Going Gently

The Ghosts and Mrs Muir

Cinema Buffs will understand this.......but the Ghost Hens' new companion has been named....and what else could I call her but Mrs Muir.....

Autumn is here
Last night I lit the log burner after the chill from the sea made me wear a coat when I locked up the girls for the night. As the wind increased in the Churchyard elms and the drop in temperature brought Albert in from his nocturnal exploits early to lie in front of the fire's warmth I realised that summer is over after what seems like only a few minutes and winter will be soon with us. The cottage looked bright and strong against the elements when I took the dogs out for their evening walk as the rain set in for the night and the whole scene reminded me again of an illistration from Anne of Green Gables or perhaps even Candleford..
The cottage always looks at its best at night.
I love looking through the front windows from the road at the two rooms that are our living room and bedroom. Both are lit, with the subdued lighting of standard lamps, which make the 1930's decor and furnishings
look just right in front of the fire and inglenook fireplace.

From the lane, I can see clearly our much loved grandfather clock, the watercolours on the wall and the old green door that I hung myself between living room and kitchen.
The regency swirl hand rail of the staircase can just been seen in front of the cottage door and I love the fact that the bookcase that I designed in the bedroom is on full view laden with books and photographs.......The whole scene looks exactly like I wanted it to....it looks quaint, and old and cosy.
Room watching was one of my guilty passions when I lived in Sheffield. At 10pm me and Finlay used to go for our evening walk around the terraced houses of Hillsborough and I used to love the fact that when he went for a wee I would be able to cop a glance at the décor, design and lifestyle of the house that we had stopped at.

Now I was not a voyeur in the pervert definition of the word ( I would always look away if anyone was sat watching tv in their front room)..... but I was certainly a kind of style pervert! ( In the truest gay definition!)
I loved seeing what wallpaper was placed with what sofa...what accessories went with what occasional table and I used to delight ( in that awful snobby but enjoyable way) when I came across a front room with stripy wallpaper and a bloody awful dado rail that shrieked COMMON!!

It was like living in my very own production of REAR WINDOW
We used to live next door to my waspish blog commentator Bel Ami......I used to love looking in his window when Fin and I returned home......mind you it was only because he has a wonderful pair of Clarice Cliff jugs on the window ledge!!!

Memories eh?

Gentle finds it's own level and the politics of grief

My pockets are usually crammed with all kinds of shit. I suppose that they have become my version of a woman's handbag, dog treats, bits of paper, some cash (not alot), plastic bags, pens, paper , a small bottle of poultry antibiotics and as usual my knackered old camera, all have been pushed into every corner and crevice.

At 8am a sparrow hawk dive bombed the huge flock of chattering sparrows in the Hawthorn hedge, but he moved far too fast for me to snap a photograph of his successful attack...however I did take a snap of the ghost hens waddling out of their coop. Nothing too interesting in that, I hear you say....well yes AND no, for if you look closely you can see one of the brown hybrids creeping out behind the lead girls.
As a rule hens do not change hen houses. The house they are introduced to, is the house they stay in, but the little brown hen, that was hatched in the spring has taken herself from the main coop ( with 15 other hens) and has effectively moved in with the ghosts.
I have put this down to bullying. She is a gentle little soul and the old lags of the bigger coop do resemble a troupe of knackered old prostitutes that swear and spit, so it looked as though she had packed her bags and moved in with the benign battery hens who have taken to her like Aunt Marilla did with Anne of Green Gables.........
I think that all this was rather sweet
not everything in nature is tooth and claw.

The bickering and fickle nature of hens can be mirrored in the relationships we can see within some families. A friend of mine has recently lost his father, and is at this very moment experiencing that awful family tension where some relatives feel that they have a bigger "stake" in the death than other family members do.
Now I can understand perfectly why the dynamics within families can be tested when a loved one dies. Cracks within relationships can widen, minor feuds and jealously can intensify, that will happen with any major stressor, but I am always baffled by the "one upmanship" that can occur, especially in between friends, when one person's grief is seen as more important or bigger than everyone elses.......
This selfishness within the grief experience is hard to deal with. My friend is managing by stepping back from the conflict and by concentrating upon his own feelings rather than those of the more vocal members of his family. But we all need to have our own grief acknowledged not only by the important people around us but more importantly by ourselves perhaps that is why this "contest of grief reaction" actually occurs..... it is a way of having our pain and trauma recognised and accepted...........

It's easier being a chicken...........

Getting on with things and Steven Fry

Again the field borders have been cleared of cover and again fencing has been re erected and repaired. It has taken me four hours straight to complete the necessary jobs and the upshot of all the toil is the sobering fact that although a little more secure the field remains a sort of laid out buffet to a persistent predator.

Now I have a choice here....I can invest on some robust and expensive fencing and have every hen, duck and goose safely enclosed in small, secure and claustrophobic enclosures or I can continue with my original idea of proper free range animals, living a chaotic and more natural existence warts and all.

After some thought about all this ( when I was cleaning the ducklings out with the babies crammed shyly in a bucket!- above pic!) I know I will continue with my present set up.

However Losing Lily has been a bit of a blow

This evening we went to see Stephen Fry in his live one man show/autobiography plug....ok it was at the Scala....and it was via satellite link from the festival Hall, London, but it was nice to see the Grand Dame of British stage, screen and television flexing his considerable brain live in an effortless show of pith,self effacing anecdote and gentle sycophancy.
Fry is safe pair of hands when it comes to performing.

He is likable and accepting of his own considerable intelligence and simply gives the audience what they want,- namely a jolly good set of amusing stories...extremely well told...

Lily

The fox has returned. I let the birds out of their coops this morning and immediately noticed that I was a buff short. It was not long before I found a pile of buff feathers only fifteen feet or so from the coop and after a quick check, it was with a heavy heart that I realised that the victim was my tame buff, the sweet natured Lily.

I couldn't quite work out when she was taken? I am hoping that she was late back to her coop last night and had some how got locked out rather than the more worrying scenario of a daytime "snatch" attack. I think I would have noticed the pile of feathers yesterday, if it was the latter.....so perhaps the old girl just didn't make it home in time.

The war continues......

It's Back

Now I am looking forward to the "rant" that is to come from friend Nigel if he reads this blog entry....yes it is reality mush time for the "middle classes"...as Strictly Come Dancing returns to the Autumn tv schedules on the BBC.

Very slightly past its sell by date, the eighth series (?) has dragged up the usual controversy amongst the net curtain brigade and Daily Mail readers of our green land by posing the vital and important questions and worries such as- will former MP Ann Widdecombe's bloomers remain firmly in place as the implausibly named Anton du Becke drags her round the dance floor like a farmer humping a bag of spuds.....?

Finally, I think, the reign of the tv "reality show" is coming to an end.. but Strictly will limp on for a few years yet because of one important factor!........ It is fun!
The celebrity dancers galloping into the fame limelight this year, actually learn a new skill which is refreshing ( and I am amused that we seem to have a "glut" of more mature lady celebrities this year- which I guess is the BBC's way of apologising for axing the mature Arlene Philips from the judging panel),

Now, I can hear Nigel's teeth grinding in Manchester from here!....but I cannot quite see why....Strictly is a quintessentially English phenomenon ( apologies to my non UK readers, but your versions of the show, for me , don't quite work as well)....despite the glitter and sequins, the dancers generally are "just a little too repressed and self conscious" to cope with the latin numbers, a thing which is so British andsomething that makes the programme just that little bit enjoyable.........coping with the awful "being made a fool of" is something the Brits just dont do well......humm we are a funny old breed.....

bring it on......