Thank f*ck , it's over,.......

Yes! My one and only " Christmas" Walking Dead T Shirt

I tried my best to be more sensible with my calorie intake yesterday, but some home made chocolate biscotti baked by my sister in law proved to be a little too tempting for me to resist.
I only had three!....after all I am more a savoury  pig out merchant rather than a sweet toothed bunny
Thank heavens we didn't buy any scotch eggs

Anyhow
As I was feeding two new geese on the field ( I am babysitting them for a couple who are off to Malaysia for a month) I got to thinking.....
The one "Christmas thing "that worries me about getting older, is that I will be soon at an age where socks and slippers will be gifts " du jour" so to speak......now don't get me wrong , I do love some practical gifts ( my mother in law 's lovely hand knitted scarf and accompanying gloves are just two of the more welcomed pressies)I have received) but I would like to think I am a still a little more interesting than the recipient of a pair of brown cotton socks!

This year, I have been incredibly lucky when it comes to interesting gifts

A tiny and robust radio for field use

A walking dead " Daryl Dixon" T shirt,
A ticket to see Mathew Bourne's sex filled Swan Lake

A selection of  baking tins AND baking beans( oh be still my beating heart)

A " find the zombie" cartoon book!

A baby bulldog calendar

And one joint gift from one of Chris' old colleagues and friend proved to be an absolute delight

A commissioned piece of  original Chinese style art

"Cockerel, hen and ducks"

Quite lovely

WHAT HAS BEEN YOUR FAVOURITE GIFT. & WHY.?

Right , Christmas is now officially OVER

A Hen Of No Importance

This spate of wet, blustery and cold weather will see off the old and the sick within the hen population. Several of the nondescript " refugees" that arrived in the autumn have already faded away, their bodies keeping the small badger population in the next field topped up with protein during the sparse winter months.
Such is the way of the world.

Last week one of the refugees ( an old muddy coloured hen) started to look somewhat frail and unwell. She was light and off her food, so I popped her in with Phyllis Diller , gave her a short course of antibiotics then placed her back in her own hen house to let nature swing her one way or the other.
The hen neither improved or deteriorated , she remained stubbornly " unwell"...so it was inevitable that the other hens, who often mistrust a fellow that is " different " in any way, would start to pick on her.
On Christmas Day the muddy coloured hen disappeared. I suspect the other hens had driven her out into the field to die, so I thought nothing more about it.....I had more pressing things to think about......
That was until I locked the animals up for the night yesterday.
It was almost dark and terribly squally when I  tottered from one hen house to another in my hat and scarf.  The Ukrainian village was deserted, for even the sheep had hidden themselves away in the bad weather, so it was a case of lock the doors and leg it back to the cottage.

I was just dragging my wellies through the mud, when a movement from the hawthorn hedge caught my eye. I thought it was a rabbit at first, but out of the darkness, about thirty feet away crept the muddy coloured hen.
Purposefully, she made her way over to where I stood, and stopped an inch from my foot. There she stood hunched and sad obviously waiting for me to " do something" before the darkness really hit home.
When the shit hits the fan, animals will often overcome any natural shyness with humans, in order to maintain their own safety....it's a strange phenomenon , and a rather a moving one to witness.
It is also not as rare as one may think.

I picked the bland little hen up and tucked her safely away in my coat where she shivered quietly against the crook of my arm before I found her a space in a spare coop with food and water....and I thought to myself that I had just witnessed something rather wonderful.....a small little moment of contact between a nondescript pea brained, sick old hen.....and a 51 year old fart who was rushing home to keep warm

Boxing Day

The Queen has her official photograph paraded around the internet at Christmas, so this old Queen will have his....... This is the official post Christmas day photograph at Bwthyn Y Llan
And yes, i do look like the wreck of the Hesperus
( I adore the way that Winifred is hamming it up)

Glass always Full

I had a lovely day yesterday
Chris and I had Christmas together ( without the obligatory Christmas row) which was delightful..and we prepared a traditional meal with all the fat bastard trimmings....... we interspersed the day with " FaceTime" connections with his family down in Broadstairs , which is an internet phenomenon which connects you with loved ones, albeit with a fraction of a second delay..
( it's funny how normal FaceTime becomes after a few minutes  is it not?)

Last night we caught up with my sisters and nephews, and  great nephews and great nieces.....which was a real delight and amid the destruction of my elder sister's living room ( why do living rooms look like Dresden  after the bombing at the end of Christmas Day?) we all swapped gifts, stories and laughter before Chris and I  caught our taxi home....with bags filled of  baking tins ( a pressie from my sister) and ceramic baking beans bouncing around with gay abandon

Mary Berry has a lot to answer for.

Yuletide Felicitations

Speak tomorrow

Have a lovely day x

70 Years On.

I like to think that this snapshot of  Trelawnyd winter circa 1940 was taken on Christmas Eve. It shows the village vicar with his daughter and one of his bullocks,braving the snow in the fields of the rectory.
The rectory fields, bullock and indeed the vicar are long since gone now.....only the daughter remains in the village to this day, living in a house a stone's throw from the church in which her father preached.
I rather like that continuity .....

A storm lashed Poultry village

I wonder who will look out over the site of the Ukrainian village after we are gone? Ultimately the graveyard will extend down into the field and the bones of chickens, pet dogs and old joan the cat  will mix in with the dead of Trelawnyd, Dyserth and beyond....
I am glad , when this happens, I , for one will be lying in the field, the field in which I have spent
So much time and energy.
The Ukrainian village is deserted this morning ,; another storm from west has sent the hens scurrying for cover amid the houses and forced the sheep to hide against the hawthorn hedges.
In 70 years time....perhaps when the new owner of Bwthyn -y-llan googles " the Church Glebe"
This odd little photo of an odd little village will pop up out of the internet mist.

A Thank You

I know a few assorted despots from around and about read Going Gently but I need to remember that essentially it IS a village based blog.

And so....I thought I'd leave a short and " official" thank you to a few locals who popped in with a much appreciated gifts today

Eirlys & John ( I appreciate the bottle of wine for looking after your two knackered old hens!)

Val & Peter ( a gift for us AND the dogs just for delivering eggs! - you daft devils)

Rosemary & Bernard ( a bag full of jams and sloe gin bottles....all full!) 

Auntie Glad ( mince pies!)
A festive bara brith from animal helper Pat,

Greta ( I haven't opened them yet!)

Thank you again

Eirlys and my cock!

Hey ho

" ohhhh Eileen"

I completed some last minute shopping this morning
and while I was standing at the checkout of one particular squeaky clean department
store I overheard this conversation
First assistant : " Eileen, there's a dreadful smell by this till...it smells like  the drains"
Eileen ( sniffing) " oh lord you're right...I've just been outside, I wonder if I stepped in something"
They checked their shoes
and waved the air like old ladies
I grabbed my shopping and legged it
I should have known
In the pocket of my hooded top
was the hastily bagged up  and forgotten about waste products of
Of one smelly arsed bulldog.