It's Back!

Silver Fox Hollywood and the delightful Mary Berry

No, not series 4 of The Walking Dead...but The Great British Bake Off!
Ok the contestants are all the same as last year......ageing queen, fat queen, yummy mommy, token black girl, Mary Berry look-a-like , irritating know all, sweet girl that cries a lot.....
But I don't care
It's mindless, light hearted, middle class entertainment that's a joy to watch
I love it....
BTW
Off to London tomorrow to see
A CHORUS LINE
Tits and ass.......tits and ass
And I'll say it again
TITS AND ASS

Ps...for those that don't know..the BAKE OFF is a BBC 2 programme that sets weekly challenges to a dozen or so amateur bakers.......as usual one is kicked off every week .......
Pps tits and ass is a song in the show
Ppps That is A Chorus Line and  NOT the Bake Off

A Little Miracle

Lying in bed early this morning, I had already formulated a somewhat lively blog discussion about " email etiquette" in my head, before I had even put a dirty foot into a grubby croc shoe.

But subsequent events have put paid to all of that interesting banter.

Another one of the refugees was killed and eaten by badgers overnight. A small and pretty Araucana " forgot" to make it back to her hen house before dusk and had roosted herself away in thick undergrowth .

 I have noticed that this occasionally happens with hens that are not used to free range greenery....no matter how much you try to " imprint " them on their home coop, they seem slightly overwhelmed with the total freedom of the great outdoors and wander off like Jenny Agutter did in Walkabout.

Two casualties out of 33 hens is not a bad loss rate given the way the refugees suddenly appeared 

Unfortunately the little araucana had a newly hatched single chick with her and of course there was no sign of it when I scoured the bushes and nettles by the pond, the exit point for the badger run.

But I was sure I heard  a faint " peep peep" of a distressed chick somewhere about., though I could not be totally sure.

I was not the only one who heard something

For out of a far coop, a fat broody and over motherly Buff Orpington called Sorrel lumbered over clucking loudly to herself .

She waddled past me and pushed her way into a patch of nettles only to reappear seconds later with the lost  araucana chick in tow. 

If I had not seen it with my own eyes , I would never of believed it.

Foster mum and chick are now set up in their own house safe and sound.

A heartwarming little tale

Operation Open Day

My new " high tech" publicity sign

We got home last night just as the six village helpers were beavering away on the field, shutting up hens and wiping blind cockerel's arses. I was very grateful for their help, for not a single hen had been lost in the process.

Now that Kentish Baptisms, Flower Show Shenanigans   and village funerals have been done and dusted so to speak, I can now concentrate on the allotment open day which is only two weeks away. With hospital shifts, the odd community council meeting, Samaritan training and a forgotten day out to London to see A Chorus Line, that two week prep time has been cut down to around 8 days

EIGHT FRIGGIN' DAYS!

I haven't even measured my bunting out yet!

Ok I have already received a load of items to sell and raffle ( thank you Jean Lacey for the latest and most welcomed additions) and the kitchen IS starting to resemble a hoarders paradise

Chris is going all a bit " thin lipped" at the state of the kitchen

But nothing is ordered, collated and listed as yet.

Cake bakers need to be conscripted, leaflets need to be delivered and a full risk assessment has to be completed for the day ( don't get me started on that one)

Operation Open  Day has begun

Freaked Out!

Sleeping  in someone else's bed can be fraught with perils

I nearly wet myself at 6am this morning

When this monstrosity reared its voodoo head

My mother in law was given it years ago

It's eyes follow your every movement

Allo Allo?

Mon dieu ! That iz an impressive saus- age!

Last night we joined Chris' brother's family for a meal at a local restaurant. There were around 17 of us all told, six of whom spoke exclusively French and no English .Seeing that my French speaking abilities are basic to say the least, trying to explain anything of our life in Trelawnyd was virtually impossible
Having said this, the French family have a Breton background, which apparently has language similarities with Welsh.and so by the end of the evening, when the red wine was flowing more freely, I am sure I heard snippets of words that Auntie Glad would have understood and enjoyed.
However for the most part, and to my lingering shame....I did what most British people do when faced with a potentially embarrassing " sorry I don't understand you" situation

I spoke English in a slight French accent!

Broadstairs is a pretty little town

And see those beach huts?

Chris' family own one!

Olympic Organisation? Pah...piece of cake!....shame about the train

We are going to Broadstairs to attend Chris' nephew's christening very soon and I am in the process of organising babysitters.
Chris has no idea of the logistical nightmare involved in animal care, and just thinks that the animals will " sort themselves out" when their single " daddy bountiful" is away enjoying himself.
Thank goodness for good friends and family.
And so, my workload has been divided between six people, with my good friend Eirlys as back up should a poultry disaster happen
Cemetery expert Islwyn has responsibility for chickens and Bingley
Neighbour John F has taken over care of the Geese and ducks
A retired couple, The Barkers, have the special job of watching over the blind Rooster Cogburn
And Carole from down the lane will walk the two welsh terriers in conjunction with my sister , who will take George down to her house.
Bleeding Hell
And how long am I going away for, on this fantastic, relaxing and enjoyable break to Kent....?
Well I will tell you

34 hours!

Hey ho

Ps....
I am typing this bit from the luxury of the virgin train from Crewe to Euston....I have just about survived a somewhat horrendous journey along the North Wales Coast in a two carriage train filled to the gunnels with pissed race goers ( Chester Races today) and loud, foul mouthed holiday makers returning to Birmingham ......I felt positively civilised standing amid the rubbish strewn baggage,copies of take a break and the obligatory empty beer cans clutching my Marks & Spencer scotch egg!....
The low point of the journey so far was when a fat miserable child knocked over a small aquarium tank with a goldfish in it, just outside Chester !(and I am NOT kidding)
Hey ho

Poppy

I had another email today

She still needs a good home

I have agreed to a meet

A Hand Shake

I wanted to write a funny post today
But sometimes the Gods of blogging conspire against a person.....
It's not as though anything funny has happened over the last 24 hours ( I have a knack of wringing out a funny situation from the most bizarre of situations) it's just that certain things tend to stick in your mind more that others.
Yesterday, I was happy to help out at Sylvia's funeral " tea". I collected plates, served the older people at their tables, poured out tea and coffee and slipped  the more distraught  guests with extra large helpings of sherry that had been left over from the meet and greet table.
 I , like the other helpers were glad to be there. There is something totally therapeutic in mindless activity, especially if everyone is feeling just a little " out of sorts" so to speak.
After the bun fight was almost over, and as I was folding some of the tables away, Sylvia's grandson, a rather serious boy of around ten or eleven, interrupted me and held out his hand.
Quite formally he thanked me for helping with his " grandmother's funeral" and shook my hand with all of the seriousness of an old man.
His genuine and spontaneous act brought a lump to my throat
I am still thinking about it this morning