Back in the day, Chelsea Flower Show was regarded as the beginning of the Season. Queen Alexandra opened the festivities in 1913, when it moved from the Embankment to its current location in SW3. It must have rained that day for there’s a terrific photo of her (dressed in black, so jolly) strolling beside several gentlemen in top hats, and all are carrying umbrellas.
There was considerable grumbling about Chelsea this year, however – too crowded, too many shops, and it was sponsored by that nature-friendly marque, Range Rover. May I suggest a contemporary alternative to herald the start of summer? It’s Goodwoof.
This is the two-day dog festival held in the leafy grounds of Goodwood every May. The current caretaker of the Sussex estate, the 11th Duke of Richmond, is a doggy sort whose family descends from that spaniel-obsessive Charles II. The king’s cavaliers were fed dove breast and had their own hairdressers. So while I know plenty of us nowadays are pathetic about our dogs, pampering them like babies while the birth rate tumbles, we didn’t start it.
This was Goodwoof’s fifth year and all of society was there. Dukes, obviously. Or at least one duke, along with glamorous and noted dog fans including but not limited to Bill Bailey, Clare Balding, former The Only Way Is Essex star Gemma Collins and James Middleton.
I attended with my two-year-old Parson terrier, Dennis, and my friend Matt. He has a Border terrier called Tuppy, named after Bertie Wooster’s pal, Tuppy Glossop, although the dog incarnation is a girl. ‘Careful, she’s a creature of unparalleled violence,’ Matt warned Bill Bailey, when he wandered over in the hospitality area to say he admired her.
‘She’ll have my arm off, will she?’ Bill replied, narrowing his eyes at the terrier.
Tuppy stared balefully back.
Actually, there’s surprisingly little in the way of aggression at Goodwoof, considering the crowd. It’s very much an event that proves the adage about dogs looking like their owners, or vice versa: mastiffs with quite big, tattooed humans, and chihuahuas and toy poodles with much smaller humans. One lady brought her Cavapoo decorated with pink bows, which caused Dennis to snarl as we passed them. He occasionally forgets himself and behaves like a character from Peaky Blinders, sleeves rolled up, keen for a brawl, but he is a terrier and that was the only sour note of the day.
Matt and I began with a tour of the Barkitecture marquee (sponsored by Cazenove – told you it was like Chelsea), where 16 kennels, dreamt up by design gurus including Lord Snowdon and Sebastian Conran, were on display. The theme was ‘Dogs in Space’ because astronaut and dog lover Tim Peake was one of the judges, alongside Kevin McCloud. Dennis and Tuppy sniffed around one kennel designed to look like Kubrick’s Discovery, and another – a ‘U-woof-O’ (geddit?) – made entirely from Lego.
After that, we strolled through the ‘Zen Den’, a field where teepees had been erected and attendees could have a tarot card reading for their dog, or a crystal healing session. I tried the latter last year, subjecting Dennis to a session with an animal healer called Yvette. ‘Any issues?’ Yvette had asked, whereupon I admitted that, yes, Dennis could be quite reactive towards dogs that look like cats, and we’d recently had a touch-and-go moment with a Pomeranian.
Yvette reached for an amethyst and rubbed it up and down Dennis’s back. Calming, she said. We were given a little party bag of the crystals to take home, but unfortunately Dennis ate both the rose quartz and the amethyst the following day, to no noticeable effect, so I told Matt we’d give the healing a swerve, this year.
Still, it’s dead peaceful strolling around Goodwoof, unlike at other festivals. I wasn’t offered a single drug; the lavatories had a plentiful supply of loo roll. There was a Taittinger tent for those in need of a sharpener after their bout of doga (doggie yoga), and a literary stage where Sir Michael Morpurgo and Martin Clunes read from their dog books. Clunes, incidentally, gave an interview recently in which he said that he’d be happy if his last experience in this life was the ‘smell of the top of a Jack Russell’s head’. Isn’t that gorgeous?
There’s surprisingly little in the way of aggression at Goodwoof, considering the crowd
Unfortunately, Dennis and Tuppy weren’t picked out as contenders for the Chien Charmant competition, judged by Jodie Kidd. Two enormous poodles, in pearl necklaces, clinched that one, so Matt and I entered our terriers in the Fastest Dog race instead. I didn’t have high hopes for Dennis. He’ll shift if there’s a squirrel or Pomeranian to hand, but he’s not really a sprinter.
Up to the start line they went. ‘Tuppy’s rival, the fearsome Dennis, is in lane three,’ declared the announcer into his megaphone.
I walked to the other end, heart thudding, observers watching over the picket fence.
‘Three, two, one, go!’ roared the announcer, and they were off.
‘Dennis!’ I cried, ‘Dennis, c’mon! Good boy!’ He belted down the grass towards me, ears flapping, hind legs flicking like a hare. First place, and my heart nearly burst with pride. I’m 41, and still unable to decide whether or not I want a baby. This is cutting it pretty fine, I know, but right then, Dennis winning his race felt enough.
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