MUTT OF THE MONTH – Basher, a mightily massive monster mastiff, has found a Cornish home in time for Christmas after two years in a shelter.

His immense size scared people off. He’s 60 blooming kg (or almost 10 if you're using Totos, which I'm lobbying to make the SI unit of dog weight).

With dog sizes, I've always maintained that less is more. But some say if less is more, think how much more, more would be.

I merely remind them of the carrier-sized poo bags necessitated by a dog's bottom of such immoderate vastness. That usually sets them straight.

Anyway, if I was living anywhere near Basher’s new home, I would bury my bone collection sharpish.

Would bury... that reminds me...

MOSEY OF THE MONTH – Woodbury Castle.

Me and old mucker Monty Norman went Woodbury way recently and a super stroll ensued.

Here’s what to do: start at the castle and head to the ‘Four Firs’ Carpark. (Signwriters: if you don’t know how to spell fur, don’t just guess and hope for the best. Come see me).

Proceed into the wilderness yonder and get hopelessly lost, immediately. Spend the next hour blundering about until somebody recognises something then leg it back to the car sharpish.

I have to say, although I didn’t plan on doing a Mark Thatcher (one for the octogenarians – I like to include Sidmouth’s younger ones), I did lap up the scenery.

Monty was banging on about some toughies thereabouts called the Royal Maries. I can’t actually say I’ve heard of any Royal Marines apart from that French one – Marie Antndec or something – but they don’t sound too tough to me.

The castle is super fun to run around so I’m a big fan. It is the fort that counts, after all. Dates back to a time we know very little about, its legacy being smoothed out by time. That’s why it’s called the Ironed Age. There’s an even older period called the Stoned Age, but there wasn’t much activity then so very little to see.

Sidmouth Herald: Walkies this week were around Woodbury CastleWalkies this week were around Woodbury Castle (Image: Archant)


MERCHANT OF THE MONTH – The Loft. How many top notch restaurants are actually for dogs but humans are allowed in too? (I think I've got that the right way round).

It's the time of year when my thoughts turn to filling my furry face with seasonal scoffage, and The Loft’s currently dishing out some seriously yumtastic yule fuel. I’m a soupçon in love with it.

What’s this baste on? First the music – when I was there, it was The Cloche, singing Should I Sauté or Should I Goût? The food’s served on tables so there’s no whisk of having to have it on your laps entrées.

But it’s not over-posh – you don’t have to be all larder-da to eat there. No, just Blanc yourself down and spoon enough you will sear tasty dish on your table d’hote you worry.

Not for every animal though. Rams (say) have to dessert the place. (Grillers are welcome though. Simmerlarly, Chow Chows). And not pricey – they totally take the astronomical out of gastronomical. I can’t braise it highly enough.

When it comes to nosh places, the Loft’s right at the top and gets attic from me.

Talking of nosh, I had a tricky moment yesterday when I choked on some home grown bayleaves. It was a Great British bay cough. And I wasn’t a Berry happy pup, let me tell you.

MIRTHFUL 'MUSEMENTS AND MERRY MUNCHES OF THE MONTH – Where on earth can you get tins of three bird feast plus toys in the shape of Xmas trees, holly, ivy, baubles and even turkeys?

The pre-eminent purveyor of pooch pleasure they call Toto’s of Sidmouth, that’s where.

Remember though, a dog shop’s not just for Christmas, but it is especially good then, to be fir. This spelling trouble must be catching. Season’s grrreetings everyone. Toto out.