Oh, My Days!

 I’ve always though that raspberries are too good a fruit to waste on making into jam BUT with yesterday’s picking coming in at a smidge over 4 lbs, I am going wild today and making some raspberry jam. There is no way Lord Malarkey and I can keep up with eating them, not without any digestive upsets anyway, and there are still masses to come that I can put in the freezer for raspberry delights during the Winter months, so jam it is for this bowl.  The raspberries are having a triumphant year! Blackcurrants, blackberries, plums and apples are looking to follow suit. The rhubarb is struggling - again - and I am wondering if I might lift the crowns in Autumn and relocate them. Mr and Mrs Swallow have been tidying up their nest ready for Brood Number Two. Their babies are fledged and flying well now, disappearing on their adventures for most of the day. Maybe they are looking for new homes for themselves to return to next year?  The shepherd’s hut build has been confirmed for...

  It looks like five of the six eggs have hatched. I managed to snap this photo an hour ago of five baby swallows fledged and ready to face the world. I’ve seen two of them - the largest of the five - out on a test flight with their parents, which was very brave of them given how buffetty it is today. The weather bodes warm and dry this coming week so I expect they’ll all be out testing their wings and making my use of the washing machine an extreme sport.  We are expecting more rain today. It hasn’t been as hefty as forecast (protection from the Cheshire Gap, I expect) but it’s not a day to be outside very much. Nell and I have enjoyed an extensive walk along the canal in town and now I have a date with some writing, some studying and a bit of fiction reading. I’m scooting through a Kate Atkinson novel at the moment, called ‘Emotionally Weird.’ It is HILARIOUS - beautifully nuanced on the character observation front and I have emitted many snorts and mini-guffaws thus far. Ka...

  Some of the baby swallows, looking VERY cross, getting ready for take off this morning. ‘Hello babies!’ said I cheerfully, as I popped into the laundry to fetch some sunflower seeds for the bird table. The expanding gang of fledging tits (blue and great) and finches (green, gold and chaff) have taken to waiting, very noisily, in the wisteria for their breakfast. I bought a bag of peanuts to go with the sunflower seeds and am bashing them into pieces with my rolling pin because I am concerned the babies will choke if they get hold of a whole one. Yes, I know they have sharp, point beaks and are probably more than capable of stabbing a peanut to pieces themselves, but even so. Honestly, my life is being held hostage by baby birds at the moment.  The very cross baby swallows eyed me suspiciously and sat very still, with a ‘You ain’t seen me, right?’attitude. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘I CAN see you and I’ve taken a couple of photos. So there!’ How do you know the strawberries are properl...

 At 2.45 a.m, a small wet and ginger snout pushed itself into my sleeping face, and an enthusiastic ginger tail beat a frantic tattoo against my recumbent legs. Nell rarely comes upstairs during the night, preferring to scooch up in her favourite corner on one of the sofas. If she does come upstairs it generally means she needs to do a poo and could SOMEONE please come downstairs and let her out NOW - that someone being me.  I slid out of bed, pulled on my dressing gown and wandered downstairs, trying all the while to not open my eyes too much. Opened the back door. Nell shot out and up the garden and I followed because I wanted to make sure she did actually want to do a poo, and she wasn’t just waking me up in the wee small hours for larks ‘n’ fun. If it was just larks ‘n’ fun then it was not a habit to be encouraged and she and I would be having a serious talk, possibly about adoption. It was very still outside. It smelled of a fresh rain shower and the recent winds had drop...

 It was like that time when we travelled from Kent to Gloucestershire to collect our first nucleus of bees. You might remember, dear Reader(s), that we were instructed by the bee seller to meet him in a lay-by off a main road, and to follow his LandRover (with assorted toys attached to its front grille) down a beaten track into the wilds of nowhere, and Lord M. and I genuinely feared for our lives. Fortunately, the Road to Certain Death emerged onto a huge concrete area upon which stood an industrial building, and we collected our nucleus of bees and beat a hasty retreat. Yesterday, we travelled down a similar rough track in order to find the Shropshire Shepherd Hut Company. We ended up in a sort of dishevelled-looking yard, off which was a camping site, a fishery and many ramshackle buildings that looked like the kind in which you’d store your many failed attempts at taxidermy. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. It was raining. There were too many sinister-looking trees for my liking...

 The year after we moved to Damson Cottage, we took down the old asbestos garage and replaced it with a garden studio. The plan was I would have one end and Lord Malarkey would have the other end and we’d spend many a happy hour writing ‘n’ arting ‘n’ crafting together, and it would be great larks ‘n’ fun!  However, this utopian vision didn’t take into account the fact that I am a neat and tidy person and Lord Malarkey, well, he isn’t. Especially as his art and craft activities involve acrylic paint, glue, clay, printing inks, chopping things, carving things and setting fire to things. And mine require being kept clean.  Therefore, the use of the garden studio was sacrificed  gifted by me to Lord M, who has since extended its use to small cinema, mini gym, snoozing space. It’s what I would call now a ‘proper artist studio’ with all the mess and chaos that goes with it. But it is GOOD that he has this space for himself and also GOOD that I never feel the urge to enter...