Tag Archives: Sam Harrington-Lowe

dogs, Pugs, Rescue Dogs, Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam Harrington-Lowe – In Praise of Pugs

Leave a comment

This season’s wild effort to make my own life more complicated has been to foster a blind, deaf 15-year-old pug. And whilst this has made life considerably harder, it’s also been rather magical. 

I can’t tell you her name or the gods will smite me (AKA the pug charity trustees) but I can tell you that she has already earned her second name, which is Bones – so she is Miss Bones to you. And yes, I sing this in a Billie Holiday fashion.

Miss Bones can actually see some contrast – the difference between a dark floor and a light wall, for example, but it’s not reliable. And she can hear odd things – if I really bellow, or thump the floor, that can occasionally work. But mostly Miss Bones is in her own little world. 

Her owner died. Imagine being fostered out at 15 after a lifetime with one family. When she arrived she was frightened and in flight mode. Very hard for a pug that can barely even see if it’s day or night. After a day or two crashing around trying to escape, the pheromone diffuser and industrial strength hemp oil kicked in and she settled, found her stride, started to trust us, and we formed some routines.

She’s amazing. She’s mapped out the ground floor of the house, doing laps over and over, touching things with her nose to test the boundaries, and walks around it without hesitation now. We have to be careful of not ambushing her by leaving things lying around where she’s not expecting them. Added bonus that daughter now has to be tidier, or Miss Bones goes a cropper.

Alice Pickle, pug incumbent, isn’t a huge fan of Miss Bones. Alice doesn’t understand that Bones is blind, and why she blunders into her. As for Miss Bones, she barely knows Alice is there, and the two of them ricochet round the house like Roombas, never quite bashing into each other but veering at the last second. I expect they’ll get over it – they’re already starting to sit closer together (see pic, Alice at front).

But I tell you all this because you never know when you’re going to be called on to do a good thing – and Christmas, whether you’re religious or not, is a time for doing good things, I feel. So I did a good thing.

We will of course hang onto Miss Bones now for the duration – there’s no way I’m putting her through another move at her age. People have (not unreasonably) told me I’m mad, aren’t I busy enough etc. But when I see little Bones do an excited blind jump in the kitchen because she’s happy and wants attention, or watch her pop down the steps outside confidently because she knows where they are now, eager for her walk, or feel her sit on my feet so she can be close while I work… well none of that matters. And so yes, this dog was for Christmas, and will be for life. Welcome to the family, Miss Bones.

#AdoptDontShop

Sam Harrington-Lowe

Director & Managing Editor, Title Media

Title Sussex Magazine, Silver Magazine

www.silvermagazine.co.uk

www.titlemedia.co.uk

Sam Harrington-Lowe, Uncategorized

Sam Harrington-Lowe July 2024

Leave a comment

I’m writing this in June and you’re reading this in July. And the General Election may very well be over by now. I really hope it’s gone the right way – if I had to predict the outcome, my money would be on a Labour victory, or possibly a Lab/Lib coalition. 

When talking to my venerable editor about this month’s magazine, I asked if he had any theme, and he said (obviously) that politics seemed likely to feature. I generally don’t write about politics, mostly because I don’t have a thick enough skin to deal with rabid disagreement, and I hate the immoveable and binary right/wrong arguments. When did the elegant skill of discussion and discourse disappear? I blame algorithms, and bubbles, and particularly Twitter. But I digress. 

Growing up, I was led to believe that discussing your political leaning was bad manners. I’m going to guess that this is a painfully middle class thing, saved mostly for the mish-mash of the middle orders where people might vote any which way, but you might not want the Joneses to know your bent. Whereas perhaps in the olden days you could reasonably rely on the working class to vote left, and the poshos to vote right, in the centre it was all to play for, and very much an indicator of your social ambition. 

As social mobility took hold in the 70s, I think perhaps this nouveau bourgeoise practice of not talking about politics was executed by the middle classes to avoid having to stick their flag in the sand. One might want to be upwardly mobile, but not be seen to be abandoning one’s lower-class roots. Or, in a fit of reverse snobbery, have your brats at private school and live in a big house but pretend to be working class, and support the lefties.

Things these days are a lot more fluid. I’m not sure how the class system works in Britain anymore, but it’s not as clear-cut politically. The advent of UKIP, The Reform Party, Brexit, the Greens etc has meant that there’s a lot more choice now. Which is a good thing. A tri-party state is an insane idea anyway, when you think about it. Even more so when you consider it’s mostly whittled down to just two. 

We take a lot of our political cues from our parents. My father, having studied theology as a young man, voted Labour. When he decided the cloth wasn’t for him, and became a business owner, he voted Conservative. Later in life, he voted Green, having become appalled at the state of not just the planet, but also politicians’ behaviour. Politically, I personally feel quite homeless. You’ve seen that meme of a little girl wailing “I don’t want to vote for any of these people.” I feel like that.

If I have to stick my flag in the sand, I think what I’d like is a Lab/Lib coalition, with a good handful of independents in the mix, to represent all interests. Lots of Greens would be nice, with some Monster Raving Loonies, and obviously Lord Buckethead. 

For those of you interested, I’ve just had a look at Ladbrokes, and it’s giving Labour ridic odds. 1/50 Most Seats, and 1/20 Overall Maj, whereas the Conservatives are 25/1 and 40/1 respectively. Interestingly they’ve got Lib Dems to win over 25 seats at 1/8, but no odds for a coalition. 

I’m off down the betting shop to haggle out a bet with them for that right now…

Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam Harrington-Lowe – Dec 2023

Leave a comment

Regular readers of this fine organ may remember me grumbling about the arrival of autumn a couple of months ago. I’ve got past this now and have surrendered to the inevitable onslaught of rain and wind. So it was with some surprise that the other day I found myself (mildly) enthusiastic for Christmas.

As someone from a large family which has shrunk in recent years, due to more despatch than hatch, I’ve become increasingly ambivalent about the C word. I feel like I ought to like it, but actually Christmas can be fraught with expectation, overwhelm, and strife. I’ve never been a huge fan. I’m not keen on turkey, small talk, or the wearing of paper hats. And don’t get me started on the torture that is charades. 

Having said that, I have spent Christmas Day on my own before, having developed some kind of ghastly strep throat affair. In martyrous fashion I elected to stay home alone, like Kevin, imagining the freedom from ritual and heartiness and stuffed fowl to be a blessing. But it backfired. I didn’t think I’d mind, but I did, and spent half the day howling with loneliness. As Will Self once poncily wrote in the Independent, “deliberately being alone on Christmas Day was a bad move… it was tempting fate to toy with isolation, when life, with all its impulsive alacrity, may at any time capriciously thrust you out in the cold.”

In later years as an adult hosting my own Christmases, I’ve aimed for some kind of halfway house – a nice roast, no big dramatic thing, no hustling my daughter (who dislikes Christmas even more than I do) to be jolly. Possibly a tree. But this year I admit to feeling a frisson of excitement. Not much, but a tiny fizz. Could this be… Christmas spirit?

Perhaps the news that IKEA has bought Churchill Square has cheered me up. Nothing like a bit of IKEA shopping and a bucket of meatballs and jam to cheer the spirits. Although lord knows when it’ll be open. Perhaps it’s the sight of a 70cl bottle of Baileys on sale in Tesco for £6 that’s done it. “Six quid!” I squawked loudly in the shop to no-one in particular. Whatever it is, I’m feeling it. And so I have decided to Get On Board with Christmas this year, instead of trying to pretend it’s not happening.

My Christmas resolutions, if you like, will be positive and upbeat. I will join in with things. I will say yes to nights out with friends. I will get pressies early and lovingly, instead of late on Christmas Eve when I’m half cut from a liquid lunch and crying in the crowds of other bewildered, desperate shoppers.

I will send Christmas cards – in time, not ones that arrive in January. And I will wear a Christmas jumper. I will not hate Slade. I will put up some decorations.

But more than anything, I will make time to spend with the people I love the most. Because if the other C word has taught us anything it’s that life is short, and people are precious. Make the most of both.

Have a wonderful Christmas everyone. See you on the other side.

l Sam is founder and Editor-in-Chief of Silver Magazine – for the mature maverick

http://www.silvermagazine.co.uk

Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam Harrington -Lowe – Oct/Nov 2023

Leave a comment

The season of mists and all that jazz firmly divides opinion, I have found…

There are those that welcome its gentle cooling, its falling leaves, its lazy sun. The snuggly appeal of fires and warmer clothes. Halloween parties, hot chocolate, and the rich colourful tapestry of nature. You know these people. They’re on social media a lot.

And then there are people like me. I’m not awfully keen, shall we say? It feels like death looming. I hate woollen clothes. They make me itch. The days are shorter, the bleakness is around the corner. Everyone talks about stupid bloody Hygge until my eyes glaze over with IKEA fatigue. Even hot chocolate makes me feel gaggy.

I can’t be the only one? There must be other people out there for whom autumn feels like the beginning of the end? Here are some of my (least) favourite things about the season.

Is it a turd or a leaf? Ah, the seasonal guessing game. For a dog owner like me this is a double-edged sword. Not only might I tread in a turd, thinking it to be a leaf, which is never a good thing. But I also find myself searching blindly – in leaves – in the general area that Alice has visited, desperately trying to find… well, you know. Add wind and rain to this search or squelch, and I’m pretty much ready to murder someone.

I also hate the darkness. By all that is holy I hate the short days. Not so long ago I was waking at 4-something to see the warm pink of dawn. I slid from my bed bathed in the happy glow. 

Now I’m up at 6am or thereabouts, full of hate, and it’s as dark as midnight. It might as well BE bloody midnight. And then more darkness at the other end of the day, coming increasingly closer. BRING ME THE LIGHT, dammit. Not the SAD light though. That’s just weird. I’d rather be depressed.

Hearty behaviour. Oo look, another thing that could drive me to murder. People being hearty and cheerful. Getting all togged up in stupid hot clothing and doing bonfires and ghastly marshmallows. Capering around having a nice time, dressing up in fancy dress like toddlers. Or getting excited about a soup they made. Actually I do that, to be fair, I love soup. The rest of this heartiness though? Stop it. You’re not five.

And as for the ’Russian Roulette’ pedestrian. I see you, standing there at the kerb at the end of a long day, ready to die in front of my car as you dash out to cross the road in mad traffic, far from the safety of pedestrian crossings, traffic lights or Belisha beacons. Or rather I DON’T see you, because you’re an idiot dressed head to toe in dark clothing in the pouring rain. Darwin Awards at its very best. Do you have any idea how invisible you are? No? Idiot. 

As far as I’m concerned, autumn also heralds Christmas on the horizon, which I’m also not terribly keen on either (more heartiness. And charades! Argh). 

As soon as the first leaves start to fall, it feels like a countdown to the darkness, and a long stretch to springtime. I live for the winter solstice and the turning point as the days get longer again. I pray for snowdrops, and daffodils. And right now they seem a long way off. 

Best I go and have a nice hot bowl of soup to warm up. Bah.

Sam is founder and Editor-in-Chief of Silver Magazine – for the mature maverick

http://www.silvermagazine.co.uk

Brighton Life, Features, Sam Harrington-Lowe

Sam Harrington-Lowe buries the hachet

Leave a comment

Funny how you can think that because you’re good at one thing, that you might be good at another, only to find that you’re crashingly hopeless. I’m a good pool player, for example, but my golf game is dire, despite me assuming that balls in holes is balls in holes. With golf I have the odd amazing shot, but generally I’m slicing balls into forests and throwing my clubs in the water. But with pool, I’ve actually been warned off a winner-stays-on pub marathon in Scotland. “Ye better no win the next one,” cautioned an auld fella. I hadn’t even realised there were disgruntled Scottish heavies lined up scowling at the English bird who was making them all look silly. Anyway, I digress, sort of.

I’m a crack shot at clays – genuinely, I hardly miss a single one – and I love shooting. So I just assumed I’d be really good at axe throwing. Yeah, I said axe throwing, and yeah, I was absolutely dreadful. I took the Silver team there for our summer do. Thankfully we had cocktails afterwards, not before. And some of us were terrible, and some were just brilliant. I would say I was just below ‘Astoundingly awful.’ (Don’t even think about it, Lezard. A “Team outing” here is half a shandy and a bag of cheese’n’onions at The Eddy).

Despite the best efforts of the lovely Viking (Ben from Newcastle, resplendent with red beard and long hair and huge muscles who was coaching us), I was, on the whole, really a bit rubbish at axe throwing. A bit like golf, actually, I got the odd one in. And it’s very satisfying when the blade THUNKS into the wood. But mostly I watched, helpless, as the axe went rogue, splintering things and smashing into everything except the target. I tried not to get annoyed.

Ellie the intern, who is as slim as an actual blade and frankly looks like a good gust of wind would take her out, was thudding the axes into the board every single time. And burying them deep, further supporting the assumption that it’s all in the wrist. I watched her, wondering what she was doing and trying to emulate her relaxed flick, but to no avail. 

The only moment of actual glory I had during the whole escapade was when I landed two axes at once in the same board (on purpose). There is video footage of me capering about and yelling in disbelief. But apart from that, axes were largely not doing what I wanted. It was, however, enormous fun and I would recommend it to anyone. Hatchet Harry’s is at the bottom of Dyke Road, and well worth a visit. 

Sam is founder and Editor-in-Chief of Silver Magazine – for the mature maverick.  www.silvermagazine.co.uk