Ten Little Indians

Halleh, the single drake, non runner and group leader

 Another of the Indian Runners didn't come home the other night.
Like Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians ( the film version and NOT the novel BTW) their numbers have been whittled down from eight to six.
I think I know what has happened and I now blame the dreadful weather we have been experiencing as the run off from the fields has meant that the small stream that has always run quite peacefully at the back of the field has overflowed. The flooding has allowed the ducks to access the riding stable paddocks beyond my field, and yesterday I even caught the group crossing the lane down at the bridlepath, over 1000 yards  from home.
When I saw them, I couldn't quite believe that I stood in the middle of the road pointing in the general direction of the cottage shouting a rather camp and surprising
 "GET HOME!!!" to the group
Strangely enough the ducks then ran off obediently in the direction of the field!


And so the two ducks have either been taken by a fox when venturing out through the more dangerous parts of the fields or are both sitting on eggs under some hedge somewhere. I am hoping that both ducks could be sitting as they are now 2 years old, the right age for going broody
Only time will tell.....


ps.........the fickle finger of fate has just wagged itself at me again this morning as before I have even finished this blog, there was a knock at the door.
Could I take two young  and very unwanted Aylesbury  ducks from a woman who thought they would make ideal pets for her previously pristine herbaceous garden!


hey ho
off to pick the little buggers up in a few ticks

One Liners

I heard a fantastic put down this morning.
I was out delivering some schedules for our flower show when a met up with Mr Jenkins ( not his real name), who was out walking to collect his newspaper 
We chatted for a while about this and that and then idly watched as a lady from the village passed in her car .
The normally polite Mr Jenkins looked at the woman with slightly slitted eyes and with a surprisingly deadpan delivery said
"That woman looks like a baboon in a babygrow!"
I have giggled about it all the way home

In Memoriam Celeste Holm

Hollywood's favourite best friend actress, Celeste Holm died today at the age of 95
I always liked her as a performer.....of course I would as she starred in my very favourite film ALL ABOUT EVE, were she played Margo Channing's gentle best mate Karen.

The scenes between her and Bette Davis, in my opinion are some of the best in the film as the actors captured perfectly the way the real friends "dovetail" together so naturalistically...
this was not mean feat as The Turner Classic website notes

" Bette gained a new enemy in Celeste Holm who found Davis' behaviour extremely rude from start to finish. On one of the first days of shooting, recalls Holm, she innocently said to Davis, "Good Morning." "Oh, shit," replied Davis, "good manners." Holm was extremely offended. Though they played best friends convincingly while the cameras were rolling, Holm made a point to never speak to Davis off the set again. The feeling was mutual."



Shame on the BBC website..... not a mention

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