Oh, My Days!

 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...

 Today is 'Celebration Day' in the UK. It was created in 2022 as a dedicated opportunity to honour and celebrate the people in our lives, who have since died, yet continue to inspire and influence us. I have to admit that 'Celebration Day' has previously passed me by and I've only become aware of it in the last few days, presumably because the creators have got their advertising act together.  Anyway, having read various contributions by so-called 'celebrities' about people who have died yet continue to be a positive influence on their lives, I started thinking about who I would celebrate. My paternal grandparents, for a start. Jack and May. I keep a photo of them on my desk, one that I took when I was about nine years old and in possession of my first proper Kodak Instamatic camera. They were lovely grandparents. They were interested in us grandchildren, and they were the makers of many memories which I still hold fondly and with a smile today. Grandad died...

 Photo taken yesterday morning. The previous day, there had been a lot of frenzied activity from Mr and Mrs Swallow so I am guessing these alien babies hatched on 20th, which was Auntie Pollie’s birthday, so rather poignant. It’s difficult to tell if all six eggs have hatched. I think I can see five babies, and I love how their little bare and stumpy wings seem to be cuddling around each other! Time will tell, and they will quickly transform into angry feathered aliens before fledging mid-June. The rapidity of ‘egg to fledge’ phase always amazes me. They become independent so quickly.  As I am writing this, a couple of chaffinch babies are trying to work out how to get onto the dove cote. Chaffinches, like blackbirds and thrushes, seem to prefer to feed from the ground, but after several failed attempts to gain access by flying in, one of these industrious babies has managed to negotiate its way up the branches of the witch hazel, which is in a pot next to the dove cote, and s...

  Today is International Tea Day. Following National Bee Day, I am hoping the ‘ee/ea’ theme will continue and tomorrow will be ‘Flea Day’ followed by ‘Sea Day’, ‘See Day’, ‘Me Day’, ‘Free Day’ and, hell - why not? - Bidet!  I am a tea drinker. I do not like coffee. Like rice pudding, pomegranates and bacon, I find it offensive. People who say things like, ‘Oooh, I need a coffee to get me started in the morning,’ or ‘I can’t do anything before my first coffee of the day,’ need to give their heads a wobble and sort out their health issues. And people who walk along with their Starbucks skinny latte macchiato full fat cappuccino whatever’s in one hand and their phone in the other need to walk on the other side of the road and get out of my way.  I am a tea drinker. I start the day, like this morning, with either a lemon and ginger tea or, if I am feeling flush, a Pukka Three Gingers, as I am having this morning. I am partial to the Pukka Three Gingers but they are expensive ...

 It’s World Bee Day today! Not bidet. Bee Day. Honestly…🙄 I was wrangling the raspberries this morning. They have suddenly shot up and spread out and developed into what they would do in the wild, which is a thicket. Thickets of raspberries are difficult to navigate so I have spent a considerable amount of time over the last two days weeding and dethicketing by propping up clumps of canes with various sticks and wires, and the fruit corner looks much better now, thank you very much. There are many bees in the fruit corner. They are especially enjoying the blackberry blossoms.  Later this afternoon, I went in search of some bees to feature them on this blog post, what with it being their day and all. However, a gentle breeze had got up since this morning and the bees weren’t sitting still because they were being buffeted around. The couple of photos I did manage to take were fuzzy, which I know doesn’t really matter because bees are fuzzy anyway, but from an aesthetic viewpoin...

 Tomorrow would have been Auntie Pollie's 83rd birthday. Sometimes I catch myself thinking, 'When I next chat to Auntie Pollie on Facetime, I'll show her the rock roses and perennial geraniums I've just planted in the garden,' or, as I weed the soft fruit corner, I think, 'I wonder how Auntie Pollie's raspberries are doing this year.'  And then I remember that speaking to her in person is no longer an option, so I end up chatting to her across the spirit airways instead. I think she hears me okay but it's an odd feeling. Not being able to see someone's face, or to feel their human energy, is a loss. But spirit energy is still good. Just different. And we get used to 'different' eventually.  Anyway, in honour of Auntie Pollie (and referencing a family joke) I made this sign for the side gate: It's on a piece of slate that once had 'Cluckinghen Palace' scribed on it. We shan't be having chickens again, not all the while Nell...

Saw this little gaggle of geese yesterday when out walking with Nell  - twelve goslings in all, plopping into the canal for a swimming lesson with three responsible adults in tow. It was lovely to stand and watch them for a while, and on our return walk, they were all sitting on the field in the sunshine, nibbling grass for breakfast.  A pair of ducks have been parading their ducklings for a week or so now, along the same stretch of canal. There were six babies to begin with, but their numbers have dwindled. Yesterday there was only one left and this morning, none. Yesterday, a heron was hanging around in the vicinity of the ducks' nest. I wondered if herons predate ducklings? I suppose they do - big birds with big beaks would make small work of a newly hatched duckling. I see the cranes often, standing on the canal banks, all lightness, grace and elegance. They are admirable-looking birds - and murderous, calculating predators, too. But they have to eat; feed their own. Natur...

 Dear Reader(s), the Damson Cottage swallow contingent have surpassed themselves this year with a new batch record of SIX eggs! This photo was taken this morning. Usually, they produce batches of four or five eggs; we’ve never had a six before. It is quite thrilling! Last year the babies arrived on 31st May and they look like being on track for the same arrival time this year.  Today is Lord Malarkey’s birthday. I bought him a collection of ‘stuff’ to add to his expanding stop-frame animation hobby, a new rucksack as his old one was falling to pieces, a witty T-shirt, and a metal detector which he has already been up the garden with and discovered two metal bottle caps and a selection of nails. It’s a start. Next time he will find a treasure trove of gold and some very rare Saxon jewellery, of this I am quite certain. I’ve made a chocolate and strawberry birthday cake (with candles) and Heather and Oli are hosting a magnificent curry birthday lunch, so we’ll be scooting off to...

 The wisteria is out in all its glory, about one week ahead of last year, thanks to an extended spell of Spring warmth and sunshine. And, as I was expecting, a pound of tiger worms arrived in the post yesterday, and they have now been installed in the old wormery. I gave the wormery a good bath beforehand, on account of when I dragged it from the undergrowth behind the shed, it had something dead and revolting in it which I am sure would have been made short work of by the worms, but it made my stomach heave. A good cleaning was called for. Here are the worms, newly tipped from their travel bag… It didn’t take long for them to spread out and begin burrowing in their new home. I checked on them this morning and found only one escapee. They are feisty little devils.  In the afternoon, His Lordship Malarkey made a pergola for the wisteria and I did battle with the weeds and grass underneath Wild Edric on the front drive. When I finished - three hours later - I used the remaining ...

  It was the Romans, apparently, who introduced ground elder to our British Isles, as an edible and medicinal herb, especially for the treatment of gout. However, in the absence of any gout of my own and despite being awfully grateful for other Roman introductions such as straight roads and internal plumbing, I curse them for their wretched ground elder, especially the stuff living in my garden. Which leads me on to... ... the small and flimsy aluminium  greenhouse we inherited with Damson Cottage. Because we were financially constrained at the time, it had to serve its purpose for a while as ‘New Greenhouse’ was low on the list of spending priorities. However, it was a drafty edifice and constantly threatening to fall over in a light breeze - in fact, it did exactly that after a couple of years - so in 2020 and with cash in the bank, we bought a cedar wood greenhouse of thrice the size and style, and moved the official greenhouse site to the top of the garden.  The old g...

 Bambino Bobble Wilson is eight years old today! After his illness just over a year ago, when I genuinely thought we were losing him, I didn’t think he’d make middle-aged bones, but here he is all big, bold, furry and full of renewed cattitude.  He has taken to going outside now and it enrages Nell that he does so because this is HER house and HER garden and SHE tells EVERYONE what to do, right? However, as you can probably see from the above photo, Bambino has a way of narrowing his eyes at her, daring her to stop him doing exactly what HE wants because ACTUALLY this is HIS house and HIS garden and HE tells EVERYONE what to do, right? RIGHT??? Ye gods, it’s like living with jealous toddlers.  Anyway, mostly they reach some sort of entente cordiale about the matter and have done so in a relatively short space of two of three months’ time which makes them both way more intelligent than certain human warring factions in the world at the moment. No wilful destruction of our ...

 Yesterday, and I kid you not, a hornet the size of my thumb came into the house. Heavens to Murgatroyd, the NOISE it made as it swanned around like it owned the place. It came into my writing room, which was where I happened to be at the time, and initially I thought it was a massive bumblebee, because there have been some whoppers about this Spring. And then I realised what it was and watched as it settled on the high shelf where I keep my Pilates kit bag.  Well! I dashed downstairs to collect a wide necked glass and my fly swat so I could capture the beast and release it outside. Lord Malarkey came back upstairs with me to provide a secondary line of defence in case I got stung and went into anaphylactic shock or started swearing too loudly and shocking the neighbours. I climbed on a chair to reach the shelf and my Pilates kit bag…BUT…the hornet had gone! Oh no! With some trepidation, I handed the contents of the shelf, including the bag, down to Lord M, but no sign of the ...