By Jason Light

When I’m not listening to Barks from the Bookshelf, I usually I have political podcasts on in the background whilst i’m out for leisurely walks, but they can drain you with everything going on in the world and I needed a pick me up. I don’t know why I went for the music I did, possibly it was that I’d accidentally dressed all in black and fell out of the house this morning dressed like a goth. My shabby attire didn’t deter Bob, waiting for me at the front door, she didn’t care, I could almost hear her say “oh well, just come as you are”. One thing was for sure, I desperately needed to get that awful but painfully catchy “pink pony club” song out of my head which invaded by brain on the short drive to the river.

Who knows, but something about that morning compelled me to bang in the EarPods and engulf myself in Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana and I just left the whole album on.

Early January walks in the UK are usually miserable, blustery damp affairs, desolate and you drift along slippery paths longing for spring when things start to come in bloom. Today I wasn’t out on a plain old walk in a muddy field, we’d taken a trip down to the delightful Hamble waterside.

Normally bob spends her walks meandering, nose to the ground exploring territorial pissings, but not today, she was up for fun.

And then it hit me, or rather she did.. an ever exuberant Bob did, with what can only be described as a mosh pit slam.

Having lived for years with the wiry Mr Gru who’s perfected the “lurcher lean” I’m acutely aware that dogs like to communicate via touch. But it took a clatter from Bob, as the sludgy guitar riffs massaged my ears, for me to make the connection between this contact and my love of the human activity of moshing.

I can’t think of another activity humans do as close to the joy dogs get from body barging. If you haven’t been in a circle pit or faced a “wall of death” during a gig you haven’t lived!

Fitting for this visceral concert experience, my hands were numb, but from the cold rather than the alcohol filled gigs I barely remember from the early 2000s. The only red stripe I had that morning came from a bramble I stumbled into whilst stretching to pick up a poo. As the resident PACT environmentalist geek, I’m obliged to confirm the poo bag was compostable starch, none of those horrible Polyurethane bags.

Moshing is a group activity and during most walks there are seemingly endless, nameless dogs in this neck of the woods. We did have a few keen dogs who considered muscling in on our action, but they decided to stay away, probably for the best I doubt the human with them was listening to anything as cool as us.

Despite the cold it was actually a gloriously sunny morning, as great as this firm muddles path was is a little overlooked and I completely failed to get that cracking shot of us, as ever there was always something in the way of the sun trying to break through. The failed concert selfie attempt did lead me into another classic mosh pit experience, as I stepped back on the slippery gravel bank I stacked onto the floor, cameraphone in hand.. at least I didn’t lose a shoe like I did at Glastonbury a couple years ago.

Being a scruffy Bearded Collie Bob fits the bill for a grunge fan, particularly as she’s certainly not a show breed with her long wispy hair often drifting across her face. If we were to let her wear a red and black striped jumper it wouldn’t be long before, just like with Elvis, rumours will cross the globe that just maybe Kurt is still alive! In truth with her preferred position on top of the sofa she’s more lounge act than grunge act.

After a couple miles, we headed back to the tour bus, I was knackered, it had been a long weekend and despite it being 8am in the morning on a Sunday I felt like my lithium battery was depleted. It was time for home, back to the muddy garden from all that incessant raining. I’d had big plans for the day, but these were firmly on hold.

Oh well, whatever… Nevermind.

A moment of pure Nirvana

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