Who Has My Number ....?

  " Trefoyl ", one of the guys over on Jim's ~ the Home Brew forum I drink in, as I await an event worth mentioning here ~ certainly has!

  I just poked my head round the door there, having been tied up in reading a Blog about Dogs. And the mad fucker from 'Noo Joysie' (Don't knock it! It was the birth place of " The Sopranos "!) has posted up that he saw the following, and thought of me!

 Laughed till I fucking cried! .......... Then I felt a little bit awkward; About just how transparent I really am ....!

 Please Click this fucker, to blow it up, if ye eyes are anywhere near as shot as mine. I can't read it, on here:

   


  Still pissing myself laughing about ..... I dunno. I wonder if the people down the pub ~ another " Jim's ", funnily enough! ~ have me this well taped?

 Thanks, Trefoyl. That really was a beauty!

Scrotum .....

 Just this minute gone out to fetch my dinner in. I always put Worcestershire Sauce on my dinner. And I keep the Worcestershire Sauce bottle on the shelf. Right next to the roll of Butchers Bags I use for picking up the Dog shit.

 This is how seeing the bags reminded me that I'd, earlier, used Both the bags I habitually carry in my back pockets. I was bagless.

 That situation was soon resolved then. I simply ripped a couple of fresh bags off the big roll, stuffing one into each back pocket. 

 Only, as I did so, I said to The Orange Dog; " Dad was bagless there, Sausage! What did he expect to use? His scrotum?! "

 Then the train of thought ran something very much like; 'Two pockets. Two bags. Two balls ..... 'Scrotum'? Scrotums? Scrotii? Oranges ....?'

 But, Oranges just looked at me like she couldn't figure out quite what I was thinking, this time. I gave it a bit more thought, as I ate my dinner.

 I guess we do just have the one, all enveloping ball sack? " A Scrotum ". Weird. Nature getting us to carry all our eggs in one basket.

 Did Darwin ever talk bollocks? Will we evolve? Air Bags ....?   

Swearing .....

 I've been having a little bit of the giggles, this evening. This has been brought about by a simple, yet enduring, memory of long ago.

 Ye see, I'm a self confessed, and totally unrepentant, foul mouthed fucker. Moment I hit secondary school, my vocabulary hit the gutter. I could have sailed through an A Level in Fluent Filth. Fuck it.

 True though. Never heard my Dad swear. Not once in his short life. Ever. But, he was dead before I got to secondary and so, I guess, I lost his restraining influence and my grammar went feral. Anyway .....

 So, aeons ago now, in Portsmouth, I bought a boat. Just an open thing. Big, what we who know fuck all about boats ~ thus can be mug enough to buy one ~ would probably describe as a rowing boat. Only, it would take some fuckin' rowing, size of this thing!

 And that's why my first wife and I were down at this boat club one evening. To see if I could join. And do note; This was a Boat Club. Not a fuckin' 'Yacht Club'. No stupid cunts in captains hats and blue blazers here.

 But, no swearing either. It was eerie. All these solidly working class, Pompey blokes. Donkey jackets, thick jumpers and muddy waders were the norm. And not one cunt amongst them so much as said 'Fuck'. I couldn't hack it.

 So, having promised to consider my application, I backed out into the fresh, creek air. There I told me wife that No Fucking Way was I having anything to do with those bastards. I'd never be able to relax for a second in their company. No one swore!

 Wife, who aside from being young, attractive and rather well educated ~ too fucking good for me. That I'd never even try to deny. Fuck knows what she saw in me. Anyway, she pointed out that ~ dick head! ~ they were simply watching their manners around a strange female. 

 Frankly? She'd might as well have tried to explain to me that a bunch of blokes were barking like Dogs because they'd had frogs legs for dinner. It was just alien to me. I swear in front of babies and grandmothers. Makes no odds to me. 

 But, anyway, she managed to convince me to go ahead and join. Which I did. And that's why I was sat there, in a club house that had very much the air of a Public Bar about it. People were yelling and laughing. Plenty of good banter. When I heard it .....

 Some woman said something. Her husband replied. She turned round and said - for those of you unfamiliar with a good, Portsmouth accent by the way? It's said to be the closest thing to Cockney. But, different. 

 Anyway, she turned on him, like a good natured harridan, and screeched, " I woz tawkin to 'im!!! ".

 Without missing a beat, this guys shouted back; " I know! I can tell that; Coz 'is faakin ears 'r bleedin'!!! "

  Much beer was spat .....
 

What The Fuck Did They Eat ....?!?

  I was up at Noel's northern farm yard, today. He has two farm yards. North and south. He lives along the road from the southern one and his northern one is up behind me.

 Anyway, I've spotted that his new cow shed is fucking perfect for Starling Nest Boxes and so was up there today, putting the first few up.

  I'm hanging them on the north facing wall of this nice high, really long shed. They face out onto nothing but acre upon acre of nothing.

No one can even see them, unless they come through the gate and intend to trudge off into the distance over rough pasture. Perfect for both Starlings and peoples aesthetics. Out of sight, out of mind.

 Only, as I was up my ladder, fixing the second one in position, that's when I happened to glance down and spotted it. Horrible.

 It was a sort of orangey brown colour. Smooth and glistening. It lay curled in the grass beneath me. And they say St. Patrick got rid of all the snakes in Eire? Well, he'd fucked up with this Bad Boy!

  This area is known as ..... well, suffice to say it begins with an 'S'. We'll call it " Scammel ", just for the purpose of this discussion. And I thought; " Fuck me! The Scammel Serpent! The Snake Of Scammel! A Legend!!! "

  And, of course, ye know how these kind of things have a sort of magnetic allure all of their own? It's like a train wreck; Ye shouldn't. But, ye can't help looking.

 Of course, as a Rat Catcher, it's second nature for me to go straight into Detective Mode around such things, despite myself. I came down the ladder. Bent over. And had a fucking good look.

 I wanted to believe Dog. Because the colour and consistency suggested a Dog fed on that carcinogenic shit people feed Dogs these days. Disgusting little pellets of vet kill and shit.

 But, there's no Dogs of this size and calibre in the area. No Dog had done this. Ah! And I was right! There it was. Barely a foot to the left, look. 

 A visible scrap of that blue paper towel they sell big rolls of, in the agricultural store in town. Dogs don't wipe their arses on paper towels.

 Noel. His wife. Their two sons. They all come down here, checking on the cattle. But, it's only a minutes drive for them and they wouldn't be here long. 

 Who of them ~ and why ~ did they produce this abomination of the bowel? This catastrophic colonic cast off. Why couldn't they have waited till they'd got back home?

 What The Fuck Did They Eat ....?!?
    

 

Pat's Buying A Donkey .....

 Met Pat , on the track, the other day. Tells me he's buying a donkey. Seems his female pony died and now the male's alone. Horses hate being lonely.

 I fucking coveted that pony. She was gorgeous! Chestnut fur and a golden mane. She'd never let me near her.

 " Pony ", as I know him? Same fur. But, a redder mane. Good as gold. I gained his trust in no time. We'd hang out and commune together, over the fence. While the female stood back a bit.

But, Pat soon came to rely on me to lead them. He couldn't get near either. I'd just give 'Pony' a minty biscuit, Kiss his nose. And chat to him as I led him absolutely where ever he needed to go. Female pony following him.

 Pat bought these two for his daughter(s), back in the day. I guess, like kids do, they just ..... I dunno. Ponies got 'relegated'. Just shifted from field to field. No good to anyone. Just an obligation.

 I'd have killed to have brought them down here. And what? Gone bankrupt, trying to feed them hay? Had their little feet adding to the destruction of the acre Pat lets me use for my own 'horses'?

  Anyway, she ~ Pat's female pony ~ went to absolute rat shit, virtually over night. This is the way. I was stunned, when I last saw her. It was like a sixteen year old had gone eighty, over night. Now she's dead.

  And, Pat said he's buying Pony a donkey, for company. A female donkey. Because the male one, living alone near him, shouts its fucking head off, all day. Drives Pat mad. Lonely donkey, see?

  And I'm aghast. Just how much money has Pat got?! Female donkey?!  Fuck!!! When I bought Donks, my bare yearling, male donk? He cost me £300. And that was straight down the line what a Male donkey cost ye, then.

  Female Donkey? £1,500!!! Faaaarkk!!!! And Pat's gonna buy one, just for company for Pony?!? Fuck!!! I'm all for fetching Donks and us breeding some donkey. Get a female? Fucking jack pot!

  I say this to Pat. He looks at me, " WTF?! " I look at Him; " What?! "

  And this is where my harshest lesson in the reality of the rotten stench of the decomposing corpse of the long dead Celtic Tiger comes in.

 I bought Donks, £300.00, fair going rate for a male donkey. Yeah. But, that was six years ago. When a female donkey was £1,500.00. 

 Checked the free ad's paper, on line, last night. Female donkey? £100.00!!!  

 I was saying in the pub, today, how I was  going home to slap my worthless donkey around. Tell him what a useless, worthless, expensive hay munching machine he was! Costing me a fortune, just to be there.

And spy on me, in the 'morning', when I came out. Peering through the gap, waiting for his breakfast. Shouting his fucking head off, for his supper, when I came home at night. Chatting to Rosie, while I'm not there.

And, yeah; I admitted, in the taxi back home ..... Any silly cunt ever turned up offering me £1,500 for my Donks? They'd be out of luck. He's My worthless, hairy skin full of shit. He's mad as fuck. And I love him to bits. Mad fucker's Priceless, to me.

Can't wait to see what Pat ends up with. A fresh packet of minty biscuits is on my shopping list. (These are special, made for horses, minty treats, by the way) I just Love these creatures :-)

Best Joke of 2012 .....

 Amazingly, we already have a strong entry! This time from " Lime Corridor ",  in Jim's Tap Room. Bastard made me spit beer every where with his comment:


 " remember to drink responsibly, and if you can't do that, drink like its going out of fashion. " 

  

The Best Joke Of 2011 .....

 Actually posted by " Critch ", in the (Members Only) Tap Room at Jims Beer Kit. <--  Link may or may not work, directly .....

 

" I was sitting at the edge of the bed last night pulling off my boxers, when the wife turned round to me and said to me; ' I wish you wouldn't do that to those Dogs! '  "

    Right there. Funniest fucking joke I've heard all year!  I've found myself bent over, choking, even crying with laughter, as I've tried to relate that one to friends ....!

 Thanks, " Critch ".
 

Christmas Cake For The Birds .....

 I'm truly delighted to be able to say that, largely thanks to the input of some good people over at Jims Beer Kit, I'm now able to source Beef Dripping again. 

I'd brought some with me but, that ran out years ago. I hadn't been able to find any here since. And that's been a nightmare; Watching the birds trying to make it through some hellish winters, without my 'Fat Cakes' to pump them full of warmth and energy.

 Well, now I'm back. I'm chuffed to bits. So chuffed, in fact, that I thought it high time I shared my secret with you. Want to help the birds make it through the months to come? Excellent!

Only, please don't buy those vile balls sold in green plastic mesh bags or by the bucket full for next to nothing. I have no hard evidence of this. But, I personally refer to them as containing 'Camel Shit'. 

 God alone knows what filth and floor sweepings go into those things. I do know they're certainly not labelled as " BTO Approved ". Fuck them. Let's make some grub We have control over. It's easy! Here's how .....

Ye need a square slab cake tin ~ push up bottom type is preferable. Pyrex jug. Basic type of food processor. Some peanuts and some beef dripping. Lard Is Useless!!!

 Here we go. Takes under twenty minutes, start to finish .....

  There's ye Cake Tin. Mine happens to be 6" x 3". Awkward size, actually. Because it's just a bit too big for even the biggest Fat Cake Holders commercially available. " Gardman "make one nearer to 5" by 1 1/2".

 I used to have a green plastic coated cage that I could just about clamp almost shut around my 3" thick cakes. Can't find them for sale now. Don't worry though; Finding a cage to hold ye cakes will be the only possible problem.

I even bought my Food Processer simply to make these Fat Cakes with. Less than a score. I've seen suitable kit for a fiver!

 Give the peanuts a few blasts ~ easy on that motor. They over heat quickly enough ~ till ye have a bread crumb like consistancy.

Chuck some Dripping in the Pyrex jug and give it a few minutes in the microvave. While that's doing, lay a bed of peanut crumbs in ye cake tin. Inch or so deep. That'll allow the molten Dripping to penetrate the nut crumbs. A light forking will ensure the edges and corners get well soaked too.

 Repeat the process till the tin's full. Then top it off to level with hot Dripping, just to be sure (to be sure).

Doesn't that look good enough to eat? Well, don't. Just leave it alone for half an hour. Then prize it up off the work surface and stick it in the freezer. 

 Now comes the inevitable clean up. Frankly? I used to put down news papers. More mess and fuss than they're worth, in all honesty. Without paper, ye get something very much like this:

 

It's just not a problem. Dull knife scrapes the bulk of it up. That goes into the jug, for next time. J Cloth and a spot of that stuff they now call " Cif ", believe it or not, actually disolves the residue! 

Never thought I'd be strongly reccomending any cleaning product which sounds to be named after a nasty, social disease. But, there it is.

Sort yeself out a cage for it ~ I knocked one up out of wire mesh and cable ties, for now ~ and it's ready to go out as soon as the freezer makes it loose its grip on the cake tin, an hour or two later.

 Hang it from a taught length of fencing wire, strung between two points, and the rats can't get at it.

  Here's mine. Freshly hung out, tonight. See the little 4" x 4", commercial thing next to it? They cost me £2.50 a peice and don't last three days! This muvva costs me less and lasts weeks!

Nigella Lawson; Eat ye heart out! (Well, come on, guys; Any excuse to have another look at Nigella Lawson, eh?!)

Silent Night .....

  It is here, anyway. Because, I've just finished tapping out an email to an old mate of mine.

 So, I'm sat here, with my slippers on. Dogs all flaked out around me. Door cracked open, allowing that constant, steady air flow to the stove. Keeps that Carbon Monoxide alarm happy ~ the Dogs and me alive.

 Then, I've felt it. Almost as much sensed it. A sensation like someone gently, yet steadily drawing a silken ribbon across the back of my ankle.

 Just momentary. But, it was enough. That was an air movement .....

Everything's gone into slow motion. Air movement? A door to the outside must have been opened, to allow that breath. Silently too. The Dogs hadn't heard or reacted to anything. These boys were good then .....

 I deliberately kept my eyes on the screen in front of me. Using my peripheral vision to watch the door. As my hand slid toward the pistol grip. One way or another, this was gonna be over in seconds.

 No good relying on my hearing. My Dogs are my ears. I gave myself up to Zanshin. That 'relaxed' state of awareness which allows one to perceive ones enemies in the surrounding environment .....

  And that's how I came to recognise Nigger .....

LMAO! As I'd sat, absorbed in watching my " Sopranos ", so Niggy had figured he was warm enough in his bed and had, gently and unobtrusively as he does most things in life, slipped in to lay quietly at my feet.

  On the cooler floor. In the dark. Black Dog. And the soft fucker had silently sighed ..... against the back of my ankle.

 For fuck sake ....! :D


 

Don't Disrespect Ditch's Doorpost ....!

 Or You Will Be Fucked Up ....!

 I've just spent the afternoon making nest boxes. I stopped, to feed the Dogs and horses. Then, I took a measure of The Hard Stuff, just to ease the path toward finishing todays five.

 All done, I popped in here to put my working glasses away and pick up my pot of shrapnel, which I intended to count into my tins. And that's what I was concentrating on. Separating 20's, 10's, 5's, 2's and 1's. 

 That's hard work, without my working glasses, which I'd stupidly taken off seconds ago. Thus I was concentrating while straining to see the coins. Barely registering the high pitched squealing, behind me.

 It was that perculiar chop smacking that bull blooded Dogs tend to do, when they've just savoured a bite, that caught my conscious attention.

  I turned around to see that Orange Dog had seemingly just finished what the bait had started.

 Nice work, The Orange Dog ~ An oldy, but, a goody!  This fucker's paid the price of coming in here, fucking with my shit.

 Of all the doorposts, in all the cottages, in all of Eire .....

 

Your Very Good Health ....!

 I don't know if, perhaps, any of you may want to refer back down to my post of November 8th, to make quite sure ye fully understand this one? 

 Or, maybe, this picture will paint quite enough words .....

 Pure, Leitrim mountain dew .....

Hark! Hark! The Dogs Do Bark .....

  At least " Rats " did. Last night. I was just sitting here, listening to my tinnitus and cruising a forum when she lit up. Out of fucking no where. Barking like a lunatic.

 Of course, all I'm getting is this scruffy little 'Lakeland Terrier' thing, going ballistic. No other sounds. Rest of the Dogs ignoring her. No headlights on the window. No reaching for the gun. Just " Shuuuuuud Uuuuuuuuupp!!! Fucking Thing! Woss Up Wi Ye?! ".

 And all returned to normal. Moment passed. Incident forgotten. For hours. Certainly until I decided it was time I let them all out for a piss, before the final run down to bed time. And then? Fuck me if she didn't kick off all over again!

 Rats, going hysterical once? I can live with that. Rats doing it twice? I look to her .....

 In fact, I looked to the scene behind the door there. Ye know how someone could move a tea mug, an inch, in ye kitchen ..... and ye'd walk in and 'see' that something was amiss in ye room? It's like that when ye live alone, anyway.

 And I soon spotted it. The 'mess' by the Store Room door. Some sort of stuff on what should have been a clean swept floor. I looked closer .....

  Kind of sticks out like a punch in the mouth, doesn't it? It certainly would do, if ye knew how clean swept I like to keep my floors here, anyway. And not without good reason.

 So, Rats is all over the place and I've given them their piss, then brought them all back in here, before I investigated further.

  Look at the state of my fucking door frame!

  Fucking rat has come up in the earth floored room, out the back. It's slipped under the door, where I'm working and am replacing the door step. That's got it into my kitchen ~ no doubt setting Rats off in the first place.

 Me having called her off? The damn thing's decided all is well in the world and has sat down to work, at its leisure, on the door post of my Pest Control Store Room! And, by the time I've gone out there? It's broken through and was, I figured, in the fucking store!

 Picked the wrong kiddy to invade, this fucker! LOL! I've 'Dusted' the hole. Moment he passes back through there? He'll pick up an annoying slick of powder on his coat. Rats are actually fastidiously fussy about their grooming. He'll lick that off.

 I set a trap, just in case he was stupid, or licking that super concentrated poison dust makes him so while he's still able to move.

 Then, I put down a tray of the best gear I have. Pellets. Very tempting. Very lethal. Then I went to bed.

 Tonight? I let the Dogs out for their piss. Rats was having none of it. All she wanted was to check the door post hole. Then dash along the fireplace wall to the cupboard.

 What a thing of beauty, to see her work! That little Dog was completely focused and knew exactly what she was getting at too. She flattened herself out and got beneath a drawer I'd have a hard job rolling a been tin under!

 Shining my Clulite under there, I thought of grabbing the camera and getting a photo of her. But, instincts of my own kicked in. I slid that shallow drawer open .....

 Bingo! There, in the corner. Nice little pile of red pellets. The fucker's been hoarding the bait. Carrying each, individual pellet from the tray. Through the door post. Through my kitchen. Up under the cupboard. Into that drawer. Bastard!

 A life times experience as a rat catcher told me to open that drawer. But, it was my trustee little scruffy scrap of a terrier that led me to the drawer in the first place. 

 Without her help? I'd not have known to put a fresh dose of that lethal dust in that perfectly safe drawer. I even know where to retrieve my bait from. And I know that it too is somewhere safe. 

 Rat'll be helping itself to a few pellets, of course. It'll also be ingesting ever more of that dust. Probably be dead tomorrow then. And I know exactly where to look for it.

 If I can't find it, where I'm expecting it? Rats'll soon sniff it out for me. That's what she does best.

  

If I Hadn't Seen It With My Own Eyes ....!

  Okay. So, I'm a bit of a Bird Nut, among other things. Yeah? Thinking about the wild birds around me takes up a fair proportion of my attention, every day.  It's like I'm always up to something, concerning them.

 Feeding them, 7 / 52, is a given. But, more than that, lately I've been focusing on 'Baiting' them. Luring them into certain, tightly defined corners. Places I can build up their numbers, ready for the day we catch the lot and Ring them.

 I have a separate feeder station, over in the corner of the home acre. It's heaving with small birds, all day, every day. We can put a Mist Net across for them.

But, I have designs on some bigger stuff too. I've been Ground Baiting, with rolled oats, for about three weeks now. Already I'm getting half a dozen or so Magpies and fifteen or more Rooks. I want to Ring that lot!

To this end, as I wait for my Single Clap Net mesh to be made, I'm planning to set up a Crow Trap for them. That's why my aviary has been down there this past few days. Door open and half the roof off. They're already used to it. Feeding right outside.

And I stand up, every hour or so, and record a swift head count. So many magpies. So many rooks. Maybe half a dozen newly arrived starlings? I'll be adapting the trap to catch those too.  I'm loving it!

But, nothing on earth prepared me for what I saw, when I looked out, at eleven this morning! And here, let me just remind ye; I'm completely isolated here. This is Wild country. People, out here, are like individual ants on their own football pitch. One for every tens of acres of open land.

 That's why I was so wiped out to see the Fox! No kidding! Fuckin' real, live, large as life, gloriously healthy and full coated fox! And it's crouching there, in broad daylight, scarfing down my rolled oats as half a dozen magpies pranced nonchalantly around it!!!

I couldn't believe my fucking eyes! Sixty yards away. I was plainly watching its jaws work as it chewed! Big, orange powder puff of immaculate, full winter coat.

None of ye scrawny, skinny, mangy fuckin' urban kebab killers. This was a pure bred, wild as all hell, totally naturally living, free Irish fox. What a fucking beauty!

 Watched this thing, on and off, for half an hour or so. Magpies never once bothered it or by it. They just pranced around, helping themselves too. What a fantastic spectacle!

Best bit was, when foxy had eaten his / her fill? They got up and wandered inside the aviary, for a look round! Inspected the mesh for a bit. Looked around some. Then languidly sauntered off into the cover of the rough down there. 

Brilliant!

 Would I lie to ye .....?

Chain Dog .....

 Tomorrow, Thursday, I'll be taking her for a little trip in a motor. Then I'll bring her back home. And, as now, I deeply suspect I'll be in fucking tears.

My poor, big, black teddy bear, with the furry ears and the waggy bum stump hasn't eaten in four days. Over night, she just went into crash.

Drinking gallons of water. Drooling. Spewing. She can't hold anything down and refuses to eat even a morsel. And yet, heart breakingly, she'll still manage a little wag of her bum stump for me.

 I've no idea how old she is, of course. No way of knowing. Having got her third hand. I just know she's far too young for this. 

 I'd love another Rottie.  But, I'll never have one again. This is what the fucking Kennel Club does to Dogs. Breeds them into walking time bombs. Genetically programmed to self destruct.

I've loved Chain Dog since the day I was called out to shoot her dead. Watched the performance as she jumped and lunged and barked at me from the end of her chain. 

Then saw her true nature as she gave that up and furiously wagged her bum stump instead.

 She won my heart, right there. Now, my  heart's fucking breaking.

Swan Song For A Swan .....

  I had Chain Dog out, the other day, as usual. And, as usual, she was snuffling around in her places and relieving herself in her favoured spots as I, in turn, stood and stared into the middle distance. Waiting for her to finish.

 However, I never really 'zone out' at such times. And I never lose focus on the land around me. I'm constantly checking my surroundings.

 And that's how I spotted the white. Hundred and fifty yards away. Out on the bog. Down towards the river. It wasn't there yesterday.

 I didn't know what it was. I decided to get some glass on it, at first. But, I soon realised my little binoculars weren't made or meant for such long distance scrutinising. I'd have to go down there.

 And so, I did. Putting Chain Dog away, I went through one gate. Over another. And began walking straight down across the bog. Directly toward this white thing.

 It appeared to be about the right size for a white, plastic sack. Laying there, caught up in the juncus rushes. I told myself that's what it must be. Nothing else made sense.

 But, then; This was Pat's land. Pat' the fastidious. Pat' the 'just so'. Pat' dropping a sack on his land and just walking away? Get to fuck! It's never gonna happen!

 And it hadn't, of course. It was a swan. Laid out as if by the care of loving hands. Flat on its back. Wings perfectly folded to its sides. Neck stretched. Head back. A tableaux of perfect repose.

 It had only been dead hours. Swans don't fly in the dark. It had only been light so long. I checked the legs ~ sadly, no rings. I lifted the head, to see the beak: Yeppers. Mute Swan. A Cob. Male. Somebody's life partner. These swans pair for life.

 I felt gutted for the Pen. The female bird. Now she was a widow. White widow? I doubt she'd get the irony.

 I thought about a guy who I know would have seen this as a gift from the gods. Would've joyfully slung this banquet over his shoulder and strode homewards, grinning. There's nine pounds of meat on a swan, so they tell me. 

 That's just not my way. I had the fleeting thought that some bastard had shot this thing, for shits and giggles. Then, recognising there was nothing on its breast but a mud stain. Just a spot of blood on what would be the bridge of its nose? 

 The Rat Catcher in me kicked in. I looked around. And up. Up at the twin power lines that cross above the bog here. Damn.

 The swans always fly north to south, earlier in the day. One lough to the other. This bird was laying just south of those cables. 

 I imagined it: " Well, love, shall we go down to the southern lough, as usual? " The whooping sound of their powerful wing beats as they traveled through the air ~ probably approaching twenty five miles an hour?

 Then, he was gone. Imagine her, seeing him fall. Turning in a wide circle. Coming back. Landing on the nearby bog and wandering up to him. 

 " Love? Get up, love! Why are you doing this? It's me, look ..... Please ....!  "

  I saw her, a couple of days later. A white. Two hundred yards away. Just a gleaming white spot between the grays of the flooded bog. Hunched and still in the shallows beside the river.

 'Prince' once sung to us of, " What it sounds like, when doves cry ". Well, I've looked out across the bog here. And I've empathised. I know what it feels like, when swans cry.

 In silence. And alone. 

   

Nest Boxes? I Thought I Could Handle It .....

I've just sat down with a beer. Having just made another Starling Box  And, this time, I managed to time myself. I tried yesterday. But, I forgot to 'clock off'.

Tonight though, working at perfectly normal speed, and encountering no particular nightmares; An hour.

So, I can wander into my work room with empty hands. One hour later, I can walk back out, leaving a perfect and completely ready to go out Starling Box.

I s'pose that could be pared down by a fair bit, if I went Production Line. Buying in stacks of nine inchers and whacking off the prescribed lengths and cuts.

But, slicing a plank into a dozen " Backs". Making a huge pile of "Floors ", etc? It's just not the way I work.

Bitch is, I've completely run out of nine inch planks now. And I'm not going into town again for a week! :o I don't think I can take it. In fact? I bloody well Know I can't!

My name's Ditch Shitter. I'm a Boxaholic. I've Got To think of away of getting more planks here ~ without spending £20 in taxi fares, just to go get them!

Pat worked for one of the plank sellers in town. They also deliver. I'll ask Pat if he knows if they'll take my plastic, over the phone.

Bit of luck, Pat'll cop onto the situation and say he'll pick up the planks when he goes in. I can square him up next week, when I go to the cash point.

Terrible, isn't it? I have no pride. No self shame. All I can think about is my bloody fix! I Must Have  nine inch planks! I  NEED  to make Starling Boxes!

LMFAO! Worst of it is ..... It's the gods honest truth! 

Disturbing thought though. What if I buy, say, three planks? Hell of a lot of  boxes in that lot! I might lose it. Go on a mad, day long binge of Starling Box making. Over dose and be found, weeks later in a room full of the things .....

Yeppers. I recognize my problem. But, equally, I realize I'm a lost cause. I'll  Never be able to stop making Nest Boxes. I became addicted in my early teens. Hooked before I knew it.

Now? I'm a hollow shell of an old man. Just trying to make it through, from  that last box to the next one. Look on me as a warning. I thought I could handle it. The odd 'Blue Tit Box'. 'Just one, at the week end .....'.

Before I knew it, I was 'Binge' Nest Box making. Losing days and nights to it. I even started 'Pushing'. Selling Nest Boxes to others. Anything for another sheet of Ply. A few planks. To feed my need.

And this is how I've ended up, people. I'm on that high, now. I've just made a good box. But, tomorrow? I'll awake with that hunger. My stash of a couple of six inch planks will soften the crash.

But, I'm beyond even Tit and Sparrow Boxes now. They've led me to the bigger stuff. Starling. Even Jackdaw. How long before I'm on  Kestrels?! It's just a spiral .....

Sorry to have burdened you with this story.


Oh, god help me!!! Now I'm sat here, even now, thinking about Pied Wagtail Boxes!!! Is there no end to this .....?!

Lap Top's Fucked. That's Me Fucked .....

 Power outages tripped my old Lap Top into some sort of seizure today. Now I'm on a back up PC and I really don't know how this is gonna go.

 Just wanted to record that A/ It's MAYDAY! from me. And that, B/ Because I'm having to reload and reset everything on here, from scratch;

 I can't seem to get the third party cooky that allows me to Comment as me. I honestly don't know where all this is going and I have a fucking headache right now.

 What a fucking nightmare!

It Finally Happened To Me ....!

Having lived here, in deep hope from day one, for pushing six years now? Today, it came. Completely out of the blue. And involving the last two people I'd have ever imagined.

 I'm standing there, chatting to a friend in town. Pretty much ready to be on my way, as it happens. When a guy I know to be another good friend of my man here turns up.

And, in the blink of an eye, he passes my mate a screw topped bottle of crystal clear liquid.Which vanished out ofsight as if by sleight of hand. Get To Fuck!!!!! 
 
  I've said to my man; " That was Never what I fuckin' suspect it was?! " And, with a happy smile, he says;

" It's Holy Water. From Lourdes. " Seeing the consternation clear on my face ~ doubtless well and truly tinged with deep disappointment, he explains; " We're having a mass in the house ..... "

  I'm gutted. I have no religious leanings. Though, as he retrieved the bottle and said something about throwing some over me, I was ready with the retort that; 

" Throw that fucking stuff on me, mate? And ye do know I'll turn into a pile of ashes?! "

All the same though, he poured some into the bottle cap. Frankly? I was a teentsy bit 'disgusted' when he drank it!

 I have this early memory of " Holy Water " from my childhood church. Stone bowl on the wall, by the door. Water in it. Every fucker sticking their finger in it and putting it on themselves? Fuck off! That's just disgusting!

Then, even as I thought all this, he refilled the cap and held it out to me. Smiling. Realisation time. " Ye fucking kidding me?!? "

One tentative sniff. I knew I'd Finally 'Arrived' here! A tiny sip and .......... Faaaaaarkkk!!!!!
 
I swear; Right Then, if someone had announced a " Talking Rubbish Contest "? I'd have thrown myself into it! I was Ready!

I could, literally, feel this fucking stuff entering my bloodstream! Nothing harsh in the throat. But, it was sort of pervasive from there on out.

 I could actually feel it working down and out into my shoulders and chest. Exhilarating feeling!

Full shot glass? I'd have become The Incredible Hulk! Totally fucking amazing experience!

I think I'll have to put out feelers now. See if I can get my hands on a 1/4 bottle of this stuff. Clear glass, obviously!

 Only, in the almost incomprehensibly slender chance that any old friend, or member of my family should ever visit me here? 

How I'd love to be able to reach into some hidden nook and fetch out an offering of a taste of The 'Hard Stuff'!

Can't Keep A Good Ding' Down .....

I so love le Ding! Apart from his divine, furry ears, which lend him such character even when he's having a kip ..... 

And his mad habit of being 'Untouchable' ~ crazy fucker'll walk all over me, to greet me, when I wake up. But, rub his head in return? He'll as likely growl at me!

 Quite insane then. As all my Dogs are. I make them that way! LMAO! It's not difficult. I'm their only social stimulus and I unconsciously reward strange behaviour. Makes my little team more interesting as individuals.

 le Ding though has had to learn not to fuck off. He'd be shot ~ and bring all manner of hell upon all of us too ~ if he ran off and got amongst the cattle, obviously. 

 As much as that though, he once developed a taste for dashing off, at the first opportunity, and racing off up to The Idiots place.

 Vanished for two or three days, last winter. I'd about given up on him. Then The Idiot called to say he was up there. Seems he'd been found 'laying dead' on a mound of snow one morning.

 Idiot did something like approaching the 'Dead, starving' Ding and le Ding demonstrated that he had other ideas. Jumped up off the warm compost heap he'd been having a lovely kip on. Probably gnashed his teeth and fucked off out of reach. Sound Dog!

 Anyway, that was last winter. I've been working on his head since. Now? Now, every night, I let the four of them out, last thing. Chain Dog waits in her cage, of course. But, the fucked up four all get to pile out the door and piss all over the place out there.

 No leads. No telling much. I just take the opportunity to shine the CluLite about. See if there's anything to fetch a gun for. Then they generally go back in, of their own volition, when they're done.

 Once The Orange Dog goes back in ~ she's always last, because she's oldest and has more to do, more slowly ~ I send them all into their rooms.

 That's to say, I usher them into the back room. Then I join them in there and send Orange Dog into the Back back room. I lock her in there. Two locked doors between her and Chain Dog, see? Then I let Chain Dog out and so on.

 Tonight though my guts fucked me up, even as the Dogs were out there. I'd counted the first three back in here. So, I shut the back door and raced a photo finish to the ditch.

 All done, head cleared, I came back in here, fetching The Orange Dog with me. Nigger and Rats were fucking around in the kitchen. No Dingo.

 I checked in here. Chain Dog in her cage. No Dingo. My heart gave a lurch. Had I counted him back in here? Or, in my distraction, had he slipped away in the shadows ~ as he's so good at doing ~ and gone off in search of adventure?!

 One last thought: Had I shut the door to the back rooms ....? I strode over and looked. Door open! Dark room beyond ..... Please, god ....!

 I switched the light on and grinned like a cunt! There's le Ding. On his window sill. Peering round the wall as much as to say; " OK, Dad? You gonna put Orange Dog in her room now? ".

 Fucking bless him! Damn Dog's So good, he not only brings himself in, after his night time piss, but, he even knows to go into the back room and sit up in his window sill, where he likes to be. 

 And there he'd sat, look. All on his own. In the dark. For five minutes. Untold. I wasn't even in the fucking building!

 I'd like to scrub his ears and kiss his furry head for him. But, he'd probably take my face off A Dog made in my own image then ..... Quite mad.

One of Those 'Eureeka!' Moments .....

 I knew, as of some days ago, that Chris, my Ringing Trainer, was due up here today. It would have been that anticipation that led to me waking up yesterday, realising that I'd just been Dreaming about mist netting and ringing birds!

 That's par for the course though. Chris reckons he dreams the same thing, even when he's wide awake.

 And today, we were doing it, again. Though it turned out to be the dullest day we've ever had here, by far. Two Coal Tits. One Great Tit and a Gold Crest. 

 There, literally, just wasn't a bird to be seen. I suspect The Idiot's feeding them seed and has drawn the flocks. Bastard!

  And that's probably what got me day dreaming ~ as I made the umpteenth round of tea ~ about catching shit like Rooks and Jackdaws. What savage craic that would be!

 But, then, I thought about it. I'd need a fucking great 'Cage'. Walk in size. And to make a " Ladder " type top for it. All that 2 x 2 and chicken wire. Cost a bloody fortune!

 That's when I started breathing faster. Eureeka!!!  We will catch 'Black Crows'!

 What have I got out there? Fucking Eight by Four foot aviary! All powder coated. Bolted together from pre formed panels. Standing empty, since I used it to drive the Magpies away from here.

 I told Chris we'd be in business. Tonight, I checked my files. Yeppers! There's a dead easy form of 'Chimney' entrance I can knock up out of a length of roof baton and a bit of scrounged chicken wire! Jackdaw, Rook and Crow.

 I can knock that up. Whip a roof panel off my aviary. Chris and I can easily lug the aviary itself down to the corner of the field, by the big trees.

I'll feed the buggers the best I can find. Watch their confidence and numbers build up. I'm dreaming about black clouds here. Enough to make Hitchcock smile and snuggle down, warmer in his grave!

Get the buggers flocking here daily, for their cheap but plentiful bait ~ Rolled Oats? 35 Kilo's for under a tenner! Let them build up till they're as numerous as the sparrows on my nuts. Just wait till Chris is due back.

 That day, I close the door!

This Is What We're Actually Like ~ When We Don't Remember ....!

Pricelessly Pissed!

I Know .....

The Ages And Wisdoms Of Men .....

  I was talking to my mate Hugh, the Butcher, today. He made some comment about what kids think about their elders. 

He then switched the band saw on, to cut some steaks. Much noise. Pause in conversation

 Even as he turned it off again though, I'd considered this and told him, straight off the top of me head to Hugh .....

" A child thinks a grown man knows Everything.

A Teenager thinks adults know fucking Nothing.

A young man thinks He knows everything.

Mature man realises and accepts how much he doesn't know.

Get to about our age, mate ....? Just about grateful to be able to remember pretty much anything ye ever did fucking know 

~ Like; What day it is and what the hell ye've come into town for anyway! "


 Hugh agreed. Llew'll know what I'm on about.

Letter To A Very Old Mate .....

  Just this minute sent this e mail to my old mate, Kev'. We're of an age and he's been uncharacteristically silent for long enough now that, frankly; Ye just have to check for a fucking pulse!

 Shocking, isn't it? When ye need to nudge ye peers, just to reassure yeself they're still drawing breath.

Upholding my own, stated principals though, I didn't just shoot him a " Too long. How are ye? " job. I made some effort. In fact, I decided the effort would be wasted if I didn't fetch it here and use it to let everyone know what's going on with me right now, look.

 So, here it is. What I'm up to, right now. And a good idea of what to expect in the immediate future ~ Until something else crops up which I want to comment on. For now though? This is where Ditch is at .....

I'm, as I suspect you might be, just head down and arse up. Amongst the sort of work that being pretty much forced in doors for the coming duration tends to focus the mind on.

  Been working like a boss on my Panelling. In fact, it's 'done' now :-) Just have to caulk the countersinks and so forth. Then paint it and that's that.

  Only snag is, I have three doors to strip first. Actually set to, today. £15.00 can of Nitromors and a brand new scraper. Set about this door .....

  Complete and utter waste of time and money! FFS! Gave the door a good drenching. Fucked off in here for the proscribed fifteen minutes.

  Went back out there and had at it with the scraper. Might as well have just used the fucking scraper! Second good lathering had as much effect. Fuck that.

 Irony is; I've been telling everybody how I'll have to use stripper, because it's bound to be old, lead paint?

 Ripping out the last bit of the hallway, the other day, I found some newspapers folded in there and in good order. 1975!

  I shouldn't imagine they were even selling lead paint then? Went out in the fifties or sixties, surely?

 Anyway; Nitromors is pretty fucking shocking stuff to work with. So much so ~ and so useless! ~ I've now decided to go with a hot air gun.

  Mate told me, the other day, how excellent the later types are. I had one, years ago, and wasn't too impressed. Bit tedious. But, it seems they're better now?

 I'm fucking sure Pat has one. I seem to remember kneeling next to it, on the floor of one of his sheds, as I set and attended a rat box.

 Anyway, get up there tomorrow. See what he says. No way I'd use a naked flame here. Been there. Done that. Fuck!

 Up a ladder, stripping back the top of a first floor window frame? Suddenly, I'm frantically blowing like fuck at the flame that's now eating into the dry old wood and reaching, fast, for the eves!

 Told the governor straight; 'No Fucking Way!'. Give him his due. Rental property of his. But, he had that old frame ripped out and an entire replacement built and fitted.

 Cliffy Haworth that was. Christ almighty; The stories I could tell about Cliffy! LOL!

A Moment With The Dogs .....

 Was vaguely aware of some movement there. The distinctive rhythm of lapping confirmed it. Orange Dog had got up from my bed and gone to the bucket of fresh water for a drink.
  
  That action caused me to glance over my shoulder, just as Rats went over to see what Orange was up to. Rats glancing up to meet my eye. " Just checking on The Sausage, Dad. "

 I glanced, in passing, at le Ding. Seemingly fast asleep in the bed. But, he was aware of all that was happening here and gave a tight wag of his tail to let me know he knew.

 I looked over at Niggy. He sort of looked back at me. Through the heavy film of a 'sleeping' Dogs eye. He was probably dreaming of the Orange Dog going for a drink of water. Rats checking what she was doing. le Ding knowing. Me glancing around, to check. 

 Now The Sausage is back on my bed. Fast asleep. le Ding has since got out of 'The Bed'. Nigg's got in. Then, Nigger's got out of the bed and gone to My bed. Rats, who'd sat scratching, has gone to join Nig'. le Ding is snoozing, on the floor, beside me. I haven't even looked at Chain Dog. Fast asleep in her bed. In her cage. Snoring like a tank.

 Soap? Who needs it, when ye've got Dogs?!
 

This One's For Llew .....

  And no, it's not the panelling, mate. This is something really more special, in its way. 

 See, yesterday, I'm afraid 'Johnny spent rather too long at the fair' .....  It's amazing what just three pints of Guinness, as a starter before his customary skin full at home, can do to a man ~ the next day!

  Yeppers. I felt like shaking shit today! No fucking way was I attempting any sly mitre cuts of half inch moulding wood. I'd have hand sawn my own fucking finger off.

 But, anyway; Dean O' called round last night. Shit was discussed. Beer was drunk. Questions were asked. And, as a result of the whole combination of that sort of shit; A small handful of rather big screws was given me.

  Then I woke up, in my chair. And it was some time after seven A.M!

  Never mind. Touching the 'delicate' panelling was out of the question. That Really needs me to focus. But, what was it Dean O' had told me last night? Fuck, yeah! I even remembered!

 I also knew I had just about every tool and bit in the house. God knows, I'd had them Years! All I never had was Dean O's secret knowledge and the right sized screws, as prescribed by that knowledge. Now I had awoken an Initiate!

  So, out came the SDS drill and the various bits and pieces. I had at it and ..... I dunno; Just seemed like ten minutes! Probably was, actually.

Rest of the hour or so would have just been me fussily brushing the thick, greenish years of accumulated dust off of my DVD, CD's, PS2 Games and many books.

 Anyway, Voilla ....!

 

  Yeppers. Shelves. 'Big Fucking Deal!', eh? Well, Yes, actually. If ye live in a two hundred year old fucking cottage made of big stones held together with sand and shit! 

 No fucking wall bricks and Portland Cement here. Hit a stone and ye laughing. Hit a 'joint'? Ye'd might as well try to screw to a fucking kiddies sand castle!

 I've tried. Down the years? How I've tired. God almighty. Wrong screws. Wrong plugs. Wrong sized fucking holes to begin with. My Store Room's an avalanche waiting to happen, at the slightest touch.

 But now? I can sort it! I Have The Power! DVD's, Games, CD's which, for Years have lain and sat in miserable piles on the floor and fuck knows where else around here ..... Well; Doesn't the photo say it? 

 Today, the DVD's. Next? The books! Then ....?