Sounds Through A Window

The hens are all sat in the sun on the other side
 of the patch of nettles( middle of photo)

Chris has an optic migraine
He gets them from time to time, and the only thing he can really do to get rid of one is to go to bed.
Subsequently the cottage is quiet and rather still, which is blissful as all that afternoon shit from tv ( the sort of stuff that Chris uses to wind down with over a mooching sort of weekend) has been switched off.
The weather is kinder today, though not warm, and as the invalid sleeps, I have bathed two dogs who have been rolling in chicken shit, cleaned windows, weeded "Bosoms" and cut the lawn.


Now I am sat at the cottage window listening to the sound of Trelawnyd at it's best.
There is the distant and forgettable hum of a jet circling towards Liverpool airport and the occasional sound of a car on the main road, but for the most part all I can hear is the wind in the Graveyard trees and the cluck of the hens as they fight for the most favourable and sunny spot out of the cool breeze.
Across the valley at Marian Mawr ( a farm) I can make out the buzz of trial bikes scrambling through the fields, but because of the wind, the sound is ebbing and flowing, so it is almost as though I am listening to bees around a bee hive.
The sound is not irritating at all, and for the most part is masked by the rustle of a million leaves


Serren, the welsh Terrier puppy from down the lane barks sharply at something or nothing and from the kitchen Albert farts gently as he walks though the door, he has been eating rabbit again, they always seem to give him flatulence.


Quiet in the country?
Not a chance................

This post- ( sublime) The Previous one- (ridiculous)

The Male Voice Choir in Canada in the 70s

Nowadays the audience of  the Trelawnyd Male Voice Choir's Summer concert which is held at the village Hall is predominantly made up of "friends of the choir" from all over the North Wales coast. Having said this, there was still a fairly good show from the villagers in support of the performance, which is designed as a showcase for young musical talent from the county as well as a bit of a homage to the village that gave the choir it's name

It was a good do! with many Welsh classics being belted out as well some more interesting pieces
such as this little ditty from Les Miserables

But I must admit I did smile to myself when at the interval after I heard an English woman complain to her husband  that the welsh soprano sang all her songs in Welsh. A woman behind her ventured in a stage whisper ( and with her  tongue very well placed in her cheek) "Her second song was in Italian my dear!"
A lovely evening

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!