I am not a huge fan of halloween
This morning, when I was in the queue at the supermarket (I was buying cheap spaghetti for the hens)a small fat,ugly child sitting in the trolley in front of me, waved a large plastic spider at me, whilst shouting "oooooohhhhhhherrrrrr" right in my face.
He and his unconcerned mother, were obviously getting themselves into the Halloween spirit, an AMericanised activity that has been adopted here ever since Jamie Lee Curtis ran around screaming her cakehole off,amid a huge teenage body count in suburban Haddonfield way back in 1978
This childish obsession with wandering the streets in the dark,dressed as Yoda or Wonder woman,begging for sweets, baffles me..especially as our old kitch 5th of November Celebrations (complete with baked potato and four sad looking fireworks in the back garden)has now died a bit of a death as the big stores now ram down our throats that "you aren't a good parent "if you don't buy your kids that flashing orange ghost that sings "The Monster Mash"
I thought all this when I was still at the checkout...the mother had finally stopped her fat son from swinging his plastic spider around (after three glares and a couple of loud tuts)
Then I realised that Chris and I had just bought a set of bloodshot eyeball novelty lights for CHris' nephew Leo only last week.....
OMG....I have been brainwashed!
Goosed
Chris is away for a few Days, leaving me with his iPad to complete
My daily blog, which is not a mean feat as I am totally unfamiliar with
It's workings and applications.
Very little has happened today.
But there WAS one highlight moment when two middle aged ladies came onto the field with bread for the hens.
The two scattered crumbs for all, dropped some apples off for the pigs and took a final crust over to Beatrice in
Her stroke rehab pen.
Unfortunately Beatrice's run is slap-bang next to the new goose run, and before I thought
to warn the ladies, Tom let out a loud "Honk", bowed his head through the netting and struck home.
It was a fairly lucky "shot"
hIs beak slipped under the woman's kilt and I couldn't quite believe my ears when the woman
screamed and yelled "OH NO!!!!! HE'S GOT ME KNICKERS "
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry (I laughed) and dutifully galloped over to help save the poor damsel.
I needn't have worried though....for the woman, (who was around 60) had already leapt to safety
"I am so sorry," I babbled in way of an apology
But the woman and her friend were laughing hysterically
The friend especially so
"oooooh Alex," she snorted ""that's a first for you in 20 years!!!!!!!!!"
I didn't ask
In Praise of the Madam Arcarti's of this world
There is something about a true British eccentric.
For me they are addictive and fascinating personalities. which, in this age of mediocrity, are as rare as hens' teeth.
For me, the "Red Faced Welsh Farmer" is such a character.
Dressed invariably in a tweed jacket which has seen better days and a deer stalker-esque hat ( which looks as though it's been used to clean the Church brass) I see him most days shooting through the village in his red land drover with his stubby thumb sticking up in a somewhat jaunty "joie de vivre" manner.
Well into his 7th decade, he has the look of a hill farmer with weathered cheeks that resemble corned beef and a smile which makes his face looks almost perfectly round.
Deafness makes his everyday talking voice boom like a Welsh Brian Blessed, and every day we meet up, especially when I feel somewhat jaded after night shift, his words often jangle my nerves as if I was waiting in shocked anticipation for a twenty one gun salute to go off!
The "RFWF" has a story about EVERYTHING. He also has an opinion about EVERYTHING ,so I have learnt long ago that if he stops to say hello, I am not going anywhere for at least 30 minutes....the dogs understand this rule when we are out now, and will automatically sit patiently at his feet when he "booms out" one of his tales.
The RFWF is a rare creature. He is the perfect example of "what you see is what you get!" No pretensions, no airs and graces, no apologies and no bullshit.The booming voice, the meandering stories, and the knackered old tweed hat , for some, the whole package is an aquired taste......
But for me......it is all great fun
Zombie Fun
9/10
Being Demonstrative
I have no trouble helping my brother out physically, after all I have been a nurse for decades, but it is odd to cross those physical boundaries from time to time that have been in place ever since we were children.
My parents were not demonstrative people.My father's father was a bit of a cold fish who ruled his family with a bit of an iron fist, and my mother, although hailing from emotionally warm parents, was an anxious and depressive personality who found physical intimacy difficult to cope with
As a family we were "saved" my our maternal grandmother, who could of maintained all the emotional demands of a large secondary school without breaking into a sweat, and it is her legacy of physical closeness that I am witnessing today .
As small children, my grandmother used to play with our hair. It was a luxury that we all used to squabble over in order to be the first to receive this hands on treat. Today on her visits to my brother, my sister will sit and play with his hair, just like our gran used to do and the action is a simple, effective and innate kind of therapy that bridges some of the gaps caused by a disease that robs a person of almost everything.
Isn't it funny that we return to our childhood "happy places" when we need to?. Regression is a necessary safety blanket for most serious ills..and..I am just grateful that our grandmother ensured that we as her grandchildren were given those happy places to "tap into" when fate deals us a low blow.
To me this is another example of just how important good parenting is....I am sure that without my grandmother 's ability to share her affections so easily, I would have not developed the basic skills to be an effective nurse/animal hoarder...
bloody hell....the responsibility of parenthood is literally so awesome.....and the scary thing is........any one psychopath can be a parent...
Ok it's all been a little too heavy today and forgive me..I have blogged about similar subjects like this before , so I will leave you with a video showing the consequences of being just a little overly demonstrative... tee hee
enjoy and have a nice weekend
x
see Sister Janet's recent blog entry
Updated Stories
It's all very Repulsion esque
Anyhow thought I would update you on a few previous story characters...sometimes I do rabbit on about this waif and that stray only never to refer to them again..so I thought I would take the opportunity to "catch up" so to speak....
Mind you perhaps this catch up camouflages the fact that I perhaps have not got anything that interesting to say
1. Beatrice
Remember the "lassie Come Home" story of Beatrice, the Rhode Island Red who suffered a stroke? Her struggle to get back to her coop at dusk even when partially paralysed, could have made even Jeremy Paxman weep, so against my better judgement I kept her, and set her up in a small broody box in view of all the hens on the field.
Well that was a couple of weeks ago, and against all odds Beatrice is still with us.
She still cannot walk properly, but is starting to stand by herself albeit rather haphazardly and eats like the proverbial pig.
Disabled as she is, I am afraid she will always have to be separated from the other hens who will undoubtedly kill her if she returns.
2 The Dumped Geese (Tom, Elizabeth & Anon)
Bloody hell these three charity cases remain hard work, but after a good bath, some intensive feeding up and some strict behavioural therapy, the geese that were abandoned on the 29th of September have settled down finally onto a noisy but generally harmless family group.
The old gander still rants on a tad, so I have called him Tom . The goose, his mate ( the brown and white) looks an old girl who still retains some pluck so I have called her Elizabeth....the juvenile I have not named as he/she is destined for the pot if I am unable to re-home them
3 Phyllis
Remember Phyllis Diller?
The bald hysterical bantam that had been shagged and bullied almost to death?
Well as you can see, some of her feathers have returned and she is laying now, secure and fairly happy in her run with the laid back-as-a-piece-of-cardboard Jane.
Having said this her nerves still seem somewhat frazzled at times, which, I am sure, a long course of Valium would help with...yeap she still has a face only a mother could love.
4 Camilla
 |
| Camilla and the orphaned Badger way back in June |
Now a fully grown Canada Goose, Camilla has left her shed mate, (the little orphan cockerel Badger) to finally join in with the field's resident geese in their own house.
She remains a gentle, doe eyed soul, who is not afraid to resort to her gosling day habit of taking corn from my hand, and is perhaps one of the most beautiful animals on the field.
Little Badger is doing very well also. After a little bit of fretting when Camilla finally realised that she was indeed a goose, he has been put in charge of his own hen house with 12 of his own hens to fuss over. Still very much a baby, Badger has not quite got into the habit of "covering" his girls just yet, preferring to spend his day following them around like a teenage saddo, but he is healthy, happy and will I am sure take over the running of the field when old Stanley becomes too old.
So there you have it, four success stories....c/o Jonney's farm.....
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)