Ok. brief post today...I am off to sample the delights of a "Health & Safety" study day...Tomorrow will be more of the same as Chris is taking me to London for the day (Christmas Pressie). We are off to see the matinee stage production of War Horse, which will be a real treat, if not a bit of a busy day as we need to get back to lock the animals up for the night.
Now that good natured Sheffield despot that is Yorkshire Pudding suggested that I run a naming competition for the two ducklings that were kidnapped collected yesterday....and so, bowing to his academic experience , age and excitable nature I am proud to announce the "name the duck" competition! Send me your ideas for the two babies.....they can be anything but smutty (Thomas!) and by Saturday I will pick the best two names and the nominee will receive a real, home made Trelawnyd prize through the post! ( "oh be still my beating heart!") so let's hear your ideas.......
The woman with the ducks wanted me to pay for taking them off her well manicured hands and neat little flowered boarders. She said she paid 20£ for each of her little Aylesburys, I told her she paid 30£ quid too much She bought them from her window cleaner who said they would make ideal suburban pets That was before they had reduced part of her lawn to mud
In the end I took them for nothing, and was so angry I would have taken them anyway, The woman had no clue of how to look after RUBBER DUCK let alone two under age real life ducklings.
The youngsters had been given free range of the woman's garden and drive over the past two weeks or so, even though I suspect they are now only six weeks old. I explained to her that given the bad weather we have experienced over the past month I was surprised that the little chaps had not succumbed to the wet....especially as neither bird has any feathers showing through yet
The pair have survived by pure luck, especially given the fact that their home was a converted wooden barrel and a greater amount of their feed has been slices of white bread and a bit of corn.
I had the pair caught and in the back of the Berlingo before the woman had drawn a big breath. "I think I will buy a couple of those big fat hens for the garden" The woman mused before I drove away "I saw a couple in Homes and Gardens , they are called Orpingtons....do you have any for sale?" "No" I said shortly and drove off
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
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
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."
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................
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
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!
