Read Handbags and Poobags: Tales of a Soho Boxer Dog Online
Authors: Alice Wright
Chapter 22: THE PURSUIT OF FAME
Working in Public Relations I deal closely with media and am friends with plenty of journalists – especially trade press writers who report on our industry. I have been interviewed and quoted myself but after getting a mention for Basil in one of our trade papers I thought it was time for my little boy to get in on the act too, rather like a canine version of Mrs Worthington or Pushy Mother. My business partner mentioned him in an interview and I bombarded the press with information about his birthday party only half jokily.
But the best was yet to come – a good friend worked on the UK’s best-selling film magazine, Empire, and in return for a readers letter was happy to print a picture of Basil wearing a Superman t-shirt in the Editor’s Letters page. I couldn’t have been happier and think I have about three copies of Basil’s issue at home. And a great picture of him is also filed in the picture library of a major publishing house just in case a picture of ‘a dog’ is needed. Maybe it’s true that every dog has its day and we’ll see him posing properly in a magazine or catalogue one day?
One sunny afternoon we were approached in the street by a rather dapper fellow outside Camden market. He mentioned that he had seen us around and had a shop selling pet clothes, would we be interested in Basil being a model as he was ‘
gorgeous
’ and ‘
so full of character’
. Interested? Now I know this was hardly the same as the discovery of Kate Moss, but I honestly couldn’t have been prouder!
I’m not sure why I should be surprised, he has a noble lineage. Despite my earlier dismissal of hearing that Basil had Crufts winners in his line, sure enough when his pedigree certificate arrived from the Kennel Club we were impressed to see that he has no fewer than 15 winners in his past five generations. I am not a huge believer in this selective and proud breeding process that results in dogs being considered ‘suitable’ or not but we still proudly display that certificate in a frame on the wall (
Fletch’s Flyer
indeed!). He’ll never go to Crufts or competitively take part in real dog shows but we were proud enough when he won ‘Most Handsome Dog’ at a little local event held at a park up the road. We cheered him on with beers and hung the rosette on the wall.
Sadly there aren’t many famous Boxer Dogs, which is a shame because they do look so noble. But we did once see Simon Callow walking through Camden with a fine pair of reds – we nodded to him in a ‘
we own boxers’
kind of way – and after a brief chat about the more engaging qualities of the breed we felt that Basil had a little brush with stardom through association.
Local singer Amy Winehouse lived right behind us and often on our walks around the little streets we would end up going past her house. The cobbles were always packed with fans hoping for a glimpse of her and paparazzi hoping for a lucrative photograph. While I would walk past with my head in the air, tut-tutting at them for taking up all the space and making it unpleasant for locals (the area was always ankle deep in the photographers’ fag-butts) Basil would growl and sniff and make it very clear that they were not welcome. A very perceptive dog our boy.
He’s also such a handsome lad we arranged for him to have his own photo shoot! A special ‘Animal Photographer’ was booked who we had met and vetted at a Dog Exhibition we’d attended. She specialised in dogs and cajoled Basil into all sorts of positions with his ball in Regent’s Park and in the front seat of our Boxster, the results of which can still be seen on our walls today. But she also had a special purpose for coming to see us… sadly Basil would be unable to attend our wedding in person, but we wanted him there in spirit – a huge photo of him at the event would ensure this happened. So she duly snapped him wearing a bow tie and looking very smart so he could be there as a ‘virtual guest’.
Chapter 23: THE SAYING OF THE VOWS
We had to get Basil ready for his three weeks away in the Dog Hotel. I was incredibly excited about our wedding and honeymoon but I knew we would miss him and that he would miss us. For days beforehand it was like the elephant in the room,
The Dropping off of Basil
wasn’t discussed right up until the morning we actually had to do it.
We knew where we were going, we had been there twice before to let Basil get used to the place and check out the facilities and owners. It was a rather nice secluded cottage in Kentish woods inhabited by a well-to-do retired couple and their three black Labradors. These weren’t kennels by any stretch of the imagination, rather The Paw Seasons for dogs.
I had done a lot of research online beforehand. There were even some Dog Hotels that had web-cams so you could view your little furry friend online no matter how far away from home you were. Believe me if we could have found one of those places closer to us that’s where he would have gone! But then I imagine we’d have spent our honeymoon obsessively searching for Wi-Fi in the Indian Ocean in order to see some grainy images of Basil having a snooze.
But our chosen carers had promised us that he would text us while we were away just to keep us up to date with his activities – yes text us. (And when those bleeping messages came in I really did believe they were from Basil himself and it made me feel a whole lot better to hear that ‘
I’ve been for a long walk today mummy and am now just having my tea’
whilst we were sunbathing in the Maldives).
We turned off into the long narrow driveway leading to Basil’s holiday home. Taking us deeper and deeper into the countryside. The air was full of unfamiliar smells that day and the fields full of pheasants. The affect it had on Basil was incredible and he suddenly abandoned his sophisticated Soho persona. He, usually happy to relax in my lap or the footwell as we drove along, started struggling to get out of the car, he fought and fought and it was all I could do to hold him in. We had the soft top down on account of the sunshine but had to pull over in order to put it back up. His little scrabbling claws were tearing at my arms so desperate was he to answer the call of the wild.
He’s not normally sway to his animalistic ways but we honestly nearly lost him to the countryside that day. If he could have made it out of the car I swear we would have never seen him again and probably heard reports years later of a feral hound inhabiting the woods and living with pheasants. Despite having had him for nearly two years it was a completely unknown dog I held nervously in my arms for the rest of the way.
Soon he was deposited in his temporary home and after many backward glances Patrick and I were alone and on our way again. This time towards a new chapter in our lives, our marriage. In just two days’ time we would be at our own wedding and I couldn’t believe it. It was with some dismay I looked down to discover that my arms had started to bruise from Basil’s flurry of bird-related activity and in my sleeveless dress those would definitely show up on the big day. Grrrr… Bad boy!
I was incredibly nervous on my wedding day. I could barely eat a thing, which made a change - I had been celebrating my impending nuptials so often I must have been the only bride to put weight on before her big day! I was also slightly hungover from a rather raucous dinner with my two girlfriends the night before. We were all slightly worse for wear despite our best efforts to keep things low key. But a blissful massage and manicure in Harrods followed by a session with a hairdresser and make-up artist (and a few glasses of champagne of course) soon sorted me out.
Our beautiful wedding venue was in Knightsbridge, the grand walls were hung with portraits of noble folk long since dead, and beside them was a large canvas of Basil looking smart in his bow-tie. As I stood upstairs I could hear my friends and family congregate below me and waiting for proceedings to start. I was left alone with only his picture for company and seeing Basil look down at me, his cute, eager face all alive with happiness I was momentarily calmed and thankful for the presence of his familiar love.
I didn’t have any doubts about what I was doing but I was considering how far we had come and how much I had changed. It seemed that the former girl-about-town had been tamed. For a hen night present I had been presented with my very own Empire magazine front cover by a wonderful friend who worked there – the headline read ‘
Her Party Days Are Over’
. Was that true? Had I really done everything exciting that I was going to do? Was that what marriage meant? Were my party days going to be over?
I was lucky enough to have lived what I considered to be an exciting life. I had:
But I knew I was bored of the travelling and staying out late, I missed Patrick and Basil far too much. I was sometimes happier watching EastEnders with a bottle of wine than attending the screening of a new film (even with free champagne thrown in). I knew I could happily take the plunge. And besides I could still pick and choose what events I attended. We could still go out, but for now I was prepared to throw myself into this new chapter in my life. I wasn’t going to be the oldest swinger in town! I took a deep breath and walked down the stairs towards my groom.
Our wedding was a joyous affair, full of fun, laughter and love, exactly as it should have been and Basil was mentioned many times, including in the speeches. Everyone loved his portrait and we had plenty of photos taken with it, one of our favourites being the two of us holding the portrait close to us, it really looks as if our dog was a guest in the room. Most of the pictures also show up a few rather large bruises on my arm (thanks boy!) and when I look at the wedding album now I laugh and remember Basil trying to run away with the pheasants.
Chapter 24: THE AGONY OF ABSENCE
The Maldives are boring. Yes, I know how lucky I am to have experienced such a place and it sounds incredibly selfish, especially after complaining so much and fighting so hard for my freedom and an easy, glamorous life. But I am sorry, it is. It is absolutely beautiful and peaceful and romantic and all of those things you imagine, but we couldn’t help thinking that if we were to have this chance to travel knowing that Basil was being taken care of we would have preferred to have spent the cash on cocktails and shopping in New York. Believe me for what we had spent on two weeks in our island paradise we could have lived it up fine style in the Big Apple for a week and had a far better time (and maybe bought home some decent new clothes instead of a pair of flip-flops and a shark-tooth pendant).
Because really the same tiny island beach is the same tiny island beach day after day, the only difference being what book you are reading or what you are going to have for dinner in the limited amount of restaurants your resort has to offer. The only interaction with other human beings is asking the cocktail waiter for another drink and the obsessive checking out of other women’s ring fingers upon arrival at the airport (I kid you not. It took me ages to realise why so many women were trying to get a look at my left hand!). Oh and throw in the odd boat trip and massage.
It sounds idyllic to some but after a couple of years of kicking back and becoming more homely I felt we should have grabbed the bull by the honeymoon horns and done something outrageous. Despite having travelled to some lovely places separately we had never really spent much time abroad together and now we had Basil to look after we doubted we would ever really get the chance again. And funnily enough I didn’t get on a plane for years after that holiday.
Despite receiving texts from Basil we both missed him terribly. It was while we were on our honeymoon that I started thinking about his exploits and writing them down (the result of which is what you are reading here). I dreamt about him loads and remembered in minute detail all of his early experiences. After spending two years of our life with him a three week absence was a hard term, despite the fact we were enjoying our first weeks of married life very much and almost guiltily revelling in having a large, empty (clean) bed to ourselves.
We had been apart from Basil for a couple of nights before that however. A year or so before we had decided to go to Spain for a couple of nights to visit my grandmother who was staying there. Thankfully a couple of good friends and dog lovers agreed to have him for us. We were worried (for all three of them) but were incredibly grateful and knew that no harm could come to any of them in such a short space of time. We left a lot of food for him (the steak & kidney puddings were sniffed at by the resident vegetarian who refused to believe they were actually intended for human consumption) and a list of instructions which included him not being walked off the lead or sleeping on their bed.
That first night Patrick, my Nan and I had a high old time, laughing at the hotel’s ridiculous cabaret, drinking sangria and dancing. We did spare a though for Basil and our friends and texted to ask if everything was alright? Immediately two photos were sent back, the first showed Basil running as free as you like through Richmond Park, not a lead in sight. The second was of the three of them tucked up in bed together. Maybe they hadn’t had time to read the instructions I’d left?
And I had been away from Basil by myself a few times too. A work trip had seen me having to spend a few days in Dubai acting as a publicist for a rather impulsive movie star during a busy film festival. After a pressurized few days with very little sleep I was glad to be on the plane home, and quite literally fell through the door in tears so relieved was I to be back with the family. And Basil nearly danced himself dizzy with relief to see me in return.
And a few weeks before the wedding I had a pre-nuptials break in Florida with my best friends. A sun-drenched, extended hen-do if you will. Another friend had lent us his house and the four of us had some happy days laughing in the pool and visiting the local bars, beach and crab shack. We also managed a magical night in Miami drinking dreamy cocktails in huge beds by the side of a sparkling pool into the small hours…
But despite being in America’s ‘Sunshine State’ I still missed Basil. Patrick texted me a small photo of him to accompany me on my trip, I saved it as my phone wallpaper so I could look at it constantly. I didn’t even mind that he was pictured wrapped up in my best Laura Ashley toile bed linen, which ordinarily I’d have been furious about. My friend bought him a fluffy alligator as a present on the way home.