcoholic refreshment, even by my standards, but Ziggy seemed happy with the prices and happy hour will surely come a calling once we've plucked up the courage to drink in this brazen saloon. £2.60 for a Guinness?! Cripes! I was paying nearly a fiver for the black stuff on the set of "The Only Way is Made in Didsbury". We should have roughed it down at Escape 2 long ago Zig.

 

I'm all for kids getting involved in making things and designing things. However there is a time and a place. If we're talking, say, a 'Get Well Card' for Grandma, then yeah, getting a 6 year old to make a nice card with a lovely picture of Grandma wearing massive pants and smoking a pipe on the front is a nice thought. A lovely gesture. Home-made and arts and crafty. Or, if we are talking about making a sign for a 'Bring and Buy' stall on the front of your drive, with the letter B's accidentally, but cutely, written the wrong way round, so it looks like the words were written by someone with a blindfold and no hands. That's cute. Plus it tempts people in to look at the un-buyable tat on offer.... However I draw the line at using your child to make a sign to try and sell the family's Tattoo Parlour. They could of at least let the kids run wild with the tattoo needles and let them etch the sign onto the bare back of the owner who is selling. That would have been more fitting.
 

Friday 12th July 2013

CRASH!!..... BANG!!..... WALLOP!!.....

Those were probably the sort of noises that were made when the subject of this photo was created. Outside our house is a parked Renault Clio that has had a right old beating. Ziggy and I have been walking past it every day since the smash happened and as yet, no-one has moved it. The puncture on the tyre probably hasn't helped. It all happened last Friday 5th July. There was a screech of tyres..... a crunch of metal..... and a thud of something else as some moron (probably pissed) drove way too fast down our skinny little street and twatted into the front of this poor person's parked car. If you own a shite car in Didsbury, watch out! My guess is that this is some sort of 'Shite Car Protest'..... a sort of 'If your car's wank, piss off and live in Ladybarn!' kind of statement..... The locals do not appreciate anything shitter than an Audi A3, a BMW 114 or a Mini Cooper lining their smug streets from what I can see. I'm parking the Daewoo on the drive from now on, less my car takes a hiding on the road from the toffs.

Oh and if you wondered what I meant by ".....and a thud of something else....." well turns out the car also knocked over a brick bollard too. Jesus! West Didsbury is dangerous when your shit car sticks out like a sore thumb! What Next? Is someone going to try and rape my iphone 3GS cause it can't load the Gumtree App?!.... Will Ziggy get happy slapped becuase he is not a Pug?!

We carried on walking down Queenstown Road and happened across a Graffiti stencil of a monkey. There are a few of these littered around the area and I don't know what they are supposed to mean or signify. By the look on Ziggy's face, I'm not sure he knows what the hell they mean either. Just look at the contemplation on his face though. He's really trying hard to work this one out.

Thursday 11th July 2013

As you will be well aware if you read my previous post, I have suffered this week as a result of insect bites. The bastard lumps have died down considerably and the itching has subsided now, and I feel considerably more comfortable. Ziggy had his dose of flea prevention today. A hearty squeeze from a Stronghold pipette and the hairy beast is protected from all sorts of hopping beasties that lurk in long grass. I only wish they did a Stronghold pipette for humans, and maybe then I would have been protected from the winged devils in Delamere.

 

We walked down Circular Road today, which is up near Christie's hospital. It is home to some lovely houses, but the street sign is a complete and utter lie. Wikipedia tells me that Circular refers to the shape of a circle. Dictionary.com tells me that Circular is akin to having the form of a circle. My common sense tells me that Circular is.... well..... a circle. Ladies and Gentleman, Circular Road is NOT a circle. No. It is a quarter of a circle at best, which by my watch makes it a Quadrant and which by reason ought to make the correct street name Quadrant Street.

 

 

We headed back from the scene of the incorrect street name crime and walked right into another shit storm. Splashed all over the side of a bus stop was an advert for a new type of Cadbury's confectionery. Now, I'm sorry, but Cadbury have crossed the frickin' line here. Cadbury's Crunchums are..... crunchy cereal bites tumbled in delicious Cadbury milk chocolate...... Yeah you heard me right, they said tumbled. However, that is not my gripe here. I'm a big fan of both the chocolate world and the cereal world, but for me, the two worlds can only collide in one way and one way only. You can put your chocolate in my cereal but DO NOT put your cereal in my chocolate!! Chocolate, when added to cereal, enhances and sweetens and makes boring, shit, dull, plain old wheat exciting. Don't you dare add your boring, shit, dull, plain old wheat to my chocolate thus tainting it with the bland stick?! Leave chocolate to be chocolate. That's all I'll say.

 

 

Homeward bound, we wandered past the Green Finch pub. It used to be called the Four in Hand, but it underwent a massive makeover and they changed it's name to the Green Finch. Why? I have no idea. It was a lifeless pub then and it's a lifeless pub now.

 

I quite like the little picture of the Green Finch though. Tweet tweet y'all.

 

Tuesday 9th July 2013

It's Tuesday morning and I have woke up, covered in insect bites. God damn you Delamere Forest! I am an itchy, scratchy and uncomfortable mess. Ziggy is itching too but not due to insect bites, no. It's due to the fact that he is of course a dog..... and dog's itch. We wander down Darley Avenue, which is home to some lovely houses, which are way off my financial spectrum. I'm surprised that low moral fibre like me and Zig are even allowed to walk down this road. Yet, walk down it we do. Here is a blurred picture of Ziggy by the gate post to Darley Avenue.

At the bottom of Darley Avenue is access to the River Mersey. Yes you heard that right, the River Mersey. It's not just a handy river for Liverpudlians dear reader! Oh no. Us honarary Mancunions are also, technically, Merseysiders.

 

This is easily Ziggy's favourite place in the world. Loads of grass to play in, a river to splash in, piles of horse shit to eat and lots of other dogs to chase. It also has it's perks for me too as the river meets many pubs along it's winding way. However it's 6:55 in the morning and not quite time for a beverage. Here is a shot of the river in all it's green and lush splendour.

 

 

Unfortunately for Ziggy we haven't got the time for a full on riverside wander and I have to break his little heart and drag him back up to street level. His constant tugging on the lead back towards the river suggests he is not happy about the situation, but it's tough shit Ziggy. I have to water the cucumbers and tomatoes in the greenhouse before I set off for work and that is much more important than you eating horse shit.

 

You may recall from one of my earlier blog posts a picture of some hideous, stone, lion statues outside someone's house? Well, on the way back home we find another horrid stone creature sitting atop the gate posts leading to some weirdo's home. Check these out. Mental.

Friday 5th July 2013

Thank fuck it's Friday. The sun is shining and a small heat-wave is apparently on the way. Well it's probably more of a warm-wave than a heat-wave, but the warm-wave is as welcome as any wave. Ziggy and I promised you a picure of the tram at Burton Road tram stop a while back and this time the camera didn't break. Ziggy really wanted to go down to the platform to get a closer look, but I politely informed him that dogs were not welcome on trams unless they were helping the blind. It's a shame really, cause Ziggy does like to travel (unlike myself). We used to get the train back to Poulton, before I inherited the Raewoo from my Grandad (RIP Grandad, hope the great pond in the sky is full of fish!). Ziggy would lie on the floor on his belly and would quite enjoy the slow, side to side wobble of the carriage as it rattled along towards home. I'd give him a bone to chew to keep him occupied and generally he behaved himself.....apart form that one time when he licked a scally bloke's ear and pulled his diamond stud out.....and that time when he ate his bone really quickly and puked it all back up again as a huge pile of humous on the train floor.....and that other time when he was sat under the table and decided to lick a young lady quite high up her leg. The young lady didn't actually act that surprised, she must have had this sort of attention before. Slag. Go and turn the head of some other dog.

 

Wandering down Burton Road, we came across Withington Leisure Centre. It's a lovely old building, but I have never actually been inside this place. My girlfriend has been for a swim here as they have a little swimming pool as well, but she says the pool is a bit too small. In all honesty, I don't mind a swim, but I'm not a big Gym goer. In fact, as my good friend Peter Jones can vouch, I, Ben Thorley, have never once been to a Gymnasium in my whole, entire life. It's one hell of statistic and one that I am immensely proud of. I don't like men in lycra and I think muslces look stupid. I do my workout pounding the pavements with the Zig man. Neither of us wears any Lycra.

 

Withington Leisure Centre was under pressure to close last year and pleasingly the council have allowed the baths to stay open after over 8,000 people signed a petition to keep it open. Perhaps I should make the effort to pay the pool a visit before the building becomes yet more unoccupied flats.

 

 

One last stop before we return to home, another one of Withington's famous, yet quite underwhelimg landmarks..... The Withington Trough! According to local sources the trough has been relocated from place to place over the years. It now resides on Copson Street and an enscripton on the stone boasts....."that ye may drink, both ye and your cattle and your beasts". There shall be no drinking here, Ziggy, as the trough is now nothing more than a badly tended plant pot. What a let down! We were both hoping for a morning guzzle of Withington's finest spring water and all we got was some weeds and soil. I'm so disappointed I might have to join a gym to perk me up.