I'd been offered first refusal on an offer to house-sit for a cousin in Northumberland, the only duties were to feed the cats, walk the border collie and eat the contents of a well stocked freezer leaving the rest of the time free to cycle in glorious countryside so Jean and I loaded our bikes on the train at Oxford and travelled north, we enjoyed the excellent view of the splendour of Durham Cathedral and Castle, saw Anthony Gormely's Angel of the North and caught a glimpse of the Gateshead Millennium 'Blinking Eye' cycle and footbridge which spans the Tyne without even the hint of a wobble, all of which stirred the Northern blood which runs in my veins. We spent the first night in Morpeth and had the luck to chance on a pub where a group of Northumbrian pipers were playing, the pipes are smaller than the Scottish bagpipes so it isn't overwhelming to listen to a number of them being played together and we enjoyed the local colour. 

Next day we arrived at our cottage in the country and as my cousin had left the day before for Cyprus I showed Jean her room but on opening the door to mine discovered one of the cats had crapped on the bed and judging by the size of the deposit it had been constipated for at least the week before, then Jean in her stocking feet stood in something nasty and I did the same. The duvet cover and two pairs of socks had been bundled into the washing machine before I stood in the something nasty in my bare feet and discovered the cat had been sick. This was something of a relief. It was a few days later that Jean realised we had put the washing tablet in the wrong compartment and it was still sitting there unused but, never mind, the duvet cover had had a good rinse. Stanley continued to throw up his food but it was now being regurgitated in a recognisable form so I put him on half rations, mashed what he had and took some considerable pleasure in crushing his nuts. 

One evening I heroically rescued a shrew which had been brought in by one of the cats, effecting the rescue by persuading it to go in a bucket, the same technique can be used to get a pig to back on to a trailer. A skill I haven't used for some years, but even with crushed nuts Stanley wreaked revenge for next morning there was a dead shrew on the carpet and nearby was a tiny foetus which she had presumably aborted in fright. 

We enjoyed walking the well-behaved collie up the lonnen, although I'm not quite sure what a lonnen is, and round the fields surrounding the four cottages but this particular morning one of our neighbours was working by the fishponds and Rog the dog made straight for him, grabbed hold and wouldn't let go, the reason being that Alan keeps a couple of bitches, one was on heat and Alan hadn't changed his trousers since leaving her in his cottage. I had forgotten Rog's collar and lead so went chasing back for them and returned to join in the mirth and innuendo while Alan's twentysome son looked on in embarrassment while muttering that the situation was surreal, I think he saw his father in a new light. 

We wrested the dog away from Alan and walked some distance over the fields before letting him off the lead and three times he dutifully came back when called but then ignored me and made a beeline for a very surprised Alan who know thought himself to be safe from amorous embraces. I couldn't apologise enough and was glad Alan had a sense of humour. A couple of days later Alan came driving down the track and, grinning wickedly, stopped to assure me that he had changed his trousers but not his underpants, his son sat looking straight ahead obviously wishing he wasn't there. 

Towards the end of our ten-day ordeal by domestic animals things took a turn for the better and for two evenings we were entertained by the Real Tom and Jerry Show. A mouse who obviously liked adventure holidays appeared in the living room and used a raised step into the living room as a stage from where he performed for us and the two cats, he really taunted those cats, looking at them from his 'stage', running across the hearthrug and peering out from under a bookcase, his grand finale was to eyeball one of the cats with only a table leg and about four inches separating them. Eventually the mouse made a dash for it, Stanley chased after the mouse and I chased after Stanley while Jean sat with her trousers tucked into her socks. Satisfied that the mouse had escaped I came back into the kitchen but have to admit to shrieking when it ran between my feet, my excuse being that it had approached me from behind. 

Despite all of this we cycled every day, to the coast, the moors, along the Coquet valley, round the extensive grounds of Cragside, which was the first house to be lit by hydroelectricity and, of course, to most of the cafes in the area. I managed to cycle up all of the hills which were on offer but coming down was a different matter and when approaching what looked like a cliff face with a warning of a concealed dip at the bottom I got off and walked while holding back the bike which was just raring to go. On cycling back to Morpeth for the train home we were delighted to spot a red squirrel. Give me wild animals rather than the domestic variety every time, but especially when on a cycling holiday. 

Eve Thornton                         Published in the Oxford Cyclist No 121 Winter 2001