Ballet Dancing

Blog Fans!!! I'm desperately trying to get the vid of Moo-Moo ballet dancing onto my blog. It's just the most amazing spectacle. She appears enthralled and yet semi-detached from the whole exercise. Concerned with her tiara and unsure what to do.....but yet excited at the whole pantomime..of what's going on around her. A girl not 2 years old doesn't know anything about ballet. She's not seen Swan Lake or Darcy Bussell. So why are these girls drawn moth-like to the flickering flame that is ........ballet???

Leechpool

This looks a lot darker than reality
It's dusk here in Leechpool
and this is looking East
away from the setting sun behind me
My camera can't do the contrast
It's about 8 o'clock in the evening
the three-quarter moon is rising
and I am yet again amazed at the silence
Why has it taken me all this time
to realise that once all the courtship
nest-building
fluttering-body-fluid-energy
and territorial nonsense
has been done
then you can save your breath
there's just no need anymore to
sqwark, chatter, titter, twitter, twit tawoo, whistle, toot, warble, yodel,
sing-a-song of sixpence, and sing and sing and sing
because you've done it
for this year.
It's over
So
Just silence
but for the sweet breathy roars of  jet engines overhead
bringing daughters in from Geneva
and elsewhere
and maybe granddaughters too
who knows?

The swallows and house-martins are darting and swooping
taking the last of this summers insects.
the locals are making the most of the bird-feeders.
This Saturday it's September
Can you believe it???
Where did this summer go?????

Margot

Patsy is spelling Margot without her silent "t".
As if leaving the "t" on would make it margot as in ingot,
or even maggot.
So Patsy spells it Margo.

It reminded me of Van Gogh
surprisingly
Do you call him
Van Gogh
or Van Go
as the Dutch might.

You know the American tomato song
You say termarto
I say tomayto

With VG its
You say Van Gogh
I say Van Go
Van Gogh
Van Go
Van Go
Van Gogh
Let's call the whole thing       "O"

Sentimental VG painting called the "First Steps"

You are who you are

The trouble is
you are who you are
I wish I was someone else
but I'm not
I wish I were sophisticated
I wish I was educated
I wish I were successful
I wish I was someone
that someone else might admire
but I'm not
I'm just who I am
and this is gonna have to do
but more important
I wish I could work out
when to say
were
or
was

Laughing

I had a visitation from an old friend on Sunday. He phoned ahead and I agreed that he should come out to Leechpool, with his new "partner". I would show them around Wayman Towers and serve them tea. They said they would bring cakes. There ensued an afternoon of hysterical laughter and conviviality. Last time I saw this guy.....he was struggling. Thin, gaunt, depressed and gloomy. But now ......what a change.....just goes to show...you can move on....and be happy. Just get yer perspective right.

Well done!!! Blog Fans

Well done Blog Fans!!!
I am so happy that so many of you picked up on the simple phrases of dreamer and dream. I just shot that out into the ether and back came so many responses. I blog some strange stuff. Mostly I get....shall we say....negative return. But "I am just a dreamer" must have hit a nerve.Neil Young's Hurricane must have meant something to you.

Dreaming

I am just a dreamer
and you are just a dream
                

Anatomy of a Whale

A whales tail is called a fluke. But it is anything but a fluke of nature. It's totally true to it's origins as a previously land living creature. This pic is of  the extremely rare Blue Whale. Even if you spent your life at sea it's almost certain that you would never clap eyes on a Blue Whales fluke. You're probably more likely to witness the second coming. Kathleen Jamie was in a museum looking at Whale skeletons. She noticed these curious bones about two-thirds along the spine. They were the, now redundant, remains of what once used to be a pelvis. Back in geological/evolutionary times this creatures forebears were land going mammals. So put any mammal into water and what have you got. Head up, chest down, two arms and two legs. Just for analogy here imagine doing the butterfly stroke. Your feet beating up and down. Not unlike the Blue Whale. Now consider what fish do. Their "flukes" are vertical. ...and do not beat up and down.....but sideways. So fish evolved in water and had no need to adapt in any way. Dolphins and whales have adapted to living in water but the anatomy they started with lead them to solve some problems with a different "twist".

Granddad

My Granddad tells jokes
I don't always get them
but he just keeps telling them anyway
Last week he said
Why are there no Aspirin in the jungle?
and the answer was.......
because
parrotseatemall !!
He then told me that he got half way through
eating a horse the other day when he realised
that he wasn't as hungry as he thought he was.
Then he told me that he was very good friends
with 25 letters of the alphabet.
He said....
I don't know why!!
My Granddad's a little bit crazy
but when sometimes
you get the joke
it's nice.
He says to me
"Come on Moo.....climb the bus!!!
and let's go to Giggle Street!!!!"
Err
He's not a little bit crazy
He's totally crazy.

Classical Pianist

I asked for a grand piano
and just look what they have given me
I should be turning to you now
to receive rapturous applause
for some concerto or other
but just look at me
All this burning desire
to light passion
and fire
major to minor
back again
and build
this keyboard aflame
with emotion
ready to spark everyone's imagination
yet they give me this stupid
passive
geometrically challenged
child's chair
and desk
Granddad is my only hope
He's just going to have to come out here
and save me.

Margot Poppy Aba

Margot Poppy Aba
sweet in repose
Margot Poppy Aba
like Elodie Rose
Margot Poppy Aba
short spikey hair
Margot Poppy Aba
nairey a care
Margot Poppy Aba
dreaming?
Margot Poppy Aba
scheming?
Margot Poppy Aba
Granddads ears
Margot Poppy  Aba
Grandmas feet
Margot Poppy Aba
sweet sweet sweet!!

Brick laying

So this is the result of my brick-laying lesson today. It looks better in this picture than it actually is because you can't see the imperfections, but I am not unhappy with my effort. My buddies didn't drink the beer. They took it away for later. There were three real good tips they gave me, the most important of which was the mix. Amazingly when you mix it correctly the cement resembles clay. So I was quickly in my element,so to speak. They are going to give me tuition on how to do the arch later next week. They've left me their mixer for the week-end. Bless them. Great blokes!!!!!

Selfish Genes

When Moo-Moo was born and I got the first photos I couldn't imagine that my grand-parental genes were in there at all. But just lookie here!! Those are my ears for goodness sake!! I don't care what anyone says. Look at that little kink top right. And that's my hair!! I cut my hair with a trimmer. Buzz-cut. And when it gets long it sticks up on top just like Margots. They are calling it blonde but it isn't. It's pepper and salt like mine!!! That could be me lying there. Not two days old. No wonder I have been so excited and anxious at the births of my granddaughters. It's egocentricity gone mad. This is just wonderful. It's all about me folks!!!!!!!!!!
Oh and another thought.
My blog about Moo-Moo getting bigger mentioned an elephant in the room. When I first saw little Margots baby-grow I thought the little coloured motifs on it were tee-shirts with bibs. But they are not. They are elephants!!!!! There are elephants in the room!!!

Surprised

I'm quite surprised at myself
I've always had a tummy on me
and have tried before to challenge it
but this last year
thanks to my personal trainer
I've made surprising progress
Calories in and calories out
was just such a simple formula
It's what I needed
and it's worked for me
My trainer directed me to a diet
and an exercise regime
So simple and yes really simple
I'm digging out jeans
from my wardrobe
that I've not worn for 10 years

Margot Poppy Aba

Margot Poppy Aba. Born 15th August 2012 at 13.22 Hong Kong time. Mummy, Baby and Daddy doing well. Chris called me at 6.50 am. He said it was hard work and painful and I said "Yes but just imagine how hard and painful it was for Hester!!". But that's blokes for you. I had been up most of the night checking email and facebook. I have a special little clock here with Hong Kong time on it and I kept looking at that. I was up and down the stairs all night. I was out in my summerhouse reading since 6 o'clock waiting for the phone to ring. It's ridiculous I know to get all anxious and excited when I am only the granddad and I can't really explain my pride and joy. I went through this before with Elodie and I am equally happy and yes relieved this time round. Little bundle of joy. Just look at that little face. Magic sprinkled with fairy-dust. Welcome to the world little Margot. We'll be doing our best to make it happy and wonderful for you. Sleep little darling do not cry, and I will sing a lullabayee.....

Mystery

Yep. There's a mystery going on round here and nobody's saying anything.
Strange to say. I'm getting bigger. Not that you'd know it's happening.
I stare at my hands for ages and convince myself that nothing's changing but then suddenly one day something doesn't fit you any more. Shoes socks, all sorts. And I know my hair's getting longer as well. Mummy has to sweep it back and put flowery clips in to stop it covering my eyes. And the mystery is that it's only me. No-one elses hair seems to be out of control. Pudding's hair doesn't grow. She doesn't need clips and she isn't getting any bigger and she's smaller than me. Maretas isn't getting any bigger and she's bigger than me but smaller than Mummy and Daddy. Mummy and Daddy aren't getting any bigger. I can see that by the space over their heads when they go through the door-frames. I'm not stupid. So what's going on? Is this as big as I'm going to get? If not then how big will I be when I stop getting bigger? Who decides? Will I be told at some stage. It's so obvious that it's happening but nobody mentions it. It's like I'm the only one noticing. I was really frightened the other day when I heard someone on the TV say something about the "elephant in the room". What's that all about? It's all a bit confusing and to be honest, all a bit scary.
The other thing I find a bit strange is why they call it "potty training"? It's me they're trying to train. Not the potty! But I don't really find that scary. Just odd.
Bye-Bye

Ragusa Sicily

I'm fairly sure that most of these hitch-hiking tales will be news to most of you.
Maybe I've bored you to tears with anecdotes and musings of my post-adolescant ramblings; but there was one Christmas holiday towards the end of college when I really didn't want to do turkey and auld-lang-syne with my parents. The minute I arrived I knew it was going to be not what I wanted to do. My mind was elsewhere. Several hundred miles elsewhere as it happened, and as with homing pigeons and migrating species I joined the ranks of disatisfied creatures knowing they had to be somewhere else. And my reasons for wanting to be somewhere else pretty much coincided with the homing pigeon and migrating species. I'm not saying that I felt the need to breed exactly. That's not quite the word. If a pigeon (say a blue-bar hen) is sitting on an egg. She's going to bust a gut and spare nothing to fly hundreds of miles to get back onto that egg. That's why blue-bar hens returning to eggs win so many races. However testosterone and hormones mixed in with some unedifying lust caused me to set out in late December from Redruth in Cornwall bound for Ragusa in Southern Sicily. You guessed it. I had a girl-friend from college who went to Sicily to teach English (TEFL) My parents were utterly horrified. They had never been abroad in their lives. They were totally gob-smacked!! In fact for a few moments now and then I suspected that if they knew one they would have booked some sessions with a psychiatrist.
All these years later I have very vague memories of where I crossed the Channel. Having hitched in France many times this trip blurs into so many others. I remember hitching past Firenze whilst wondering where Florence might be and I remember some dodgy mateys around Naples. Sure it was cold but I had a good coat and warm scarf and I finally got on the ferry to Sicily.
We had the most wonderful Christmas in her flat with her flat-mates, two of whom were gay. But it was great. We played Pink Floyd albums and brewed coffee in those hexagonal metal caffatierre things. Sorry to disappoint here. I was never into drugs, joints, hash or cocaine.
I will blog later about the trip back (which I remember with some clarity) but suffice to say she and I were not destined to become an item. Her brother, bless him, some months later gently broke it to me that she had dumped me for an Italian Stallion. I don't kmow the Italian for "Such is life".

Aosta Pass

So I was hitch-hiking through Europe
the way you do
dead of winter
snow flakes like cabbage leaves
Aosta pass
I might tell you one day
what happened
what simple act of kindness
saved me.

Vee Dub Hippie

In the seventies I hitch-hiked all over the place. If you can hitch-hike the Nullabar you can hitch-hike anything. But maybe not Sweden!! (I'll return to that one later)
I think it was the Swiss/ German border that I arrived at..pretty sure it was Basle in the early seventies??? I was travelling from Clermont Ferrand (Central Massif) middle of France; heading for Norway. Like you do.
I did the passport stuff on the Swiss/German border and walked through...   Germans and Swiss...lovely people.Scabby old rucksack, sleeping bag.
To be confronted with a whole bus queue of hitch-hikers, all thumbing lifts. The etiquette is obvious.....you walk past them all and wait your turn.
I took one look at them and immediately went back through the German /Swiss customs back to Switzerland. Where I set up my roadside vigil.
In minutes a German chap in a sleek Merc offered me a lift. He said I'm glad some idiot was on the right side of the border. They all thumb lifts on the other side. He said Those four boxes of wine are yours, those four are mine. Obviously they weren't mine. But for customs purposes they were.
So we drove North. Nice German guy. He asked Where are you going?. I said Norway.
He said that he was only going to Frankfurt. He said You've got to get up to Hamburg.
We drove on into the day. Being in a Merc you travel faster than most and we soon came up behind a hippie Vee Dub camper van. My new Merc friend said See that guys reg plate. It's Hamburg. That's where you wanna go. We all had long hair and beards. You know. Brothers in arms. Soul mates. All the badges of honour left behind from the ridiculous sixties........So we wait for a road-side pull-off and Merc Buddy goes side by side with Vee-Dub buddy. Gets his attention and motions to the approaching pull-off.....I'm amazed when Vee Dub guy nods agreement. He probably thought he was gonna score some Hash. So in the rest-stop I put my rucksack into the VW and hours later arrive in Hamburg.

My Sister

My Mummy's got one of those Hi-Fi eye-pad things
so she knows her new baby is going to be a girl even before it's born
and this means I am going to have a baby sister
It will probably be my job to teach her to crawl and walk
and how to say Mum and Dad
and Granddad (ssshh ...He's my favourite)
I can teach her how to play football
and how to do ballet dancing
how to count to five
and even how to say " twinkle little star "
Mummy and Daddy are probably going to be very tired if she cries at night time
so I will be doing my best to help them out
I'll be two in October so I am quite grown up really
Looks like her Birthday will be August 15
and I think she is going to be called Margot
That's a French name

test

the bristol china company

Coolgardie

Thinking back now all these years later. I have no idea what drew me to these desolate wastes of Western Australia. After the sublime oasis of Perth I was drawn like some primeval suicidal moth to the glittering, shimmering, god-forsaken flat ancient geological past of the Southern Hemisphere. I felt good here. The very fact that you could survive there gave me .....I don't know what......The very fact that we should not be here.......hot..uninhabitable.....dry.... red dust and fuck-off powder blue sky day after day... and the very fact that I could hitch-hike this shit made me feel like some kind of giant.
Yeah others had tried it. Get to Coolgardie, Well done!! Now get to Kalgoorlie. Whole lot of different shit!! This was almost moonwalking. Land, horizon and sky and that was it. I can't remember a single individual who made an impression on me or became a friend. All those individuals who gave  me a lift chatted to me or gave me a bottle of water.

River Swan

I became mates with some guys on the St Georges Terrace Bank building-site. They were really into the Trotting Horse racing stuff. The first Friday wage packet went on the Trots. But they were more into it than I knew. They said. Be at Karri Bridge 7.00 next morning. So Saturday morning my taxi driving landlord dropped me off before his morning shift. Trotting ponies bugger their shin bones. Fetlocks or whatever they're called. It's the strain of trotting and not running properly. Anyway...it results in stress injuries to their legs and the best rehab exercise is to swim. There are pony farms all around and the Swan River in places is just perfect for horse swimming. So for four ludicrously wonderfeul weekend mornings I swam the ironically named Eskimo in the Swan River. I'm no swimmer. I didn't have to be. I just clung on and hoped for the best. She knew what she was doing and always got me back.
I was on a limit stay visa. Could I have stayed? Carved out a life there somehow?. I had a plan of doing Australia. It was going to involve the Nullabar. It was going to involve the interior which meant Alice Springs and Ayers Rock. I was utterly determined to go up the middle to Darwin. I was a bit of a hitch-hike junkie. Having done Cornwall to Sicily.......then a year or so later Provence to Norway......I was into that stuff like Tim Winton's characters were into surfing. I knew how to do it. It was just so cheap and easy. All you needed was attitude and charm and the ability to make people laugh with you and at you. And I loved the Australians. I loved them. That gut wrenching between- your-eyes humour, the unsophistication of it was just exquisitly sophisticated in a way that I'm not sure that even they were aware of.
So I had to leave Perth behind. Regrets I've had a few but this place I have to mention.
The thought of ever going back is a thought not really worth thinking about. I was there, it was wonderful, and I'm not sure if I would like to see the way the sububs have encroached and invaded the River Gums and the Peppermint scrub, pushed back the Parakeets, Gallahs and the Kookaburrahs, further and further back into the bleak, waterless, desolate, sand-driven, red dust and enamel blue sky of the hinterland. Yeah....actually the very place I wanted next to explore.

St Georges Terrace

My parents didn't really put a value on education. I don't think Mum had an opinion either way. But after A-Levels my Dad flatly refused to offer a parental contribution to a possible grant towards a place at Aberystwyth University where I was going to study Geography. He said get out into the real world son. The world of academia is shite. In those days without parental backing, especially if they had good income, you were scuppered. I then took various jobs saving up so that I could fund myself. I worked double shifts in a glass factory and then double shifts for Securicor. Guarding factories at night and running cash-in-transit by day. It soon became clear that after 3 years I could apply for a mature grant anyway. So I had this money saved. All summer holidays I had been working archaeological sites. That started when I was 17. Just down the road a huge roman settlement was uncovered on a new building development. All work halted while a rescue dig could be undertaken. Nobody new what they were doing and at age 17 I became supervisor. Joke. Long story.
So I had this money saved. I had this travel urge. Sagitarian. I bought a BOAC ticket to Karachi. Don't ask me why. No recollection about visas or anything. Age 20. Landed in Karachi. Alone, stupid clueless. You would think that those days would be etched sharply on my memory but the heat was so intense and the boarding houses so tawdry that my memory plays tricks. I remember cock-roaches and dreadful cesspits but not a lot else. I just sort of walked in a fairy land of other peoples worlds.
My next ticket was for Perth in Western Australia but we had to stop off in Singapore and Kuala Lumpar.
Perth Airport in 1972 was just a couple of sheds and a small office block. I had a backpack and a sleeping bag. There was no way to hitch-hike away from the airport so I had to get a taxi. The Yugoslavian taxi driver said "Where to?" It was the middle of the night. I said "Perth". He said "Yeah...where in Perth?" But  he sussed me out in no time, before the days of asylum seekers, before the days of beach-bums .....he said he had a spare room which he could rent me.
I spent a whole month living with him, his wife and young daughter. They grilled me about the Beatles, Rolling Stones mini-skirts and Rod Stewart. I desperately wanted a job in Perth to boost my funds. I asked place after place and building site after building site about work.. No Joy. My Yugoslavian landlord gently told me that the reason why I couldn't get a job. Was because I was English.
Lazy bastards and always whinging!!! The foreman on the site for a new bank on St Georges Terrace was a Scottish chap. After pleading with him he said "Work a day for no pay. No promises!"
I can still hear that sentence today!!! I was there a month.
It's strange now to read a Tim Winton Novel mentioning St Georges Terrace.
Perth is a wierd ethereal distant sparklingly clear intensely focussed sharp on the senses kind of a town.....out there on the East Indian ocean... miles from anywhere. Tim Winton Country.

That First Kiss

I'll never forget my first kiss
her name was Lucy
She put her tongue in my mouth
God it was exciting
she was gorgeous
she was everything to me
Next year
I cried my eyes out
when the vet said she had distemper
and had to be put down
Equally
I'll never forget the day
I found my first grey pubic hair.
It was in a kebab!

Car Seat

A car seat for Moo
a high-chair too
mornings in deep sleep
baa-baa black sheep
babbling her babble
handing out gravel
grumpy in the back seat
kicking her little feet
cheeks like cherries
eating blue-berries
boy do we miss her
we all want to kiss her
but she's so far away
what more can we say?

"We love you Moo!!!!"

Birdsong

I blogged last night about the absence of birdsong. I put it down to the ridiculously high pressure we are currently experiencing. But tonight as I sit out there I suspect that they have nothing to sing about.
It's August 10th. Breeding season over. No mate to attract, no territory to defend. Summer over. Already!. One lone house-martin lazily seeing what insects might be about. Couple of pigeons like bored sink-estate teenagers loafing about checking out what might or might not be worth checking out. I never thought that birdsong finished so abruptly after the mating season. The morning chorus I thought just cascaded and careered through the summer into autumn.....where it gently subsided into the inevitable questions of which bird would depart to which distant territory, in which direction, at which time. But it's so obvious. All that chatter and clatter and tweeting and twittering, trilling and whistling, singing and pinging was all about love-making, romance and pro-creation. And Boy now we have the aftermath of all that spent energy. Silence. Not sure if anyone has left yet. It's gone hot. Hang around. We have local buddies who will hang around. Robin,blackbird, wren to name a few.
but most will shoot through...........Like a Bondi Tram!!

August 9th 2012

After a summer of low-pressure madness where we all gradually morphed into low-pressure junkies today has turned surreal and other-worldly. High pressure has enveloped us like a shroud and the Olympic sailing in Weymouth has been abandoned because there is no wind. My garden is now in total silence. Completely still. The feathery tops of the nettles that I have been meaning to weed resemble insects trapped in amber. The birds have stopped singing. Like airline passengers uncomfortable with cabin pressure. And a Chinook going into the army base was deafeningly loud even though a speck in the distance. More surreal was the far away sound of evening church-bells which you never hear in my tiny aetheist Leechpudlian backwater. The norm round here is estuary wind. Blustery persistent and sometimes fierce. Newcomers up the road have put up a house name........"Dambreezy". Dave told me that Jocelynne likes purple flowers so I include a photo here of my gladioli even though it might be a touch closer to violet.

Storm Petrel

A storm petrel is smaller than a blackbird. It is pelagic. Which means it lives entirely on the wing. It doesn't need to land to rest or sleep. It only lands to breed. The Shetlands, Orkneys, North Hebrides and God knows where else.
See from this picture how small it is.
Kathleen Jamie came across a dead storm petrel on a cliff top path on the Isle of Rona. About 100 miles off the north west coast of Scotland. Rona is a small island maybe a couple of miles long.....uninhabited....remote...windswept....isolated.....storm ravaged... deserted
The dead bird had a ring on its leg.
So Kathleen took the leg and the ring back to Fife.
She entered the code details onto the British Museum website.
Bird caught Shetland Islands
Youngster
Kathleen could deduce from this that the dead bird
at her feet that day
was a 24 year old storm petrel
He had migrated south 6000 miles and back again
24 times.
If you can be bothered to do the math
Thats 288,000miles
This tiny bird no bigger than a song thrush
scooping krill from the sea surface
is one of the most amazing creatures
on the surface of our planet.

GPS

The GPS system over our heads is so accurate that it measures in centimetres. You might be surprised to hear that the position of the British Isles changes from day to day. You've no doubt heard of continental drift. We are drifting towards Norway at the same speed that your fingernails grow. That might seem slow to you but in geological time that's quite fast. Give it a few hundred million years and you just look out the window!
Also we are a little set of islands on a broad continental shelf. When the tide comes in twice a day that's a huge body of water propelled by the gravity of the moon. The weight of all that water presses down on the shelf and causes it to push the land-mass down into the underlying magma of the earths underbelly and the satellites can pick up on this and measure the centimetres of difference.
It's a wonder we are all not sea-sick.

Hester's work on the web-site

OK Blog-fans you can now Google Bristol China and see the brand new site that Hester has created for the Bristol China Company!! She's done the most stunning job. She has introduced e-commerce to the site with baskets and checkouts and she has had to use my rather inadequate product photos in the process. But by far the most amazing contribution is the product descriptions. Each item is embellished with an enticing couple of sentences encouraging the viewer to see extra qualities and uses for an otherwise bland item like say a small plate.
I think I'm right in saying that pride is one of the seven deadly sins. I am so proud of Hester and have been over and over again that I should have been struck dead long ago if such a sin was indeed deadly. It's her Birthday tomorrow and she is expecting her second child any day now. She's rather wonderful, rather gifted and stunningly beautiful. Meanwhile her sad old Dad cracks stupid jokes, keeps chickens, is less wonderful, less gifted and certainly not beautiful.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUGSIE!!!!!!!
I Love You To Pieces!!!

Kathleen Jaimie

Kathleen Jaimie. Award winning Scottish poet and travel writer. Check her out.
She was on the remote island of Rona and wrote;

The time of thrift had passed; every day we met a flock of crossbills, of all things, which twittered round the island, feeding on thrift seeds. Crossbills are birds of northern pine forest, but nary a pine tree here, and long sea miles to travel before they saw one again. There were about a hundred - the males were bright red and the females brown, so when they all flew by they were like embers blown from a bonfire.

Woodpeckers

I had a lunch guest today and while said guest was here we were visited by both local breeds of woodpecker. Said guest was mesmerised at seeing such apparently exotic birds in my garden that said guest would never ever see in said guests garden. I was, I dunno, pleased and priveledged all at once to show off these lttle friends of mine.
Imagine a garden without birds
Imagine a world without birds
Imagine a world without birdsong

Builder buddies

My builder buddies dropped by the other day. They used to regularly drop in for blue eggs and, while here, comsume copious quantities of tea. I told them about the brick arches I wanted to build for my new secluded garden. I said that when I lay bricks I get cement all over the front of the bricks and spend hours sponging it off. Cut a long story short. They're coming round one evening next week to give me a crash course on brick-laying. Bless them. They said you supply the bricks and you supply the beer!!! We'll supply the expertise!!
Err? Yes? How good will that expertise be? If they're both pissed??

Birthdays

My Mum's birthday is this Wednesday
My Dad's birthday is next Saturday
Any day now my little sister will have her birthday.
So they are all Leos
I don't believe in that kind of thing
Us Librans are very sceptical