Dirty Little Buggers

Hold your duckling in a vice like grip at all times..it minimises shit splatters

 When it comes to dirty hands Chris and I couldn't be more different. He has perfectly manicured hands that would be the envy of any tv chef (poor darling Nigella) whilst my stubby, nail bitten pigs trotters are invariably covered in one bodily secretion or another that stinks to high heaven.

Now before this little snippet of information has everyone running to the phone to report me to our local nhs infection control sister, I have to say that at work my hands are scrubbed within an inch of their stubby little lives......at home.......however the reality is somewhat different.

Last night, I went to the community Council Meeting, so Chris had been asked to put the ducks and the geese to bed. A job he does under a tiny bit of sufferance. I returned home just as he was finishing the job and out of devilment I passed him the two ducklings, asking him to return them to the shed for the night.

Now ducklings may look fluffy, sweet and totally adorable

But in real life  they are hysterical, squirming shit bundles from hell.

To control them safely, you have to hold them very firmly indeed with their arses pointed away from any decent clothing. Their feet ( which they always seem to poo on) are constanly in motion, so moving them can be a somewhat messy and smelly operation.

I know it was a little naughty of me, but I told Chris non of this before I handed the little shit magnets over to him last night.......tee hee

Pissed off ...but not depressed.

There are several things that irritate me in this big old world.

Bad manners,

people that say one thing but do another,

Meanness of spirit

I could go on, and on... and on

But there is one thing that has consistantly " bugged me" over the years and that is the

Overuse of the statement 

" I am depressed"

I heard it again this morning when in conversation with someone

And be it right or wrong.. I  had the overwhelming urge to say

When the dreaded D word was uttered

"Depression is an illness

And a devastating one at that"

You may be despondant, 

You may be pissed off,

You may be unhappy

You may be a sour faced old fart

You may be just a crabby old bastard with problems

No friends and a wife who hates your guts

But don't just jump on the helpless bandwagon and say that

You're depressed

Because invariably you're not!

OK?

My Stalker

Yesterday, if I had know I was about to receive a visit from one of my most humorous of blog readers, I would have brushed my hair, donned my best Walking Dead T shirt and bought in a selection of Marks & Spencer Scotch eggs.
But I didn't.... And so after a few minutes sleep(prior to night shift last night) I got up to receive visitors looking like a fat, dishevelled old fart.
Jo from http://hestanesta.blogspot.co.uk/, was on a day trip to Wales from her delightful period cottage in Derbyshire, and as she is a bit of a giddy kipper , she decided to drop down to Trelawnyd to see if I was not just a figment of some old lady's imagination.
It was lovely to meet with her and her husband....I am just sorry I was not more hospitable.... Next time I will do a lot better than a gift of a large goose egg!

Me showing jo my " Bosoms" ( and my considerable gut) xx

Don't Bother

I don't really have any news to share today

Except for the fact I bought a packet of weightwatchers marshmallow wafers yesterday.

If you have not ever sampled this particular delight

Don't bother

I ate one yesterday

I can only liken the experience to chewing on a rather thick unwrapped sanitary towel.

superman

Pug of steel

The Secret Life Of Cats

Sometimes the BBC produces a little nugget of quality and interest. Last night the old flagship documentary series Horizon in conjunction with The Royal Veterinary College aired their findings of a week long study in the personal habits of 50 cats living in the picturesque Surrey Village of Shamley Green.
It was a fascinating watch. The cats were all fitted with GPS tracking collars and many others with miniature cameras , and whilst their owners were blissfully unaware, the little devils got up to territory battles, the stealing of food ( apparently a common occurrence)  huge ranging behaviours and secret double lives .

The different patrols of the village cats

I know Albert has a secret life outside the cottage. He kills and eats rabbits and mice, and so can go days without demanding food from us, but I suspect he also could be a food stealer from another cat's house, as he is rapidly putting on weight during his fifth year with us.

I would love to know what he gets up to.

It won't come as a surprise to anyone when I say that I am basically a " dog man", in nature. But having said this, I absolutely adore Albert.

The only survivor from a litter of six( the other kittens were all killed on a main road after being abandoned) Albert was rescued by a woman with two staffy dogs for a month before being taken in by the local animal rescue. From there he came to us., a tiny scrap of a black kitten who was not in awe of a bunch of dogs.

Albert has turned into a handsome, and very careful cat. He is close to us and to the dogs of course ( he is particularly fond of George who he will rub faces with all day long) but he will not approach neighbours and friends in their gardens, even though many will tempt him with the odd titbit.

His aloofness has made him a figure of speculation and discussion amongst the locals.

This morning, after his lie in with the dogs on the bed, I caught him striding out on his morning patrol .now I was all fired up after last nights documentary, and so I thought I would follow to see what he got up. 

Albert, popped next door and made his way through the hedge to another neighbour's garden when he took a long drink from their  pond. I crept down the lane and almost doubled up in a crouching stance  I watched him make his way into the sheep field. 

I didn't see a local farmer slow his pickup on the lane at first. But did feel a bit of a tit when I caught his quizzical stare as he caught me peeping gently over Mike and Viv's garden wall.

" I 'm spying on my cat" I called out in way of explanation

" That's nice" he said ,shaking his head.

I forget I am 51 years old

Albert having his lie in this morning

Do You Fancy a lookalike?

A few people have commented that I look like a scruffier Russ Crowe ( see yesterday's blog) Apparently it is a common psychological phenomenon to pick a partner that looks a little similar to yourself.....
Could this be true?
You decide

Bosoms in the wet

My bit of the wall ( left foreground)

The north side of the field is enclosed in part by the old church wall. The whole thing is in a dreadful state of repair , so a year or so ago, I was taught to repair a ten foot part of it which had completely fallen down. I actually loved learning a new skill, but the work took ages and a great deal of effort to complete, especially as there is always 1001 things to do during the summer.
Now the rest of the wall now needs a facelift, so today I have spoken to a Welsh conservation group that may be able to help me complete the job....so here's hoping.
From what the woman said....I am just one of many asking for help.
Anyhow Today we have had the first proper rain in weeks, and finally "Bosoms" has taken its first, and much needed drink. I braved the wet and planted out squash, cabbage and courgettes and was just puddling in some leeks when I spied a lady in the churchyard.
The young woman was obviously weeping. She was standing by a grave and had what looked like a bunch of small yellow flowers clasped in her hands, which she held tightly beneath her chin
I turned around and  walked slowly away from Bosoms and the graveyard, it is a habit I have gotten into when someone looks distressed or grieving .

Sometimes a  graveyard needs to be a very private place

Bosoms in the rain