Combine harvester

So here I am working away getting dinner ready a pork and bean casserole with a side of olive bread. Between the cooking and other domestic chores one catches the state of the garden out of the corner of my eye.
It's grown remarkably in the last couple of weeks the split Jekyll and Hyde pesonality that the climate has had warm sunny conditions then torrents of rain have provided ideal growth conditions for the greenery that passes as our garden.
I don't have as much time as I used to working away more than before and the vegitation has taken full advantage of the absence of it's main protagonist.
The chickens when they escape evade capture easily darting into the long stalks of the Fegrig Savannah all you hear is an jntermittent disembodied cluck as they evade capture. The dogs are not quiet small enough to have been swallowed up but it will not be long now before they will.
Today of course I'm on full as opposed to part time domestic duty ( twiglet in full woolfest mode) so the neighbours have taken full advantage to plunge the secateurs further into my guilty gardening heart.
To my left mow, mow,mow to my right the sounds are even more complex with a full range of gardening paraphernalia being brought to bear on the already pristine lawn.
They even have the gardening equivalent of nail clippers or perhaps nasal hair removers for that snooker table finish. The earthen borders like the full pockets of said table brimming with colour from the annual, perrenial and hardy plants and shrubbery.
If the garden was a head of hair ours would be the unruly hippy head, unwashed, none conditioned and seldom waxed or gelled, comb or hairbrush being historical artefacts only seen on "Time Team".
Next door is a head of hair atop the smartest guardsman who models part time for bryllcream with assistance from Vidal Sassoon. Lovingly sculpted into a work of beauty.
Maybe I'll just take away the fence that adjoins us to the farmers field in order that his combine harvester can give our small portion of an acre the horticultural equivalent of a number 3 the next time?

-- Post From My iPhone

Vigilance?

Lovely warm day, blue skies, grass growing, birds tweeting. The dogs have been out and about before the day heats up too much, have had their breakfast and are having a break in the sun.






















A strange pair of dogs you have there Fegrig, the pet shop sold you a right pup or a cub you might think? The keen eyed amongst you will have detected that these are indeed lions. When you look at these two resting on the kopje in the Serengeti and then look at our two this morning its not that big a jump in my mind.

Just ignore the pallet sitting on the grass that's another story - oh and this is what they are looking over.















In the foreground it is rapidly growing grass and weeds but beyond it is the Forth Valley, not that the dogs can see much from their position as the six foot high fence at the bottom of the garden restricts their view. On a good day they / we can see right across central Scotland from the Bathgate Hills in the west, the Auch Corbetts above Callander going across to the various hills within the Ochils above Dollar and Tillicoultry before the eye takes you to the Forth Bridges and finally Edinburgh on the eastern edge of the view.

Today its too sunny and indeed hazy to see most of this but it's there and on many an occasion I can sit and watch the world go by. Perhaps in years gone by rather than one of the "A" roads westwards carrying cars to and from Edinburgh you would have observed sheep and cattle being taken by their drovers to market "in the toon" or further back, deer and other game in order to plan the hunt, perhaps with dogs sitting at your feet just as they do now. Perhaps not as hard worked as their ancestors might have been but there again neither am I.

However the hunting instinct drawn from wolves can't be too far away from these two, last night walking in the cool darkness the dogs walking ahead, their black coats just visible in the moonlight I heard a squeak as a field mouse narrowly escaped two sets of teeth. However with a missed aperitif as a prod Boris set off into the dark his nose alerting him to a cat which promptly left him floundering as it scrambled over the seemingly sheer six foot barrier masquerading as the neighbours fence

Back to this morning with the dogs outside ready to spring into action I volunteered to make a brew and on finding the tea bag caddy empty decided to fill it up















and as you can see I was very vigilant in my caddy filling and would have been buzzingly vigilant with all the caffeine from those incorrectly placed bags had I poured the water into my cup!

Mr Blue Sky

So there I was looking out of the window faced with a sky all blue with the odd fluffy bit thinking nice day summer is coming. Now those of you who know a thing about fluffy cotton wool in the sky will scoff, accompanied by a sharp intake of air with the thoughts "oh dear its a nebulostromulus, trouble on the way, Dorothy get Toto indoors". Me, good day for a long walk with the dogs.
With sun in mind, decided to expose peely wally legs to the world, if nothing else the dazzling reflection from said lower limbs scares the carnivorous wood dwelling creatures.















Although in this picture the shorts do look like those worn by Eric Morecombe but they were actually billowing in the wind, giving a greater kite like presence than they actually have.
So off we set, got to the woods and after walking for about 5 minutes the sky as if by some CGI bit of magic orchestrated by some wizard or weather controlling super hero type turns to this















Closely followed by me having to do this and despite my best efforts a Scots pine does not an umbrella make




















Shelter was required and we headed to a wee construct deeper in the woods that someone in times gone by had made from trees and stone. In here you have some protection from the elements, where you can dry out whilst sitting down watching the weather rage outside.




















After a while during which the smile seen here waned due to the cold and pins and needles that had decided to inhabit my feet. This did cause a bit of a problem when I stood up only to promptly fall down like some pre-teen after their first bottle of cheap cider. With sensation having returned to my feet we set of again, dried out and warmed up in part as a result of the returning sun.




































The dogs being aquatic dogs by nature mean that any water is ripe for a swim even if its a muddy puddle but this water is far more desirable to me as the person who cleans them when we return home giving them a cleaner swim, it saves them a bath as well.















So on with the bathers and in they jump















Along the way one likes to try and capture some of the shapes and images but generally now I am so used to carrying a camera phone rather than the far more capable SLR that the photos are of variable quality.






















In the middle of this rural landscape it's funny though what you come across and the questions that something like this create who? why? when?















The danger of being distracted by such things is that the dogs tend to free range with occasional less than desirable results and our trek was one such time.
Here is a before, just before and after (waste not want not) vomiting ensemble from Mishbosh. I did not capture the resulting emesis to spare your sensitivities but it looked suitably unpalatable even for a dustbin on legs that masquerade as Labradors.




































So off we trooped homeward















with gentle reminders from within that a bowl of cereal is not enough for a growing boy to eat all day dinner was calling.

Full English?

So there I was sitting down for breakfast of shredded cardboard, yoghurt and milk in the hotel where I'm housed during this trip to London.
I became aware of the sounds associated with breakfast dishes being cleared onto the table between me and the cause of the noise a lady clearing her table of her dirty plates, glasses and cutlery after finishing her full English.
Despite the small army of waiting staff buzzing around the dining room ensuring tea and coffee for all whilst clearing dishes. The woman had decided she could not wait and would put her dishes onto the empty table, perhaps to clear space for more toast or full English (it was a buffet).
Then a couple shuffled up returning to their table vacated it must be said some minutes ago as they acquired their full English. Being more mature it had taken them sometime to return to their seats. They sat down silently and looked at their table strewn with discarded breakfast utensils.
Just for one moment I did wonder if having sat down, staring at the plates did they think
" crap we've had breakfast!"
By now impatient toast woman had realised her social faux pas and apologised profusely bowing and scraping with a face as red as the half eaten tomato on her neglected plate.
The couple still did not respond and when the plates where removed by the attentive waiting staff the couple returned to their full English without a by or leave. Perhaps this happens to them all the time and they see it as a kind of social hazard?
It used to be go to work on an egg but I like go to work on a smile much more amenable.

-- Post From My iPhone

Toby the Tortoise?

So there I was last night sitting in the Cineworld, Edinburgh having used my unlimited card a good buy. As many visits, for as many movies in a month, every month, allows you to try the movies that you would not usually want to spend hard earned cash upon , almost as a get one free offer.
I had decided to watch "Gran Torino" not a great movie to be honest. Clint Eastwood carries everything and indeed everyone on his back in this film the other actors making Mr Eastwood look like some much vaunted thespian, they are a bit weak. 6 out of 10 and one that will come into the "get one free offer" category.
My mind wondered as I thought of actors who had played animals in movies Roddy McDowall in the Planet of the Apes series.
Andy Serkis as Smeagle
Of course although not a movie but who can forget Simon MacCorkindale in Manimal.
So last night we had Clint Eastwood as an old Tortoise.
When I was young and before restrictions were (quite rightly) placed on their import I had a few tortoise as pets, none surviving over the winter hibernation. So I was sitting there thinking that's Toby the tortoise. Slits for eyes, stretched reptilian neck, hissing, snappy approach to delivering his dialogue (tortoises do hiss and snap) and at times an ungainly gait (he is 78), all topped off with his emotionally detached hard shell attitude to life.
My fellow cinema goer rated it much higher than me so if you like old tortoises standing up to the bad guys go see Clint.

Scottishness?

There have been many books, TV and radio programmes produced speculating on what it is to be Scottish well I have another piece of the jigsaw for you to contemplate, the essentially Scottish reaction to a little bit of sun.
Yesterday the sun came and after a wee sleep is with us again today. Now it's still a bit fresh but it's the sun it must be summer!
Now being Scottish and pragmatic to the marrow the practical consequence of living in Scotland is that these two days could constitute our sunny summer. Yes we of course will still have the summer season with the clocks running forward, lighter nights, repeats on telly and increased consumption of salad cream but it might be a dreich kind of summer.
So what do we do? Well we ditch the winter wardrobe at this first glimpse of the sun (1st April ) and delve into the summer garments and accessories. So as a start for me that's shorts, sunglasses. Unlike some of my brethren stripping to the waste and displaying my bare skin looking not unlike an anaemic bottle of milk in hue is not for me, perhaps it's an age thing?
As you can see the long sleeves have not been discarded neither has the waistcoat as these and the boots are essential for forays into the woods. Perhaps when it warms up a bit the sleeves and waistcoat will go but a whole season of potential scrapes and scratches if I move of the beaten path is murder on the skin.

Dead or Alive

Keeping chickens is an interesting past time with some excellent rewards ( I could have said eggcellent there but thought it was too obvious). They are interesting to watch as they roam around the garden. We have always free ranged them but their idea of the free range is much bigger than ours, as they are now very adept at escaping to explore hither and tither.
It is quite amusing to see them sprint from one end of the garden to the other when the shed is being opened always prepared for the fact that on this occasion the open door may lead to a handful of corn or bird seed rather than the staple layers pellet diet. Although this has back fired on them occasionally as they creep into the shed unseen and end up being locked in resulting in a chicken hunt at the end of the day at their bed time.
It's very Jurassic Park like seeing them run around Darwin was right you know.
However at times the whole "Good Life" thing like the elbows in Tom Goods jumper is a bit worn. This morning when dawn broke she wanted out of her house, in the height of summer this is before 0500 rather than the 0548 this morning. Sometimes it seems they are content to have a long lie something I was hoping for myself this morning!
Of course when they want out being at the bottom of the garden they need to shout " let me out" they cluck. Maybe I'm a light sleeper but the worry that neighbours may also be hearing this is a great alarm clock. Up I jumped on with some clothes and stumbled bleary eyed to the chicken house and opened the door. Out she pops like some Hollywood starlet stepping out of the limo onto the red carpet.
Mindful that she just might make more noise as she protests that the red carpet does not have enough bugs to eat, Divaesque? I decide to open the gate and let her explore the whole garden rather than her fenced area- a week end treat or a sign of weakness from me?
So I trudge back to the house and crawl back under the covers and almost there when clucking starts again but much much closer has she got into the room? No she is sitting on the garden furniture (right outside the bedroom window) surveying her domain and crowing about it. This behaviour is soon discouraged by a swift opening of the window and accompanying warning related to impending chicken Armageddon or something.
So of she trots and back to bed for me it's still only 0609 after all. 0812 and I've managed to get more sleep however that is now definately a thing of the night due to the annoying incessant habit she has of tapping on the patio doors tap, tap , tap , tap. I have no idea why she was either a woodpecker in a previous life or she is a frustrated drummer?
I appreciate that I described the birds in this post in both singular and plural as I can't get used to their being only one now after her sister died of old age a few weeks back, (however we have signed up to take some battery hen escapees so they will be arriving in a week or so they are a sociable bunch of creatures).
It's a good job the death was not suspicious involving a visit from the CID ( chicken investigation dept.) as in depth questioning may have caught me in the wrong mood at the wrong time like 0548 for instance.

-- Post From My iPhone