Oh bumholes. Absolutely glorious day today (well, for March, and considering what we’ve been getting), so I ventured out into the big wide world for a luvverly walk around the park and to the shops and – guess what? I think I’ve picked up a ‘bug’ somewhere. Headachy, chesty tickle (ooer missus) aching muscles, groaning cockles and swollen whelks. Hopefully it’s just an ‘overtired and run down’ thing (not been sleeping too well and lots of late nights and early starts to boot). Tootorial tomorrow too...
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned but we have a cat, and unfortunately I don’t like her very much. Nothing awful – I don’t hate her or anything like that – just a bit of a personality clash. Ben absolutely adores her (she sleeps on his bed every night), but even he admits she’s a pain in the arse. I won’t go into all the details, but suffice to say she is a nervy, ‘special needs’ cat who’s frightened of her own shadow, meows constantly, dribbles and pukes has IBS, needs meds every day and is constantly hungry. Of all the many cats I’ve owned, she’s the only one I’ve ever wished I could turn the clock back on and walk straight past at the cat rescue centre ...
Anyhoo. Having said all that, it was lovely to see her this morning actually out in the garden with no other cats around to scare her enjoying the sunshine and stalking through the overgrown grass around our rockery (well, the garden wall fell down but we call it a rockery) trying to catch mice and frogs. I watched her for about five minutes, and she was luvverly. See what a bit of sunshine can do? If we all lived in a goldilocks world where it was never too hot, never too cold but always ‘just right’ and we all had full bellies and time just to chill out watching cats every day this could be a fantastic planet... All you need is love, sang the Beatles. I’d qualify that to ‘Love, Sunshine and cats (even ones that are very hard to like) in the garden.
Walking back from the park I passed the village pond, and the mum on the corner has been busy with her ‘watch out for our ducks’ signs again. Now I’ll admit to being rather fond of the little duk-duks myself, and I hate the thought of one getting squished under the wheels of a Chelsea Tractor as it cuts through to avoid the town centre, but I kind of resent this woman claiming ownership of them and appointing herself Prime Protector of the Pond (presumably a stepping stone on the road to ‘First Lady of the Lake’- dom?) . I found last years rather angry sign ‘Don’t Murder Our Ducks, written in blood red paint on a four foot high banner after one did get unfortunately squished under the wheels of a Chelsea Tractor quite disturbing, if I’m perfectly honest.
Anyhoo. Though slightly peeved at her presumption, catching sight of the duck lady’s new signs did trigger a brief daydream in which I envisioned myself and several cronies attired in deer-stalkers and green jackets with shotguns (think Elmer Fudd during hunting season) concealing ourselves around the lake under the cover of darkness. After rounding up all the real ducks and removing them to a place of safety we then floated several brace of decoy ducks full of feathers and blood capsules on the surface of the pond and awaited her morning inspection. As her door opened, we all popped up blowing madly on our duck-call whistly things and blasting indiscriminately, blowing the decoys to buggery while the duck lady ran screaming and foaming hither and yon in her nightie and dressing gown. At this point a Jeremy Beadle lookilikee with a microphone emerged from the undergrowth to explain that she’d ‘been framed’...
As daydreams go, quite a mean spirited one, I guess, but it did put a smile on my face for the rest of my walk, and I smiled even more broadly when my MP3 walkman on random play came up with Lemon Jelly’s ‘Nice weather for Ducks’ as an accompanying soundtrack. Ah... spring...
all the ducks are swimming in the water...
Oh bumholes. Absolutely glorious day today (well, for March, and considering what we’ve been getting), so I ventured out into the big wide world for a luvverly walk around the park and to the shops and – guess what? I think I’ve picked up a ‘bug’ somewhere. Headachy, chesty tickle (ooer missus) aching muscles, groaning cockles and swollen whelks. Hopefully it’s just an ‘overtired and run down’ thing (not been sleeping too well and lots of late nights and early starts to boot). Tootorial tomorrow too...
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned but we have a cat, and unfortunately I don’t like her very much. Nothing awful – I don’t hate her or anything like that – just a bit of a personality clash. Ben absolutely adores her (she sleeps on his bed every night), but even he admits she’s a pain in the arse. I won’t go into all the details, but suffice to say she is a nervy, ‘special needs’ cat who’s frightened of her own shadow, meows constantly, dribbles and pukes has IBS, needs meds every day and is constantly hungry. Of all the many cats I’ve owned, she’s the only one I’ve ever wished I could turn the clock back on and walk straight past at the cat rescue centre
...
Anyhoo. Having said all that, it was lovely to see her this morning actually out in the garden with no other cats around to scare her enjoying the sunshine and stalking through the overgrown grass around our rockery (well, the garden wall fell down but we call it a rockery) trying to catch mice and frogs. I watched her for about five minutes, and she was luvverly. See what a bit of sunshine can do? If we all lived in a goldilocks world where it was never too hot, never too cold but always ‘just right’ and we all had full bellies and time just to chill out watching cats every day this could be a fantastic planet... All you need is love, sang the Beatles. I’d qualify that to ‘Love, Sunshine and cats (even ones that are very hard to like) in the garden.
Walking back from the park I passed the village pond, and the mum on the corner has been busy with her ‘watch out for our ducks’ signs again. Now I’ll admit to being rather fond of the little duk-duks myself, and I hate the thought of one getting squished under the wheels of a Chelsea Tractor as it cuts through to avoid the town centre, but I kind of resent this woman claiming ownership of them and appointing herself Prime Protector of the Pond (presumably a stepping stone on the road to ‘First Lady of the Lake’- dom?) . I found last years rather angry sign ‘Don’t Murder Our Ducks, written in blood red paint on a four foot high banner after one did get unfortunately squished under the wheels of a Chelsea Tractor quite disturbing, if I’m perfectly honest.
Anyhoo. Though slightly peeved at her presumption, catching sight of the duck lady’s new signs did trigger a brief daydream in which I envisioned myself and several cronies attired in deer-stalkers and green jackets with shotguns (think Elmer Fudd during hunting season) concealing ourselves around the lake under the cover of darkness. After rounding up all the real ducks and removing them to a place of safety we then floated several brace of decoy ducks full of feathers and blood capsules on the surface of the pond and awaited her morning inspection. As her door opened, we all popped up blowing madly on our duck-call whistly things and blasting indiscriminately, blowing the decoys to buggery while the duck lady ran screaming and foaming hither and yon in her nightie and dressing gown. At this point a Jeremy Beadle lookilikee with a microphone emerged from the undergrowth to explain that she’d ‘been framed’...
As daydreams go, quite a mean spirited one, I guess, but it did put a smile on my face for the rest of my walk, and I smiled even more broadly when my MP3 walkman on random play came up with Lemon Jelly’s ‘Nice weather for Ducks’ as an accompanying soundtrack. Ah... spring...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RiVmdJO5yTU&playnext=1&list=PLE3194D17EED1A675