For Mike

Now I will blog about the classic concert Chris and I will be going to a little later at the memorial hall.. but Saturday morning will be started off by a bit of zombie geek!
This still is taken from the new series of The Walking Dead and shows meek little Carol kicking some zombie butt alongside my redneck badass hero Daryl!
Thought that my friend and fellow saddo Mike might enjoy a little preview!
And to the rest of you, yes I know I am 50!

Can You Hear Me At The Back?

It's a summer morning in July

and this is the mid morning's doom and gloom captured by my webcam.

 The weather is now getting beyond a joke

It's getting me down

Mrs Spriggs and her buggy will be grounded again as

It's effing' raining again

Yesterday I was asked to give a "talk" to the local Women's Institute.

This tickled me, as I have really no real idea of exactly what I could possibly talk about to a group of vital older ladies ..........(Extolling the virtues of The Walking Dead series 3 may be a little too undead perhaps?)

humm perhaps NOT!

I'll think of something to spout on about, no doubt it will be an animal based kind of talk

That's a safe subject as most people enjoy the "fluffy Bunny" kind of stories...

 I have no problems with it at all,..... in fact I kind of miss having the opportunity of "public speaking" and teaching.... I used to do a lot of it at one time

...On reflection I know that there is more of my my father's showmanship in me than I would care to admit to

He would give a speech to the room at the opening of a fridge door!.

Oh that reminds me

This years advertisements for my "chickens for beginners course"

need to be circulated

They will never get me rich... but they are fun to do

It's still raining......

Mrs Spriggs and the Buggy

I fell asleep at the kitchen table when I got home from work this morning.
I woke up after an hour or so with a sore neck and dribble all down my face.
So is the world  of the occasional night shift.
I had a coffee then went out to deliver some duck eggs which I had promised to drop off and I was glad that I did for as I turned into Bron Haul I caught a glimpse of Mrs Spriggs.
Now Mrs Spriggs (not her real name) is one of those very VERY old ladies that always sound as though she is crying when she talks.She has that slightly odd, wavering voice that carries literally for miles. and when I sometimes try to pass her when she is waiting for the morning bus into town, the dogs will often stop then sit and stare at her when she cries her very odd cries of welcome.
Today, Mrs Spriggs was perched on top of a brand new shiny invalid scooter, complete with impressive wicker basket on the front. She was driving it at full tilt along the centre of the road,and even at a distance of say 50 yards, I could tell that her knuckles were white as the proverbial sheet.
Islwyn Thomas, himself in his late eighties, stood nearby and he gave me a small wave and a smile...
"watch this" , he  quipped "this should be fun!"
Mrs Spriggs passed us, letting out a long moaning scream as she did so
I noticed that the scream had a definite Doppler effect to it
"I'm scccccaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrred!!!!!!!!!!!" she cried " this is all new to me!"
she turned the scooter around and in way of explanation as she made a second run she cried out again
"The scooter is on loan..I'm trying it out!!!.....but I can't get the hang of the kerbs!"
She mounted the pavement briefly near Stan and Kit's neat little bungalow and let out a long "oooooooooooohhhhhhh!" as she did so.
And as I stopped to watch... realising instantly that this was the stuff of all passable blogs!
Mrs Spriggs glided past yet again emitting another little scream like girls do on rollercoasters

As she "hand braked it by the junction of High Street, She informed Islwyn and myself rather breathlessly that the buggy needed to be returned by Friday so she had to practise when the weather was dry.
"How do I look on it?" she wailed as she made her third and final run

"precarious !" I said under my breath

Earning one's Keep

Apart from the pigs, who have filled our chest freezer with their wonderful fat covered meat, there are just three animals on the field that have actually earned their keep over the past few years.
They are the guinea fowl.
Hughie, little Ivy and Alf watch the field every night. 
They are constantly on sentry duty and miss nothing when it comes to spotting a potential threat, and once seen, they will scream their warning calls "out and loud"  until that particular danger has well and truly passed.
This morning I was trying to enjoy my lie in. Now when I say "lie in" what I actually mean is that blissful and snatched 40 winks I endeavour to take between Chris getting up ( 5.45am) and my actual "getting up" time of 7.00 am...anyway as I was tucked away under the duvet enjoying a particularly smutty dream featuring Russell Crowe , the guineas started their warning calls..
At full tilt, the chatter has all of the intensity of a military machine gun, and the very extreme nature of it immediately informed me that a very real threat was afoot. So, with a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed and poked my sleepy head out of the window.
A scruffy fox was tip toeing  over the field. with his nose down. He was circling the goose house carefully and from the cottage  I could just make out a low warning hiss from the geese who were  watching the scene carefully from their coop window.
Not having a gun to hand I had to resort to a fairly effective and well tried call of "BUGGER OFF!"
and by the time I had hurried down to the field, the guineas were all smug and silent on their perch in the Churchyard and the fox had long gone.

Ivy, Hughie and Alf  trying to keep warm last Winter

Lady Gaga Edge of Glory

Now I had no idea that Mz Gaga sang this little ditty. However, I was aware of the song itself, but thought quite wrongly that because of it's "pop siliness" it was a Eurovision Song Contest entry.
Anyhow I am leaving this toe tapping little piece on Going Gently as a direct result of posting a belated birthday card to old friend Jimmy late last night!.
After all of the animals had been locked up, I collected the dogs and we took ourselves off into the village to the post box on London Road..
Instead of walking back on the main road, I took the more circular route back past the old farmhouse of Bryn Teg and through the small housing estate of Maes Offa which borders the most easterly part of the village.
As we past one house, I heard this song blasting out from the living room windows and I was just about to initiate my po-faced, lip pursing "oh how common" middle aged judgements when the living room's occupants came into view.
Dancing to the music was a fairly hefty young woman in her twenties who was  accompanied by two excitable and bouncing children. The three of them performed their own heavily choreographed routine amid squeals of laughter and to me, the whole scene,  was suddenly as sweet and as amusing as the one I had witnessed on the field earlier that day, when George went egg stealing with Albert in tow.
I was brought up by a mum and dad who didn't really have fun with their children This was, I guess, a product of being slightly repressed and depressed "older parents" in 1970 suburbia.... but just...... for a moment when I watched this young mother thunder around her living room in her dressing gown and slippers, followed closely by two hip swinging  excitable children, I mused just how sad that they didn't!

Reality is an Egg Stealing Scottish Terrier

It was George and Albert's ever cheerful demeanour that has energised me this morning, as it was their unwavering ability to be sweet natured despite any brickbats the weather can throw at us, that has lifted my mood from a rain soaked apathy to a wry smiling positivity.
For the sixth week in a row, the week has started out wet, cold and miserable. "Bosoms" is now dreadfully overgrown with weeks and filled with puddles and  even the most robust of the field animals are looking somewhat shopworn and bedraggled. The weather has a strange ability to zap the strength and knock the teeth out of positive resolve and good energy.
Yet animals like Albert and George seem to maintain their jaunty good wills whatever the season
It is just not in their nature to be anything else but cheerful
This morning was a case in point.
As I was rebuilding part of the compost pile which had collapsed under the weight of heavy over night rain showers ( a bloody smelly and disgusting job) I watched as George carefully ambled towards the duck house.
He was doing so, with that slightly forced way people walk when they want to appear casual and invisible , so I knew immediately that he was up to something.
Very slowly George  approached the duck house. He stopped to sniff here and stopped to pee , there, but it was clear to me that his major objective was the indian runner duck eggs that had been laid that morning in the corner of the coop furthest from the lane.
George knows, that he  always been told him that he has to keep away from sitting eggs, but greed had over taken  from obedience and he was desperate for an early breakfast.
I stopped and watched him as he ambled up to the house door then pretended to be busy when he snatched a quick look over to me, to see if I had noticed him.
Slowly ( and I am sure he was actually holding his breath at this point!) he pushed past the assertive hens that were sat in the doorway, sheltering from the rain, then seconds later reappeared with a large blue egg in his mouth.
You could almost see him smiling gently to himself at the very thought of eating it, and he craftily turned his head away to the left, so that if  I had indeed spared him a glance, I wouldn't have noticed the egg perched firming between his teeth
Now, knowing that he risked a real bollocking if caught with the egg in his gob, he then bolted for a patch of long grass behind which he could eat his prize in peace and was immediately joined there by Albert who had also noted his extracurricular activities with some interest.
Cat and Dog shared their eggy spoils amid some loud yet good natured banter and I had to smile that when both finally emerged from the grass, they were licking their lips and banging heads playfully together like little schoolboys in the playground


This simple little everyday event has been enough to lift my attention away from dystopian thoughts, bad news days and the bleak depressing weather of our  typically sad summer days and the thought crossed my mind .
If I could bottle the enjoyment of watching this little drama...I would be a  very rich man

A Belly Full of duck egg!

When I'm 64

It's not a mop cap..it's a kat kidston shower cap!

The family came around last night for a belated celebration for my sister's birthday. You couldn't really tell that now she is in her mid sixties, she has far too much chutzpah for that and could never, ever be mistaken for one of those grey hairs, who watches Countdown with her slippers on, her pen and pencil at the ready.
Ann is our family's matriarch. She possesses an iron fist in a velvet glove kind of personality that would have "won the war" if indeed, she was living in 1945. and she is the constant backbone for a family which is now happily heading towards it's fourth generation

Happy Birthday Chuck
and we did enjoy your rendition of this little "ditty" last night!


"When I get Older, losing my hair,
many years from now.
Will you still be sending me a valentine,
birthday greetings,
bottle of wine?
If I'd been out til'' quarter to three,
would you lock the door.
Will you still need me
will you still feed me,
when I'm 64!"


xx

Snail Wars

There is a war going on.
The wettest June on record
(and nearly a month's worth of rain falling in just one day yesterday) coupled with the presence of stone walled garden has meant that those dirty little bastard garden snails have seen their populations treble and quadruple in this season of gloomy weather and damp evenings!
Chomping away on the few blooms that have survived the deluge, these greedy little buggers have been laying the cottage under siege and every night you can see them leaving their grotty slime trails over the windows in their effort to break in in order to devour us all in our sleep.
Last night, I lost it with them.
My patience was running a little thin anyway, what with the fact that I had been soaked at least 8 times during a day that had seen a river of run off flowing down the lane , but when I caught a "herd" of the little sods stuffing their fat faces on my young laburnum tree , I threw caution to the wind and collected armfuls of them from the wet bark which I then started to hurl across the lane against the stones of the church wall with some gusto.
After a minute or so, I got rather good at grabbing a snail then lobbing it against the wall without actually looking at what I was doing, and within minutes scores of the little "bodies" were flying through the air with gay abandon to land bruised, battered and broken in the lane


Apologies to the lady driving the blue fiat panda
The small dints in your paintwork, I am sure will come out quite easily