Remembering Ivy

This is the view from our living room window and I am presently sat here waiting for the water to heat up for a bath (the goslings have relieved themselves all over me on our early morning garden bonding moment)
Iris' comment tickled me. She remembered a post that I made ages ago about a somewhat wayward set of underpants
http://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/2009/06/underwear-embarrassment.html
This morning I remembered another embarrassing incident that happened to me almost 26 years ago now to the day!,
I was a student nurse in those days and worked in an old Chester asylum (they were asylums in those days!) . I was placed on a long stay ward, where most of the institutionalised patients had been there for most of their lives. The surroundings were austere and functional, but the patients in those final days of hospital based mental health care were well looked after and for the most part happy.
One day I was asked to take a long term schizophrenic patient called Ivy into Chester city centre for some shopping.
She was a neat, sweet looking elderly lady, who smoked constantly and spoke little, so I had no real worries taking her out. Like a grandson with his gran, we ambled arm in arm around the shops, had a coffee and bought Ivy her weekly "treat" to herself of cigarettes and sweets. Throughout the jaunt, Ivy remained polite and appropriate and seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.
Before we caught the bus back to the hospital, Ivy asked if we could have a browse around Browns of Chester ( the flagship department store) so we walked in to the busy cosmetic department .
Almost immediately a plastic looking sales woman came up to Ivy and with a perfume tester in hand asked "Would madam like to try some of this new fragrance?"
Ivy smiled broadly, she loved the attention of strangers
"Oh yes please!" she replied holding out her wrist to be sprayed
The saleswoman gave Ivy a "squirt" which Ivy inhaled with some relish
"That's lovely" Ivy said "what is it?"
The plastic saleswomen smiled, obviously hoping for a sale and said "Poison!"
There was a pause
I stiffened somewhat worried at Ivy's response....
Ivy nodded and sniffed her wrist again
"It is nice!" she said cheerfully
Then added sweetly
"I knew Adolf Hitler you know!!!!........he had a HUGE cock!"

Have a nice day everyone

I am not going to get the credit for this post,...I have taken it from my friend Gill's blog (http://thatbritishwoman.blogspot.com/)
it is powerful and thought provoking..I do hope that it is not just an urban myth

THE SITUATION
In Washington , DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later: the violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes: A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes: A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes: The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour: He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.
This experiment raised several questions:

*In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?
*If so, do we stop to appreciate it?
*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:
If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made . . .

How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?

Welcome to Germany

I have just noticed that there seems to be a regular couple of readers from Germany! A fact that is a little intriguing to say the least. None to my knowledge have post a comment! But I am grateful that they are following what rubbish I have to spout here

"Circle my wagons"- What would Gregory Peck have done?

I have no real experience with fending off enemies like the fox. Ok I have a modicum of common sense and an innate will to protect my girls, but that is about all!
Most of my knowledge comes from the Internet, local farmers and a good imagination and love of film.....so it wont surprise anyone that I found myself remembering all of these siege movies where the likes of English Postmistress Mrs Frazer finished off the Nazi filth with an axe (Went the day well) or John Wayne repelling the Indians from the children filled church in Rio Grande.........hummm so just what would have the likes of Gregory Peck have done when faced with an murderous adversary with cunning and guile

So....out I went at 6pm last night, with a 6 pack of diet coke and a large stick to watch over the flocks.
The whole experience was pretty and subtly stressful ! I parked myself in the centre of the field and for three hours constantly scanned the borders of the field as the mutton headed chickens constantly put themselves in harms way by wandering into the dark recesses of the stream and the hawthorn hedges. Occasionally I even had to curb the urge to yell over to them to return to the "safety" of the field centre....but did succumb to the odd bit of bribery when I "encouraged" the girls back into the fold with a hard bit of bagel !
Bird brain is not a phrase that I wrong I can tell you!
Anyhow, one by one the girls took themselves to bed and the night was drawn to a close without another casualty or another glimpse of Mr Fox.
I know the red faced welsh farmer would help me out if I needed a "hired gun", (and American readers my be interested to hear that the use of firearms is ruled with an iron glove by the authorities here in the UK)..but we will wait and see.....

A neighbour gave me some extra netting to plug the gaps in the pig fencing near the stream, which I did this morning, and all of the heavy greenery has been removed from the field borders. So the girls have more than a fighting chance to see any approaching predator.

I have also set up my solar powered radio on the top of the largest hen house roof, and have been tuned it to London Talk radio. I hope the sound of "chatter" might make the fox think I am around.

Remembering the 1960 movie Spartacus, I did have the urge to set up a a line of oil along the length of the fencing which I could set alight with a flaming touch thus providing a wall of fire between fox and hens.. but I suspect I was letting my imagination run away with myself when on the lonely vigil that is sentry duty!

Poor Chris....he came home last night to find me marching out of the house muttering "fu*king foxes!",, and just had time to ask "where's me tea?" before I was gone.......
( I did leave him a nice supper by the way!)
More of the same tonight
hey ho

Gosling bonding and fox watch commences

I had some advice from Mike (http://mrandmrshalpern.blogspot.com/ ) about gosling care. He suggested I take the little ones out of their shed on a regular basis for some "quality time" on pastures new. So this morning and this afternoon we have sat out in the front garden for a play.
I cannot stress this enough, goslings are a real delight. They are affectionate and careful and when unsure of anything immediately adopt the bowed posture of the adult bird.
Every time I moved around the garden, they mirrored every movement and only seemed content when either sat on mylegs and lap or in the safe shade, underneath my arm.

The rest of the day ( apart from making fish cakes for Chris' supper and walking the dogs twice) I have been concentrating on Operation Fox Watch.
It has taken over 5 hours, but I have strimmed the whole of the bottom of the field of the untidy tussocks and 4 foot grass and nettles that would camouflage any attacking fox. I have plugged the holes in the hawthorn hedge with branches and thorn bushes and had a brief fantasy of planting land mines along the fox run by the stream. Tonight I will keep guard over the field from 7 pm. Anymore problems and it will be gun time!

The fox returns

I was herding Jane, the slate grey turkey back to the turkey enclosure at 7.30 when I saw a streak in the grass around 50 yards away. I could see a white hen running for its life and behind it was the russet Brown shape of a large fox. That part of the field is very rough and covered with large tussocks and swathes of nettles, and as the hen shrieked I could see the fox jumping over the humps of grass to get hold of it.
I dropped the feed bowls I was carrying and ran over. The fox and hen disappeared into a large clump of nettles and I blundered into it after them. ( I was wearing shorts!!) and ALMOST caught the bloody thing before It shot through the hawthorn hedge.
I could see no sign of the hen, except several patches of white feathers, so I was convinced that the fox had nabbed one, but after a head count of the st Trinian group and the old hen house girls (the hens that live in the part of the field) all the poultry had been accounted for.
It took an age but I found the victim eventually. It was one of the St Trinian adolescent cockerels and apart from a few missing feathers he otherwise looked ok.
A fox attack in day time is rare.
This fox will be back.
Time to organise a gunman...
In the meantime I am off to treat my nettle stung legs!!!

Sunday Snaps,a letter, teen thugs and goose updates

I am sat at the kitchen table with the first (and best) cup of coffee of the day. I have changed the usual LBC talk radio chatter over to Classic FM and in front of me is a vase of cut roses from the garden. (Chris sighs every time I bring flowers into the house and grumbles "there are more soddin' flowers inside the house than there is in the garden!"

This morning ( a fine clear day) you get a true blast waft of the scent of honeysuckle as you come around the front of the cottage, so much so, that two early walkers stopped by the gate just to "sniff"

A day or so I received a neat hand written letter with a local post mark. Not too unusual an occurrence, you might say, but in this age of email and text, had written letters seem to be a rarity and I may add , a little bit of a treat.

As it turned out, the letter was in reply to the lengthy one I sent to the vets after Maddie's death, and on reflection I think it actually mirrored mine by being measured, thoughtful
and in the main constructive.

Of course my concerns over Maddie's treatment were countered just as I expected they would have been, but my other points regarding communication issues and my lack of confidence in the practice itself, were acknowledged, and for that I was strangely grateful.

The time and effort it has taken to reply to my complaint has been therapeutic in itself.

Anyhow, over to more frivolous issues. The 10 young hens that were chicks only 11 weeks ago have formed themselves into a tight knit little group that resemble Ronald Searle's illustrations of the St Trinian Schoolgirls.

Led by a couple of immature and posturing males, the "gang" swagger around the lower part of the field like teenagers at the top of town! If there were a couple of tin cans around I am sure that they would be kicked, as the ten of them look as though they are up to no good for most of the time.

Only when the lead cockerel Stanley wanders around to give them a rather blank "once over" do the gang melt away into the grass to hide, before re appearing with that slightly bored "whatever" kind of attitude.

Winnie and Jo, seem to be doing ok in the hot house of the shed. Winnie is more robust than his/her sibling, but both seem to be doing ok. Readers that have raised goslings before may be able to give me some pointers about the specifics of gosling care.....I wonder if they are slightly more delicate than the Indian runner ducklings I am more used to. They seem to spend 90% of their time running around in hysterical circles and shitting on their own webbed feet!

Right...the coffee cup has been drained and I need to take the dogs out before the heat of the day becomes too unbearable...Hope everyone has a nice Sunday

My name is Nanette Newman

Speaking of The Stepford Wives......I seem to have metamorphosed into Nanette Newman this morning.....all I need is a frilly apron and a vacant stare....( ok ok I already have a frilly apron!)
I have been the ideal "wife" this morning. Chris has had a very hard week at work and looked shattered last night. So this morning I took the dogs out early, Popped to the garage and bought him the Saturday broadsheets and gave him the papers and breakfast in bed
I managed to curb the urge to start humming as I lightly flicked a feather duster over the top of the paintings in the living room, and the bright yellow washing up gloves are still lying on the garden wall ( I had used them yesterday to help me pull up nettles from the back garden border) ......I am sat here at the kitchen table with butter from a bagel dripped all down my front and a pair of pants on that are covered with chicken poo...so I guess I am still not quite the trophy partner.......just yet
ps and to all those geeks out there I KNOW it is a photo of Katherine Ross
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