CORINNA DOWNES: Last night in Texas

CORINNA’S DIARY: Saturday, 20th March

Returning from Austin, where Jon gave a talk, it has been an evening of packing and re-squeezing things into suitcases. At least this time it doesn’t matter whether clothing gets crumpled into a mass of creases as it will all go into the faithful old washing machine upon our return to Woolsery. It has been a wonderful two weeks and I can only thank Naomi and Richie for their tremendous generosity and hospitality. It is one of those occasions where the two words ‘thank you’ do not seem adequate but I cannot think of any other way of expressing my gratitude.

Jon has thanked people on his posting so I won’t repeat all the names, but I would like to extend my personal thanks to all those mentioned.

I have enjoyed my first proper expedition abroad with Jon and have had great fun meeting Jon’s friends and making some new ones. I hope we can come back soon to continue with the investigations into this rather enigmatic creature that has caught our imaginations during the last fortnight.

Tomorrow we shall begin our long haul back to our own little homestead in Devon and although sad to be leaving Texas and Naomi, Richie, Salem and Tiberious, I am looking forward to seeing Biggles again and hope that he will not be too disgruntled with me for leaving him for so long.

Salem

Tiberius

CORINNA DOWNES: The Director of the CFZ is speechless - is this a first?

CORINNA’S DIARY

Friday 19th March


After visiting Devin the four of us intrepid travellers continued on our road down to Cuero where we were to meet Dr Phyllis Canion – the lady who had appeared on a recent National Geographic TV documentary about the chupacabra that had aired on American TV the week before we had left home. Our good friends Nick Redfern and Ken Gerhard had both appeared in the show, but for copyright reasons it had not been aired in the UK. Dr Canion had the body of a ‘chupacabra’ in her freezer and we were to meet and talk about her findings and hopefully see the body.

We left Morgan and Jo back at Devin’s place – they would meet up with us later. Dr Canion met us in the foyer of our hotel and just as we were leaving to go to the Country Club, the two film crew arrived at the hotel. It was arranged that they would join us later after they had freshened up after their journey from Elmendorf.

Dr Canion is a remarkable woman. She is a qualified nutritional practitioner and is also a rancher who has a great knowledge of the land around her. I will not go into details of the dinner and its conversations as this has been covered elsewhere on the blog but when we got back to her ranch we were all totally gob-smacked of what presented itself to us as we walked through her door. Jon was, for I think the first time in his life, speechless, as were all of us. There, on the fireplace, was a preserved specimen of the creature we had been hot on the heels of ever since our feet touched American soil almost two weeks before and which we had been distance-investigating for longer.

It almost snarled at us in defiance as we stared open-mouthed at its form, this beast that had been killed by our modern-day mode of transport like so many other creatures these days. I was charged with taking measurements of its body and although my creaking bones complained bitterly at sitting on the hard wooden floor of Dr Canion’s sitting room, it was an awe-inspiring task to do so. I silently thanked the goddess of fate that the stitching on my bag had started to unravel itself upon our arrival in the States, which prompted my need to purchase a travelling sewing kit complete with tape measure. It is strange how one annoyance can lead to something so utterly magnificent.

I became paranoid that upon trying to move my sluggish body up from the floor to change position would cause me to trip and come crashing down upon the creature and that those other preserved animals that looked down upon this newcomer would laugh silently to themselves at my misfortune.

The form was thin – not quite as thin as a whippet – but almost. And it was smaller than I had imagined. It did look undernourished to a certain extent and upon its legs there seemed to be faint darker patches on the skin that looked a bit like stripes. There is excess skin upon its neck and behind the large ears, but it is the weird scone-like discs upon its buttocks that are so strange. They are around 2” in diameter and are equidistant of the long thin tail. They remind me of old-fashioned flying goggles in their protruding roundness. What on earth are they? Is this creature so emaciated that its bones are sticking out at the back? Not that I can see and from recorded biopsies these discs are primarily meat. They are not the anal glands according to Dr Canion either. But they are present on several other photos of dead creatures of this kind that have popped up in recent years.

As Goethe stated – and as the CFZ motto quotes: In her abnormalities, nature reveals her secrets. Well in this case, it appears that this is most definitely true.

CORINNA DOWNES: Something in the air

CORINNA'S DIARY:

Friday 19th March

On Tuesday 16th March we had a date with Devin Macanally – a man that Jon had met six years ago and of whom he had often talked about regarding the blue dogs. It was to be my first time meeting him and I was looking forward to doing so. Naomi and Richie have been in contact with him for some time researching the blue dogs.

We were to meet up with Morgan and Jo from Minnow Films, which we did in a slightly clandestine fashion in the rain, on the corner of a road in Elmendorf. Then came the predicament that one person would need to move from our vehicle so that filming could take place of Jon in the front seat. It was me who was sitting in the desired position and although I offered to move over, it was clear that I was required to vacate and finish the journey in their hired car with Jo. I was not amused – I was comfortable and I was surrounded within my cocoon of bags, camera, jumpers, and empty coffee cups.

At the request of Jon, I was to photograph some of the surroundings on the approach to Devin’s home. This was no easy feat as the road soon disappeared and turned into a track. So as we bumped along, rocking from side to side as if on a train traversing a particularly unkempt section of rail track, it became impossible to do anything remotely useful in the photography department other than take pictures of blurred landscapes.

Devin greeted us with a warm smile and as it was still raining we all piled into his home to sit amongst a wonderfully eclectic mix of paintings, ornaments, documents, books and objets d’art . We were introduced to two young men – Jonathon and Chad – who help Devin out and all sat around chatting for a while, catching up and discussing recent findings about the blue dogs. Then the two lads set off with Morgan and Jo into the wilds of Devin’s property to check out the trigger cameras. They had not been gone long when the sound of a single shot punctured the relative quiet outside. Hmmm, had Morgan met his match? Could this signal a different meaning of the term ‘quiet on set, cameraman shooting’?

Oddly enough no-one seemed to take too much notice of the sound – and no-one returned to the house either; it was just another ordinary sound in the daily life of a Texan homestead. It was a weird feeling to carry on sitting on the sofa as one does when the sound of a car horn breaks the silence back home – but upon reflection, at the same time it seemed the natural thing to do. We are a world apart from the quiet village life of Woolsery, North Devon. Out here in the untamed land of Texas there is still a tussle between man and nature. There are wild boar that will rip your body open if given the chance and coyote that, apart from attacking your chickens or calves, could quite easily be carrying mange, or even be rabid.

After what seemed like ages later but was only about half an hour or so, the two lads returned with Morgan and Jo, and Chad told us that they had come across a group of boar not far from the house and had shot one, scattering the remainder in all directions away from the property.

They also came back carrying a bag of some weird deposit found on some vines hanging from a tree some distance away from the house. Jon had a whiff of it – unfortunately a bit too much of an inhalation as it almost made him feel ill. Ancient proverb: ‘Never stick nose into a recently opened bag when you are not sure what is contained within.’ No-one seems to know what this deposit is but it is apparently to be found hanging abundantly under the vines around some of the trees. Most peculiar indeed.

The images captured on the trigger camera were downloaded onto Naomi’s laptop and a couple of results were truly intriguing.

The two young lads are two of the sweetest guys you could possibly meet. The fact that they never go out on the land without a rifle is not really to be unexpected in Texas and although it is difficult for me to comprehend hunting I appreciate that it is a natural thing for those who live and work on the wild land.

Chad

Jonathon

The time flew by and our schedule meant we had to get on the road again, so we arranged to meet up with Devin, Jonathon and Chad again the next day. It was lovely to meet them all – and Devin is certainly a lovely and honest man full of interesting tales to tell and an obvious love of the land upon which he lives.

CORINNA DOWNES: An Englishman Abroad

CORINNA’S DIARY:

Thursday, 18th March.
It had been intended to pay a visit to The Buckhorn Saloon & Museum in San Antonio today. Richie dropped Naomi, Jon and me off while he went to park the truck, much to the annoyance of some bad-tempered harridan who rolled down her window and shouted something at us about holding up the traffic. Well, sorry ma’am for delaying your trip by a few seconds whilst a disabled man eased himself out of the front seat of a vehicle that was stationary at a stop sign. You obviously missed the fact that the light turned green before he had managed to complete the movement. Those few seconds must have really held up your journey so much. The fact that I shouted ‘oh shurrup’ probably didn’t reach your ears as you had quickly wound up your window to secure yourself behind its protective barrier. May your electrics fail whilst in the car wash and may your abusive mouth be filled with soap suds.

After such unnecessary verbal abuse we then discovered that the museum was charging an exorbitant amount of money to enter – although if we bought a ticket we would get a discount in the café area. The trouble is they seemed to think that paying such a price and securing a ticket that would allow entry for two days was a marvellous and enticing reason to part with our dollars and they seemed uninterested when Naomi asked whether there were any tickets for just one day’s visit. What a stupid arrangement.

Jon refused to succumb to such a tantalising opportunity and proceeded to redden in the face with anger and disgust at such a capitalistic establishment. We left disgruntled and waited for poor Richie who was completely unaware of the situation and was still trying to find a parking space.

CORINNA DOWNES: Thirteen Fateful Days in 1836

CORINNA’S DIARY: Wednesday, 17th March

Last night we partook in an evening of celebration to commemorate St. Patrick’s Day, US-style. We were in San Antonio to take part in the annual merriment and perambulated down the Riverside Walk – a kind of towpath that runs alongside the river that weaves its way through part of the city. There was an abundance of green of various different shades everywhere – it was like the early summer countryside of England before the sun has dealt whatever torment it wishes on the earth below; at least during those summers where the sun does shine in the UK for more than two days in a row, that is.

Everywhere you looked you were confronted with leprechauns of all shapes and sizes, and all nationalities too. In fact, we did wonder on more than one occasion how many of those sporting habillement vert did actually have Irish heritage, but that is by the by considering everyone concerned appeared to be enjoying themselves thoroughly, especially those who owned the riverside eateries that were packed to the gills with revellers. But I suppose that is a trifle cynical – but as you have probably realised by now, I AM a trifle cynical.

But back to St Paddy’s Day. We ate in a Mexican restaurant where we were joined by Ken Gerhard and Jon enjoyed a couple of double margaritas in a ridiculously oversized glass (only in Texas, eh?), the size of which I had never seen before. But then when on holiday, it is no bad thing to relax in the company of friends over a nice meal and a drink or two.

Earlier in the day we had visited Devin again and taken him, Jonathan, and Chad (more of whom tomorrow) out for a drink at a nearby bar, along with Nancy who runs the local store in Elmendorf and whom Jon knew by reputation but had always wanted to meet.

From left: Richie, Devin, Naomi, Me, Jon, Chad, Nancy and Jonathan

We then set off for San Antonio to spend a day or two as holidaymakers and to celebrate the saint day mentioned above. But first we visited The Alamo – somewhere I had wanted to visit for a long time. It was a poignant visit – as soon as I walked through the doors into the mission the desperation and bravery of those who fought to the death in “thirteen fateful days in 1836” firmly hit me between the eyes. As I always do in such places I laid a hand on the stones. It is the only way to get the vibe of a place such as that – feel the stones and feel the history absorbed by them. It was a moving time as we made our way through the building and grounds outside.

After our evening out Jon and I took a carriage ride back to the hotel. It was a lovely evening and our driver, who was a jolly nice chap, steered his horse Hardy around some of San Antonio pointing out landmarks as we went along. It was a lovely treat and the first time I had taken such a trip by that method of transport.

After a shower it was crawl into bed where I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Of Cryptids, Company, and Colds

Yesterday was the most adventurous day we have had. The Hayek place was beautiful and vast -- green fields with steep, sloping riverbanks full of mysterious holes they claim are dens of the blue dogs. I looked into one as far as I could but I couldn’t see past the first turn of the twisted tunnel. Ken Gerhard, who was over last night, says that during his NatGeo documentary he pushed a fibre-optic camera far into the den and the narrow entrance went on for a long time; they never were able to see past the entrance to the main part. Mr Hayek has indeed seen the blue dogs entering and exiting one of the dens (face first in and face first out) so at least we weren’t wasting time probing some other animal’s dwelling. Speculation about these blue dogs sometimes leads to evidence that really isn’t evidence. It’s easy to interpret certain clues as signs of their presence that are really signs of another animal and would normally have gone unnoticed.

At the end of the day we tried unsuccessfully to beat Ken Gerhard to our house. It was bad enough that he had to wait for us but then he was nowhere to be found when we got there, although his vehicle sat in the driveway. I assumed correctly that he had taken off into the surrounding woods for a night-time stroll and he eventually showed back up. He is one of the nicest people I’ve met and I’m happy he’ll be joining us next week on the River Walk on St Patrick’s Day.

Ken and Jon and Corinna gathered on the patio to reunite over drinks while Richie and I scrounged for something to feed everyone. The party eventually grew to include Jo and Morgan from Minnow Films and Richie’s sister Janice. We had a great time, but as the evening wore on I got an increasingly sore throat and aching head, and when I woke up this morning my throat was so sore I could barely swallow. So I’m nursing a cold I hope will be gone by the time we travel to Nick Redfern’s on Sunday.

Weird 'nests' and odd collections

CORINNA'S DIARY: Wednesday, 10th March. It is now 2 am Wednesday morning and whilst Jon snores his way merrily and noisily towards breakfast I am trying to catch up on some blogs and my emails. I am also suffering from a really irritating and sore eyelid, which has been driving me mad all day! However, we have now purchased some eye drops so hopefully they will help to soothe it and take away the redness – it is all very well having bloodshot eyes after a night partying, or by blowing your nose too hard, but I have done neither. I suppose I could say that Jon poked me in the eye with his walking stick but although true last Friday, it would be a bit mean to drag that up again today.

However, it has been a gloriously hot and sunny day and we have spent it investigating the blue dogs that Jon mentioned in his blog. We have been watching security camera footage where Jon excitedly queried the shape in a corner of one of the cameras’ footage. He was not quite so excited when we all pointed out that the mystery shape was, in fact, the wheel of a wheelbarrow – poor Jon; he forgot to pack his reading glasses, you see.

But we have seen some very interesting things, including some weird collections of twigs, branches and vines as shown in the picures. We are returning tomorrow to carry on our investigations.

The demise of an orchard

CORINNA’S DIARY: Thursday, 11th March

Trees are the watchers of the woods; they see all, feel all, take from the earth and give back to the earth each autumn. They give us shelter, they give us beauty and they give us fruit. I have always looked upon trees as the old men who look down on all that occurs below them – the events that have gone on around them are forever in their memories and some live for so long that one can only wonder what they have witnessed.

So when I see a dying or dead tree, its demise is deeply saddening. Today we went to see Harvey Hayek and his family near Fayetteville – a beautiful little habitation that looked as if it had leapt from the pages of To Kill a Mockingbird - to chat about their own experiences of the mysterious blue dog phenomena. He took us out on to his land to see some of the evidence of the blue dogs, the tour culminating in a visit to his orchard. This was planted, I believe, by his wife’s parents way back in the 1900s and was a main source of income in that this orchard produced a large crop of pecan nuts. Over the last few years his trees have been dying and the crop has dropped so dramatically that he can no longer rely on them as a living. He does have a theory as to why the orchard is dying, but until this is proved or not it has to remain undisclosed.

Pit stops and exploding salads

CORINNA'S DIARY:

It was drizzling on Monday morning when we set off on our journey to the south of Texas, where Jon had a last minute gig arranged for members of MUFON, Houston. We had a couple of scheduled stops to make on the way, as well as a necessary pit stop for body fuel and liquid, followed a bit later on with an equally necessary one to get rid of the fluid!

However, both stop-offs produced something unexpected; firstly, after a display of schoolboy toilet humour, in which Jon guffawed loudly at some purile joke while poor Richie was trying to order the food, our sustenance was delivered to our vehicle by a young lady on roller skates who even performed a somersault for us (after unloading the food, I hasten to add, just in case you were shuddering at the thought of items of food and drink being thrown across the car park due to an over-zealous display of acrobatics).

Secondly, there was the stop to answer the excess fluid problem at a petrol station, where we all piled out of the vehicle and trouped in expectantly and urgently, only to discover that the establishment didn’t have the necessary facilities, so we all piled back into the car, extremely disappointed and somewhat distressed, to go and find another suitable facility.

This one had the unwelcoming OUT OF ORDER sign to greet us, only to be told by the chap at the checkout that it was really working (go figure). There was also the priceless statement written on a piece of paper Sellotaped to the wall : IF YOU MAKE A MESS IN THE BATHROOM, CLEAN IT UP, which left me pondering quite what that meant. A mess can mean anything after all, from spilling a tub of cotton buds over the floor to festooning the whole room in unrolled toilet paper. I bet you were all expecting me to write something slightly more gross and detailed there. I did, but changed it!

Anyway, we reached our hotel only around 10 minutes later than expected and those attending the gig were very understanding and did not slap Jon too much for being late. I was on hand for the administering of arnica and gauze, so all bases were covered.

We then enjoyed a satisfying meal at a nearby Mexican restaurant where Jon had a dish called a salad explosion (of what exactly I can't remember). Unfortunately they did not have waiters and waitresses on roller skates performing a similar display as that mentioned above, which was a shame as I could have done a Flying Burrito Brothers joke. Jon and I then went for a walk in the drizzle to get some Diet Dr Pepper at a nearby supermarket that was open until 1 am.

I was exhausted by the time my head hit the pillow and it didn't take me long to pass off into sleep.

NAOMI WEST: Piscine conundra

There was a time when I may have tried to appear I knew more than I really did, or at least hide the fact I didn't know something. But maturity has taught me that humility is freedom -- freedom to be yourself, to admit your limitations and ignorance. And be happy to learn. I certainly don't seek out moments of humility, they just find me. And by the time I realize I am having one, it's too late to back out, like yesterday:

We all went to a massive hunting supply store. It had all kinds of large, stuffed animals posed mid-action on an artifical mountain with a stream of live fish beneath it. Corinna and I walked slowly around the mountain, observing the various animals, frozen in their beauty and majesty and, some of them, cuteness. But what captured my attention most was the enormous aquarium in the fishing supply section. It was full of large fish of kinds I have rarely seen -- at least without having to look down through murkey water outdoors.

Later I excitedly told Richie about the aquarium: "Richie, there was a huge aquarium in there! They had big lake fish! There were catfish and bass or... whatever." I faltered a moment, then added, "Salmon." Jon, who was sitting in the truck seat in front of me turned his head slightly.

"There were catfish and bass," he said, "There were no salmon."

I was quiet a moment, then ventured on. "Trout."

"There were no trout." Jon said calmly.

I fell completely silent while Jon proceeded to give the proper name for each fish in the tank as well as the region of the world it came from. "And," he added, "They are not lake fish. They live in rivers."

You would think I would have remained silent, but I had to go on: "Yes," I said, "I only meant they were...big water fish. That they weren't...pet store fish." I shut up for good then, realizing I had just created two very ridiculous and nonexistent categories of fish.

"Good Lord," was all Jon could say.

NAOMI WRITES: Life with the Downeses

Since Jon and Corinna have arrived it’s been a whirlwind of music, meals, video-taping and blogging with intervals of fish-tank drama. Instead of impressing Jon with lovely fish and live plants as I had planned, I have instead been begging his help in saving my remaining fish from mysterious deaths and bringing my pH down. It’s not like I don’t have five different water test kits, more water-treating chemicals and even more fish care books than I had years ago when I ran a problem-free fish tank, but my luck has not been so good this round. Let me put it this way: a week ago found me siphoning aquarium water while standing on a water-soaked living room floor amid a sea of shards from a drinking glass I had broken (during the water change) that I was now too angry to clean up. It’s been one fish-tank crisis after another and that’s what Jon has been privileged enough to walk into.

Corinna is, as always, the calm amid the chaos, and she has been enjoying the peaceful view from my study window and the back porch. Jon’s first visit to my study resulted in him exiting and shutting the bathroom door with it still locked. Corinna had a good laugh over that. Richie managed to get the door open later using a credit card.

Jon has been a good sport about my persistent Three Men Seeking Monsters jokes; even the constant reference to his “very special friend.” And that’s why I about fell out laughing in church this morning when my unsuspecting sister-in-law introduced Jon and Corinna as our “very special guests.” Jon visibly started when my dad referenced Esther in his sermon this morning…
Dad’s sermon also included Jonathan, David and Goliath. Jon came away from the service stating, “My name is Jonathan, my heir is called David, but I look like a Goliath and I make pointless sexist jokes about Esther.”

The Mission Begins

I have never been an 'agent' before but in the case of a few foreigners who cannot speak the Obama's English, I have found a new role. Between being an interpreter for the indigenous Texican (1836 term for Texan) population and organising a soon gruelling schedule, I have been settling into a low-visibility but necessary role in this waltz across Texas, which I have thoroughly enjoyed so far. From purchasing Jon a baby's bib to keep him tidy during meals, to teaching Corinna proper social etiquette with the local tight-Levi Texas gentlemen, I have been busy keeping things ordered.

When you travel from such a far distance you must make every moment count. In our planning, the past few days I planned a travel recovery period and a bit of touring for Corinna and Jon. However, it has been anything but rest and relaxation. On the track means on the trail with our noses to the ground and our ears up. In fact, Corinna interviewed one witness yesterday in his church foyer.

The various Texas chapters of MUFON and other related ancillary organisations have wanted a piece of Jon's time, which has been challenging but rewarding in that we have been able to work three lectures into Jon and Corinna's schedule across the state. Nick Redfern has arranged for Jon to speak in Dallas. Smiles Lewis contacted us from the Anomaly Archives in Austin (whose motto is "Keep Austin Weird") to set up a lecture in Austin and Ms Sharon Vining from MUFON in Houston, the 4th largest city in the U.S.

We have many interesting items on our to-do list including filming a Texas Blue Dog, taking DNA samples, many interviews with a multitude of past and present witnesses along what I will call the Texas Blue Dog Interstate 10 corridor between San Antonio and Houston, and filming all the while.

Stayed tuned for our emerging data and hopefully intriguing experiences.

TEXAS 2010: Corinna interviews Jesse - a blue dog witness

A grain of truth

CORINNA’S DIARY: Sunday, 7th March.

Yesterday we went to visit two lovely people: Richie’s brother Doug and his wife Ronnie. Jon picked up a guitar and joined Naomi, Richie, Doug and Ronnie in an impromptu jam while I sat and sipped some delicious green tea and spent a happy hour or so cuddling on a sofa with a new friend.

Before you throw your hands in the air and exclaim “How could you do that to your poor husband - and in front of him too?” perhaps I should go into a bit more detail. “No,” I hear you cry “We don’t want to hear about the sordid details… you are in Kempner, Texas, not Reno, Nevada, you know.”

OK, so if I went on to explain that this new friend is not some tall, tanned Texan hunk with a lilt in his talk and a Levi-clad swagger in his walk; but is in fact a small, four-legged, waggy-tailed dachshund called Sophie, will that get me back into your good books? She is absolutely adorable, and after meeting her and Salem here at Richie and Naomi’s I reckon it won’t be too long before Biggles gets a sister in the so-called shape of a sausage!

Not that I am saying that the discovery of one of the afore-mentioned hunks would not be welcome also you understand – I could do with a personal assistant. Excuse me while I experience a quick flashback to the infamous 1985 laundrette-situated Levi advert – who said a gal can’t dream? So there you have it: my first sexist remark of the trip. Now the wait for the obligatory "touché" retort from Jon.

After trying to smuggle Sophie into my capacious bag with no success, we left Doug and Ronnie’s and went off to have something to eat at a Japanese/Korean restaurant where Jon and Naomi each feasted on a platter of sushi. Now I am not a fan of fish in the first place, but if I am to eat it I much prefer it to be battered or coated in golden breadcrumbs rather than sitting there staring at me in the raw, so to speak. I stuck to a dish of fried rice instead, the little grains of which went from dish to fork to mouth with no problems at all, unlike those wrapped around one of Jon’s delicacies, which lodged itself within the bushiness of his beard and clung on with glutinous tenacity until eventually removed by me in a state of frustration, much like a mother tends her offspring after he/she has just eaten an ice-cream.

And so it begins - two firsts in one blog; sexism and lampooning my husband. Does life get any better?

Morning y'all

CORINNA'S DIARY: Saturday 6th March. Morning all. Before we left Woolsery I had decided to make notes to log the more unusual, or downright annoying, or funny incidents of our expedition. This, of course, including a record of people-watching, because people can be peculiar beings sometimes.

This plan changed slightly due to the fact that just before we left, two coins were found on the office floor. No-one is sure where they appeared from but it was somewhat of a surprise to note that both were of foreign origin - one being American and the other Mexican. No such thing as a coincidence, I am often being told - and over the last few months I have erred towards the same opinion.

So, from the moment my right foot left the platform at Barnstaple and placed itself on the train, out came the notebook. It was not long before the first subject of noteworthiness boarded the train - at Crediton, to be precise. A young man sat at the end of the carriage facing me and from the moment he sat down to the moment we left at the next stop - Exeter St. David's - he proceeded to masticate on a piece of chewing gum. I have nothing at all against folks chewing gum but some people do seem to forget what they are doing - I have been there myself, and - somewhere out there - exists a video of yours truly ballet dancing in a show doing just that. I was concentrating so much on balancing on point and remembering my steps that I chewed my way throughout the whole performance.

This young chap was not partaking in some occasional tooth moulding of the sticky substance, but a full blown mouth open job that made me sigh with relief that I was not actually sitting in the seat directly in front of him as I am sure the sound would have impelled me to either slap him or remind him that it is rude to eat with one's mouth open and that I would rather not have to see the grey matter being thrust from one cheek to the other accompanied by the noise similar to someone running very quickly through sticky mud.

Eeek! I am turning into my mother! Critical, aren't I? Well, I have reached the age now where I am allowed to be, so there.

There are several other things I could write about here, but if I did it would probably end up as a short story, so I shall have to save them for another time.

I am now sitting in Naomi's office typing this as I look out on the vista before me. So far, on this first morning in Texas, I have seen a hawk lazily fly past, and four vultures hovering overhead and can actually say that I am not in Woolsery anymore.

ENCOUNTERS WITH ESTA

As Corinna has already noted, if one was to chronicle everything that happened since we embarked on our momentous journey, leaving Woolsery at about 1 o'clock on Thursday the 4th, it would fill the pages of a sizeable volume. Well, that is exactly what it is going to do: Corinna and I will be issuing a book-length account of our journeys, and of the ongoing search for the truth behind the Texas blue dog.

However, I promised you daily blogs, and daily blogs you are bloody well going to have!

We had what seemed like a nightmare series of train journeys - although to be totally honest (and I always do my best to be totally honest) the only really nightmarish aspect of Thursday was our sojourn at Hayes in Middlesex. The station was in fact Hayes & Harlington, as my wonderful wife, Girl Friday, and amanuensis points out. I was under the illusion that all places of public transport in the United Kingdom have to be made 'friendly' to those of us who are 'differently challenged.' To put it into less politically correct but more understandable terms, I thought that every place of public transport in the United Kingdom should be made accessible to an old spakker like me, and that the afore-mentioned old spakker should never have to hump suitcases, camera bags and all the general tat of an expedition up and down flights of stairs that look as if they were designed for the torment of Sisyphus. Not so. Nice one New Labour council.

But enough of politics. The only thing I knew of Hayes prior to discovering that their station had been designed by a renegade bunch of sadistic torturers out of the pages of a Clark Ashton Smith novella was that:

a. my ex-wife was born there

b. we did a gig there with Steve Harley in 1990 at which a riotously good time was had by all

c. my late father-in-law designed the Beck Theatre in Hayes, where - coincidentally, although we all know there ain't no such thing as a coincidence, but I digress - the afore-mentioned riotously good time that was had by all took place. He seemed highly amused when I told him (leaving out the more licentious aspects of the affair) what fun was had in the dressing room complex he had so lovingly designed

d. back in the days when records were records (i.e. 7" slices of vinyl with a cardboard centre and a hole through the middle) I, like so many of my generation, fetishised them to a degree that, with 40 years hindsight, seems a little excessive. However, EMI who (under various guises) produced the records of most of my favourite artists were based in Hayes, and their address was emblazoned upon each of the delicious cultural artefacts it produced.

So, if only for the hours of innocent fun that I spent gazing at the Emitex on the back of the designer brown and orange paper sleeves in which singles by my favourite artists of the time reposed, I can forgive Hayes anything.

We spent a short but satisfying night's sleep at a Holiday Inn near Heathrow, and made our way at the ungodly hour of 6.15 am on Friday to Terminal 3 where we were to check in for American Airlines flight 51.

We were in the queue for check-in when the first of the day's mishaps occurred. We had to collect our electronic airline tickets and boarding passes, and so, after presenting our credit cards and an alarming amount of personal information, I was a little perturbed when the ATM-sized machine before me started making alarming beeping noises, and a severe-looking young woman, looking a little bit like Ilsa Koch, in a paramilitary air stewardess outfit, came striding up to me. "Did you do Esther?" she demanded.

I immediately blushed, and I don't blush easily. "Um... it was nearly 30 years ago at the hospital Christmas party," I stammered, mildly embarrassed that I should be reminded of a very temporary inamorata from my long distant, and mildly disreputable, past.

She totally ignored me and with Aerian piercing blue eyes that would not have been out of place on a Third Reich advertising poster (Hi, I'm the she-wolf of Buchenwald; fly me.) she demanded again:

"Have you done Esther?"

It was as if she was asking me whether I had seen the Yiddish equivalent of one of the regrettable 1970s sex comedies, most of which featured our late prime minister's father-in-law dropping his trousers and saying, "Oo-er it's the vicar."

I gathered up as much of my patrician reserves as was left after having been unfortunately reminded of a drunken incident involving an Israeli exchange student back in 1983. "I am sorry madam," I replied archly, "I don't think I know the lady to whom you refer."

She looked at me contemptuously, and brandished a piece of paper headed E.S.T.A. "Have you done ESTA?" she asked me in a tone of voice which suggested that should I mess her about any further, I would be taken out and summarily shot, and my still-twitching cadaver dumped into a mass, shallow grave together with the freshly slaughtered bodies of a plethora of other hapless travellers who were ignorant of this particularly stupid acronym.

It turned out that ESTA was an online American visa application that (allegedly) was to replace the green entry visa cards I had filled in on all my previous visits to the United States as, half a day later, on our arrival at Dallas we had to fill in the green cards anyway, it is hard to see the point. But we were sent upstairs to a cyber cafe where we had to fill in our ESTA forms.

Next cock-up:

We had forgotten one vital piece of information so had to telephone the hapless Oll Lewis back at CFZ HQ, rousting the poor fellow out of bed at the ungodly hour of 7.30 am and sending him downstairs to retrieve the afore-said information from my computer. A friend of mine (who shall remain nameless, travelled to me to America on one occasion, and on being confronted with the question HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CONVICTED OF A CRIME OF MORAL TURPITUDE? decided that he didn't know what 'moral turpitude' meant, and therefore that he didn't have to declare his two convictions for possession of Class A substances.

I decided to treat the question ARE YOU SUFFERING FROM A MENTAL DISORDER? with similar latitude. Both Corinna and I are as mad as a bagful of cheese on occasions, and I have been diagnosed as being the more psychotic end of bi-polar for about 15 years. However, neither of us have ever become even close of being sectioned, and as we had no run-ins with the 1983 Mental Health Amendment Act, nor were we ever likely to, I felt perfectly justified in ticking 'NO' to the question. Corinna did the same and a friendly information box popped up on the screen before us. We were now (it said) perfectly free to enter America.

The game was now well and truly afoot.

EXPEDITION TO TEXAS IN SEARCH OF STRANGE DOGS

For Immediate release:

The earliest animal recognisable as the ancestor of modern dogs, foxes and wolves was Prohesperocyon, which evolved in southern Texas about 40 million years ago. Other species followed, and Texas can rightly be called 'The Cradle of Dogs.' Now, in the early 21st Century there are strange new dogs around in the Lone Star State.

Jonathan Downes (50) and his wife Corinna (53); the Director and Administrator of the UK-based Centre for Fortean Zoology [CFZ], the world's largest mystery animal research organisation; fly to Texas on Friday. Together with their friends and colleagues Richie and Naomi West, who very generously financed the expedition, they will spend two weeks continuing the research into the Texas blue dogs, first carried out by Jonathan Downes in November 2004.

When the first acounts of blue, hairless dogs from Texas first began to filter into the cryptozoological community back in the summer of 2004 they were widely dismissed by cryptopundits as being of mangy coyotes. The CFZ was never happy with that explanation, basically because according to the testimony of every veterinary expert whom we consulted, if an animal was as riddled with mange (or any similar condition) as to be completely hairless, then it would be so ill as to hardly be able to walk, let alone run around, attack chickens or sire progeny (which - by all accounts - are as hairless and blue as the adults).

Some pundits, especially in Texas have described them as "chupacabras". This Spanish term meaning - literally - 'goat sucker', was coined on the island of Puerto Rico (subject of two expeditions by the CFZ) in the mid-1990s to describe a hairless, semi-bipedal animal with spikes down its back, suspected of being responsible for the vampiric deaths of domestic livestock across the island. "The Texas blue dogs have nothing to do with the chupacabras" says Jonathan, who has written two books about the Puerto Rican enigma. "They are clearly members of the dog family, but they are something that deserves a proper scientific investigation."

Jonathan visited Texas in November 2004, and has been continuing the investigation at long distance ever since. He believes that the explanation for these creatures is a complicated one, but one which will very much repay the effort the CFZ will be putting in. There is a dedicated blog for this expedition, which will be updated daily. It can be found at http://texasbluedogs.blogspot.com/

Watch this space!

Jon and Corinna are available for interview. Pictures are available.
For further details (UK) telephone Graham or Oll on 01237 431413 or (US) Naomi on 254-238-1909

NOTES TO EDITORS

* The Centre for Fortean Zoology [CFZ] is the world’s largest mystery animal research organisation. It was founded in 1992 by British author Jonathan Downes and is a non-profit making (not for profit) organisation registered with H. M. Stamp Office.
* The Texas expedition is being filmed by London-based Minnow films for a major BBC2 feature documentary on the CFZ
* Life-president of the CFZ is Colonel John Blashford-Snell OBE, best known for his ground-breaking youth work organising the ‘Operation Drake’ and ‘Operation Raleigh’ expeditions in the 1970s and 1980s.
* CFZ Director Jonathan Downes is the author and/or editor of over 20 books. His latest book is Island of Paradise, his first hand account of two expeditions to the Caribbean island of Puerto Rico in search of the grotesque vampiric chupacabra.
* The CFZ have carried out expeditions across the world including Russia, Ireland, Sumatra, Mongolia, Guyana, Gambia, Texas, Mexico, Thailand, Puerto Rico, Illinois, Loch Ness, and Loch Morar.
* CFZ Press are the world’s largest publishers of books on mystery animals. They also publish Animals & Men, the world’s only cryptozoology magazine, and The Amateur Naturalist, Britain’s only dedicated magazine on the subject.
* The CFZ produce their own full-length documentaries through their media division called CFZtv www.cfztv.org. One of their films Lair of the Red Worm which was released in early 2007 and documents their 2005 Mongolia expedition has now been seen by nearly 82,000 people.
* The CFZ is based in Jon Downes’ old family home in rural North Devon which he shares with his wife Corinna (53). It is also home to various members of the CFZ’s permanent directorate and a collection of exotic animals.
* Jonathan Downes presents a monthly web TV show called On the Track (available through YouTube) which covers cryptozoology and work of the CFZ.
* The CFZ are opening a Visitor Centre and Museum in Woolsery, North Devon.
* Following their successful partnership with Capcom http://www.capcom.com/ on the 2007 Guyana expedition, the CFZ are looking for more commercial sponsors.

The journey begins

CORINNA'S DIARY: After some selective clothes weeding from us both - and some heavy-handed pushing and shoving, we finally got our suitcases packed last night and went to bed at around 4am, much to Biggles's relief as his usual attempts to herd us upstairs begin every evening at about 9pm.

After around 4 hours' sleep we were both wide awake, mainly due, on my part at least, to the call of mother nature complaining at the copious amounts of beverage consumed during the wee small hours. All that is left to do this morning is to wrack my brain to make sure nothing obvious as been omitted and to sit on the suitcases to do them up, gently teasing any stray socks or other unmentionables to the inside of the zip so as not to unwittingly clean the platforms of the various stations on our journey down to Heathrow with them.

The sun is shining and it is a glorious spring day, and I am looking forward to trundling down the tracks and relaxing after a couple of days worrying about all the things that still need doing. They are done and I am off on my first real CFZ Expedition. There is excitement in the air and I have just remembered I have forgotten to pack something....

Chocks away!

Biggles knows something is up - he has that look upon his face. I was running up and down the stairs like a flea in a jam pot yesterday, trying to gather everything together, and every time I came downstairs he wouild follow me around like a sticking plaster. I am sure he will have fun with Oll and Graham though - and Graham has promised to have him up in his bedroom at night. When we come back from Texas no doubt Biggles will know everything there is to know about online poker, Hawkwind and the joys of the odd can of lager.

Over the last few days I have accumulated lists of lists and have therefore become slightly confused as to what I was supposed to still do and what I have done! But everything that needed charging was duly sorted yesterday and last-minute washing and ironing successfully carried out (I haven't ironed anything for ages - I had almost forgotten how to tackle it!).

Later on today we shall set out on our first leg of the journey to Texas, and I am looking forward to seeing Naomi and Richie again, along with Nick and Dana Redfern and Ken Gerhard amongst others. That is if the US let me in of course - the photo in my passport does make me look like a cross between Ma Baker and Bonnie Parker - but I was having a bad hair day when the photo was taken and was less than half awake and therefore looked slightly shocked when the camera went click.

We will keep this blog updated as regularly as possible and look forward to our expedition to the Lone Star State revealing lots of interesting things about the blue dogs. And of course, as ever, I shall be keeping an eagle eye out for any amusing events and anecdotes concerning my poor beleagured husband.

See you later....