Guilty Pleasures!

Now I even bored myself with the last post and I am a person that  finds myself ENDLESSLY FASCINATING!

So bugger alone knows just how bored any reader felt.

I just can't be arsed today.

Sure the dogs have been walked properly and the animals all have been fed and watered, but as for anything else.....? 

The world can fuck off!

Chris and his father have gone off to Chester shopping, so after I cooked them a full English and waved them goodbye, I have been somewhat indulgent and caught up with tv favourites....

Now what is my idea of tv heaven I hear you ask?

Well dear readers I will tell you!

Zombies..........Ballroom dancing........................and Policemen in Uniform

Simple pleasures.........

Norman Reedus , a kind of Deliverance sweetie, from The Walking Dead

So I watched the penultimate episode of The Walking Dead which was a cracking watch. If you have not seen this horror series before or perhaps have been put off by the prospect of witnessing a small number of Atlanta citizens fighting to survive a plague of all American zombies!, I would seriously recommend seeing it.

Is it gory? (hell yes) is it bleak? (yeap it's sure not a bag of laughs!) and is it a basic apocalyptic chase movie? (yeap it delivers  exactly what is advertised on the tin).....but it is well written, well produced, intelligently acted  seriously exciting.....and very, very  addictive......

Derek Hough  ( who has a delightful cha cha!)

After enjoying a zombie blood fest for an hour...I drank coffee and ate a couple of previously hidden auntie Gladys scones while I guiltily enjoyed the finals of Dancing with the Stars (The American version of Strictly Come Dancing)....now I must admit I find this show all a bit too pacy and loud for my liking. (The Uk version for all it's faults is much slower and comfortable to watch) but I do have a bit of a "thing" for Rikki Lake's professional partner Derek Hough (guilty pleasure no 2!!!)......

Charlie Etheridge traffic cop and all round good egg

Guilty Pleasure number three is a couple of episodes of Road Wars....with the delightful  PC Charlie Etheridge.....

(I can hear the fannar fannar truncheon jokes from a couple of the schoolboy readers already!) but watching Slough's finest dealing out justice to the great unwashed UK criminal classes is wonderfully indulgent and always great fun

....I cannot remember when I last vegged out on the couch with the tv on DURING THE DAY!

much, much more interesting than baking bread

Breaking Bread

kneading dough

 Now Chris took the car to work yesterday, leaving me and his father effectively marooned in Trelawnyd on a rather bleak and stormy day.So in the way of some occupational therapy, I decided to teach Richard to make bread
He seemed to have enjoyed the experience!

Sariad Cymraeg (speak Welsh)

Trelawnyd used to be a predominantly Welsh speaking village, despite it's proximity to the English border.

Nowadays only a small percentage of the village speak Welsh as a first language, although this figure is noticeably higher in villagers located further inland

By law, any official notice or sign has to be written in English AND Welsh, which can provide difficulties for the size of signage and the like.

The following are examples of this bisexuality (?) around Trelawnyd!

Speaks for itself!

Not a warning sign relating to my poultry

Go on, try saying that one

For Welsh speaking dogs

Trimming my bush

My shrubbery...all neat and tidy!

Before I was sidetracked into writing another animal based trauma blog ( see the next bulldog/mouse/hysteria blog entry) I was going to bang on about farmers and their toys!
For a measly tenner a local farmworker has just given my field hedges a rather impressive short-back and sides with a machine that would not have looked out of place fighting alongside Sigourney Weaver in ALIENS!
Some of these pieces of equipment are truly terrifying, and I am constantly in awe of just how skillful these farmers are as they hurtle from one job to another without a seeming care in the world.
Mind you, it is not all plain sailing, death rates among agricultural workers is terribly high given the fact that only 1.5 % of the working population are employed in agriculture. 20% of all work related fatalities are from the farming sector and recent statistics state that on average one person a week is killed in the farming community in the UK....
makes you think eh?

Happy Thanksgiving

I had planned a somewhat thoughtful "American based" post today ( interestingly (?)  it is my 2998th!!!).. but minor traumas, as usual, seem to have eclipsed my best intentions 


I seem to be slightly jinxed on Thursdays
My father-in-law, Richard is coming to visit later today so I was up early sorting the cottage spare room out and preparing supper. It is also the day I spend up at my brother's house, so I have not got a great deal of time free for flower arranging  and social chit chat.
I had just got the cottage into some sort of order and had just put my coat on to leave, when Albert shot through the cat flap with a large, screaming field mouse in his mouth.
Not pausing to break wind, he galloped through the kitchen, into the lounge and up the stairs knowing full well that each one of the terriers would be hot on his heels.
Of course I did try bellowing "NO!!!" in that sort of King Canute and the tide way..but the wave of dogs surged up the stairs all yelping and barking like hounds after a fox.
Mabel, who had been peacefully asleep during the start of all this. bounced out of her bed with her eyeballs on stalks at the commotion, and not understanding exactly what was going on howled loudly in excited shock and bounded after the throng who had all cornered Albert and the mouse under the bed in the spare room.


By the time I got up the stairs,three quarters of the rubbish that we store under the bed had been scattered around the room, most of peppered with the start of what looked like several kilos of bulldog turds. From a dark corner Albert was gleefully spitting and growling at a trio of excited faces, but even his psychopathic little games came to an abrupt end when Mabel bulldozed her way in, like a sumo in heat, and lifted the whole bed off its casters.

Mercifully.....I think the mouse died of shock................
Suffice to say...I was late getting to my brother's

BTW Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers
(Thanks Kyna for the pic)
x

Trelawnyd Dawn

A single light through the graveyard

In winter, there is one small perk you can hold on to when looking after a ragtag group of animals on a village field, and that is they dont generally wake up and need caring for until dawn.

Dawn presently does not rear it's ugly head until 8 ish, so me and the terriers have gotten use to a small, warm lie in with no interruptions!

Things now have changed. 

With Chris and I sharing the car, I do have to drag my sorry arse out of bed at some ungodly hour to take him to the station, so at 6.45am  I was back in a darkened village twiddling my thumbs before "Reveille"

All over the village lights are on and people can be seen getting ready for work. There is little to no employment in the village itself (Only one villager actually works in the school), so the morning commute out is a common one. Traffic is already brusk on London road, and a steady stream of lights snake along the A5151 towards the A55...the only major road out of North Wales.

It's still pitch black when I walk the sleepy terriers around the village. The lights are on in Auntie Glad's kitchen and I suspect the aga is already boiling water for her first tea of the day, but I can't see her as I pass

Mrs Trellis and her excitable sheepdog dart up High Street and thankfully out of our way and someone waves at me from a car pulling out of Maes Offa,, but without my glasses I don't have a clue who it is , so I wave back vaguely.

By the time we return to the cottage, dawn is just peeping through the clouds beyond the rectory.

The  animals are still silent, the pigs are asleep still in their hut.

As we pass, the three guinea fowl chirp gently from their advantage point high above the field. On sentry duty, they recognise me and William stands for a moment trying to locate where their almost inaudible calls are coming from.

Another day

Look carefully, the three guinea fowl roosting quietly

Typical Bloggers

Yeap...at least I have some self awareness

Little Gems

Sometimes we all write a little gem of a post amid the flotsam and jetsam of our every day lives

Take a look at The Idiot Gardener's latest post entitled

"Sweet FA"

it's a joyful read

The Slow March Of Time? naw.... it's more of a bloody gallop!

Leo and Meg

Chris' nephew Leo is 9 today.

So I am sending him mucho birthday greetings from all of us in North Wales, and a big hug from all of the dogs who bonded so delightfully with him on his last couple of visits.

Surrogate children (ie dogs) never seem to age much. Ok they are puppies one minute, complete with rubber legs,prehensile tongues and weak bladders. Then the next moment you look at them they are the adults they remain for the decade or so, you are lucky enough to have them.

Children on the other hand have that amazing ability to make you feel old.....I remember Leo as a baby.....now he had nearly reached double figures! I remember my own nephew Chris as an eight year old playing with his Star Wars figures on the lounge carpet at home as if it was only yesterday .....only to realise that he now a strapping thirty something with a lovely newborn baby called  Evie all of his own!

When I was a kid,  my own uncles and aunts all looked "ancient",( mind you everyone in the 1970's looked old did they not?).....now despite my self deluded belief that my combat pants and trainers are actually keeping me looking "trendy" and "youthful".....I now realise that in the eyes of Leo and perhaps little Evie.......I do indeed look like an old fart Uncle.....one with a fat arse, a white goatee and  bad knees

hey ho!

*******************************************************************************

BTW

Quiz Result Disaster! Last night the Trelawnyd 2 ( Jason and I) went to The Crown in an effort to maintain our lead over the infamous Dyserth 5 at the village Pub Quiz............we managed a somewhat piss poor fourth position to their near hysterical first place position ( I was convinced an ambulance would have to be called to collect the more delicate members of their group).....the gauntlet has now well and truly been thrown down.......................

May the war begin

Smart Arse

Gloria is now over her cold

Boris, Gloria and Theresa, the old "British" Turkeys have to be carried out of their shed and outhouse in the mornings as they cannot quite negotiate the stone steps in the garden themselves.

It would be much easier for me just to tap their arses with my thumb stick and herd them all, French style, down the lane to the field every morning at dawn, but that just ain't going to happen!.......so every morning, each one gets tucked under my arm, to be carried over to their daytime pay pen, like three chirping paraplegics

This morning as I was carrying Gloria down the lane a white agricultural supply van slowed and stopped at the lane corner.  There were two lads in it, one of whom lent out of the window to take a closer look at Gloria, and I stopped for a moment to show her off like the poultry geek that I am.

"He's a r e a l  UGLY bugger!" the lad in the passenger seat chirped up as I lifted Gloria up to the window

"Oh I don't know!" I said defensively " I think she's quite bonny!"

The lad laughed and said rather cuttingly

"I was talking to the turkey!"
and they both broke down into guffaws

EVERYONE'S A COMIC!!!!!!!!!

Another Turkey in the shed

I have said this before, but Sundays do have a feeling and a pace all of their own.

I have been just as busy as I usually have on a weekday, but there is a a certain sense of "stillness" about today which is nice, I even noticed that the Church bell had a slower rhythm today....slightly different to its usual and slightly hysterical "The Nazis are invading!"dong.dong.dong...

Mabel who is now house trained, has been allowed the run of the cottage. It has not taken her long to make the hearth rug her own special place, and can be found at any given moment slumped in front of the fire dreaming stupid, uncomplicated bulldog dreams.

William and George however remain at the outhouse door, keenly aware that a snotty nosed female turkey is inside on sick leave ( she has a bit of a cold)

Left to their own devices they will be stationed on guard duty there for most of the day.

I have nothing else to report.....I have nothing more really to say.

Later I will make a roast chicken dinner, and will happily listen to radio 4 extra as I potter about looking busy....

Isn't that what Sundays are all about?