I've Just Fucking Shit Myself!

I decided to take the rifle for a stroll, this afters. Nothing much on my mind, really. Just a lovely day and I thought I'd go look some ground over, maybe meet up with Pat for a natter.

Now, this new gun's a bolt action with a five round clip in it. First such rifle I've handled in my life. I've always had single shot things. My habit, when on a patrol, being to sight a target and then slip a round in and get on with the job.

What I've taken to doing with this one, especially as I'm actually more likely to end up running into people than targets, is carry the magazine clip in my pocket. Two rounds in it. I carry a few more, loose, just because. I also carry the bolt at half cock and the safety on. About as disarmed as a real rifle can practically be, to my mind.

And that's how I'm contentedly strolling down the road there. Rifle slung on my shoulder. Nodding and smiling to the seemingly endless procession of traffic. One eye on the bog below. Lovely, sunny day and I'm at peace with the world. Great.

Then something caught my eye. It was just a dark spot in some grass down there. Only this grass was right beneath the hollow tree the feral cat lives in. Was it just a shadow. A trick of the light? Or was this something a bit more sinister? If so, I'd be off through the gate and would have to work my way down, well away from the road, and take a diagonal shot.

But, my eyes being what they are these days, I just couldn't be sure. No matter. I just popped the rifle off my shoulder and took a peek through the 'scope. I even made a point of holding the gun quite ridiculously, right hand halfway up the stock, so that anyone could see I wasn't actually preparing to fire at anything. Anyone, such as the occupant of the latest motor that I was vaguely aware of being about to pass me.

Quick glimpse and it was, in fact, just a shadow. And, as I dismounted the rifle from my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of white, behind me. White motor. And it was stopping. And a voice was saying, " What are you up to? ".

I've turned round and there's a fucking Garda patrol car! Of no concern to me, of course. I'm licensed to carry the rifle. I'd been pointing it onto my written permitioned land. Blimey; It wasn't even loaded and I genuinely hadn't had any intention of taking a shot. Obviously ~ that being illegal, of course. So I was smiling affably as I turned, gun held vertical, of course, to greet these two Gards.

" Hullo, chief. I was just taking a look at something. " (Me old mucker. Me old mate) I wasn't too fucking chuffed with his reply though. And the flat tone of his delivery made the old sphincture hesitate; " Ye not allowed to. " Oh .....

" Oh! Sorry! " I said, as cheerfully as I could ~ for fuck sake, let's keep this reasonable, guys! A slight misunderstanding. No possible harm done or even intended. " I know it's not allowed to fire from a road way. But I was just having a look with the 'scope! See? Clip's in my pocket (Have ye got a license?) ..... as is my license (Thrust!) see? ".

Where do I live? Down there. Is it a .22 Hornet? Yes. (Fuck me! This one's Good! He hasn't even seen the fucking license!) Just to Really 'make my day', el fucking razor blade there, Gard 'Tell a calibre at a glance' is just a bit too authorative for my liking. I'm getting " Superintendent ". As in; Head fucking honcho from the big town. Mr Life or Death Last Say on our licenses!

And now he's looking at My license. And, oh dear god! He's uttering the name of the local Gard who OK'd that very license! And I oh so which he hadn't pronounced that name with quite such a curling of the lip!

Anyway, I wasn't arrested for using a telescopic sight with intent. They went their way and I went mine. But it Really put the dampers on My lovely little afternoon stroll. I mean; Such things do, don't they?

So, I wandered into Pat's yard. Had a chat with him ~ Thanks a bunch, Pat, for saying that, had the damn thing been loaded, they'd have had me! Just what I needed to hear! Then, basicaly, I wandered back home again and sat down to look at the photo's I'd been taking, with the new camera I've bought, for Derelict Places.

So, here I am. Just trying to settle myself down and lose this nagging fear that's plagued me all afternoon since and the Dogs go off. I've glanced out the window and Here We Fucking Go! I've got the local Gard's moter coming straight down the track towards me!!! Would he be out here, so quick, 'Just' to read me the riot act? Far more likely my beloved new rifle And that fucking license will be leaving with him!

I've never really noticed his motor before. But Dean O's told me he drives a 'Jeep'. And here it comes now! I can see the fuck off big strip lights on top. Just like on the American squad car I saw on the pub TV yesterday. I'm fucked. And this time the spinchture's having none of it! It's the end of the world as I know it; And I feel sick!

I can't exactly say What I felt when I got out there. Because Pat's there! WTF's He doing here? And he's all smiles. And he's got who I recognise as the local Solicitor with him??? Now they're both burbling on about Local Elections. The Solicitor's breaking my fucking hand with a well practiced grip. And I'm dimly aware that ~ for some bloody reason I'm yet to fathom! They've come driving down my track with the fucking 'Boot' open!

The lights I'd seen were the Back lights of some bloody motor, only stuck up the air and thus showing above the roof. It contained only my friends. One of whom is standing for election in some local to do and, I imagine, Pat was riding shot gun to guide him round our hidden homes and present a better known face to us, the suspicious and surly. Surly and gun owning.

At least for now. Scared to fucking death how my next application may go now though! FFS!

" Nothing Is Easy " ~ BroadBand and the Beasting!

Yes. How many of ye spotted, from that one, that I'm a huge Jethro Tull fan?

Anyway, this is one that just about looks set to run and run. The story of my own, seemingly endless, struggle to simply avail myself of what all you fuckers take absolutely for granted. A Broadband connection.

It all started three whole and sorry years ago, when I washed up on these shores and set about the first priority of modern existence; Getting back on line. In fact, come to think of it, I guess one could say it started before I even left england. I had pretty good BB then and used it, as I thought, wisely. Not only did I find and buy this place over it. I also had the where with all to check out the going prices of donkeys and suss out the local ISP's.

Eircom are, of course, about the equivalent of what BT used to be over there. (Make of that statement what ye will too!) Fact is, they're the main name. But, one glance at the fora and I soon found just what name most of their wretched customers tended to call them!

And yet, for some damn reason which I can now no more remember than begin to fathom; I signed up with the bastards! And, without getting ahead of my self, ye'll soon see that some things have a way of repeating themselves.

So, here I was, sat here in my semi derelict cottage in the smack bang middle of absolutely fucking no where. Sans internet. It goes without saying that this was a bit of a monkey on my back. And that's probably got something to do with why I ~ like a junky, crazed beyond reason by the need for what helps him through the night ~ ended up disregarding all the wailing and gnashing of teeth across the native fora and got onto Eircom.

Pleasently surprising, at first. I mean, I had to ring them rather a lot. But what red blooded man could maintain too much tight lippedness when constantly running up against a soft, femminine, Irish accent?! God knows, That little trick had already got me to shell out thousands on a top of the range Dell computer! Frankly, I think that girls voice and manner could have sold me a drawer full of dead fucking rats!

Buy anyway, I stayed the course and kept on phoning and enquiring. Even though the responses had long since slipped seemlessly from the sweet softness of promise to the blunt, Ulster accent of down right beligerance. The bastards messed me around, prevaricated and down right Lied to me. For Ever! Or so it seemed.

Eventually though, after an eternity of bullshit, I one day switched on, fired her up and found myself On Line. Oh the joy! Oh the speed too! It took them months to get it to me. But here I finally was; Skidding round the net on my Eircon " ANY TIME 320 " broadband connection. Great!

Life was soon returning to normal for me then. I'd get up. Check my e mail. Have a shoofty round the fora. Go out and do my chores. Maybe even pop into town for the day. What ever. Things were still rosy when ever I returned to look at my screen. That connection held like a limpet and ran like a train. I'd surf all night and hardly ever hit a glitch. Brilliant! I was a happy bunny.

Then, a month later, the Bill came in ..... One THOUSAND fucking Euro's!!!!! Think I'm shitting ye? I wish to fuck I was! Of course, I rang them and asked them if there was some mistake. A Grand? For a months internet connection??? Surely .....

Nope. It was correct. To the last cent. In fact, I should point out here that ~ give them their due ~ the human beings I spoke to did at least have the human decency to sound ashamed and in sympathy with my awful plight. After all, they just lied and misled people for a living. But we all have to make a crust, eh? And they were, after all, simply doing what their management ordered them to do. Doesn't mean to say they had to like or even agree with it. But I still had to pay.

Turns out, see, this was the biggest fuck off since " I won't cum in ye mouth. " A sly and deliberate trap into which I'd freely wandered, completely oblivious to its vicious and cynical truth.

" Any Time ". Sounds like " Always On ", doesn't it? Or maybe, " Free Time ". Just another brand name for the perfectly normal broadband. The one which ye fire up and forget. " Flat Rate " they call it, don't they?

Aye, well the ubiquitous 'They' might. Fucking Eircon called it " 320 ", or what ever the little, innocuous number they stitched on, in small print, was. And ye know what? That was the number of minutes or hours, what ever, that one could have out of " Any Time " in a given month, before the slimy bastards starting charging ye by the fucking second!!!

And there's me, swanning off into town, leaving the fucking thing On??? May as well have phoned the Aussie person we have reading this place, then just leaving my phone off the hook and bidding them do the same. I mean, why the fuck not? It's only a staggering fucking phone bill I'd be running up! And didn't I just! Bastards!

Anyway, that's quite enough 'Talk Time' from me, for now. I'm finding myself glancing out the window and needing to get on. Just had to remind myself for a minute there that it's safe to do so! I'm on this bloody Vodafone 3G thing now. That's another complete fucking piss take. But that too is another story. I'll tell ye about that later on.

Got Something To Say To Me ?

Well, go ahead! I've fixed the " Comments " thing. Now Anyone can leave a Comment here. Ye don't have to be a signed up member of the Google thing. Ye don't have to be a registered Blog Watcher (Yeah; I did the best I could to fix that foul " Followers " thing too!)

Annoyingly, I don't think ye can now go back down and say anything about Posts before this one? (System decrees some things, unfortunately) But, if ye Really Must say something about an earlier Post? Just stitch it on here and I'll Edit it down to the right place for ye, as best I can.

Oh, and I've also removed my ability / need to Moderate each incoming Comment. Poor Snap Shot thought it was rejecting his Comment. It wasn't. It was saving it for me to look over, and I was out at the time. Sorry about that, Snaps.

So, now anyone coming here should be able to say what they think, real time. I've left the annoying little thing on where ye have to type the words. That's to protect us all from Spam shit. And, if we get any stupid shit posted? Fuck it. I'll soon enough find that and fuck it off anyway.

Let's see how it goes.

Ditch Shitter; The Book (Nice little Rant in here too!)

Yes. That one's raised its bloody head, again. Only, this time it's a Publisher asking me. We're talking a completely normal book. Not some cut, paste and photo copy job. Black tape up the spine. More ye hard back with dust cover sort of thing. Something ye could read without fear of it coming apart in ye hands.

I took about four seconds to come up with an idea for the front cover photograph. Even have an idea for the back. As I said to my tormentor;

"It's just a matter of what to put in between! "

To try and reiterate, pretty much, what I said to them .....

I write very much from the hip. Writing as I think ~ in more ways than one. That is to say, I write as the words enter my head. Without any concious planning of how to frame what I'm about to talk about. All I need is a subject to go into and I ' Go into one' on that subject.

I guess I carry on as I do simply because there's no one there to punch me in the mouth as I flail about with the verbal whip, lambasting what ever what ever's caught my baleful eye at the point of, and thus causing, that eruption.

But, that's the thing, see? I don't wake up of a day thinking, " By god; I'm going to give xxxxx hell today! " I wake up thinking I'd best check my birds and horses. Get a brew on. Fire this thing up. Look at my work schedule. Much like anyone else, really.

Then something will happen. Donkey'll bite me. I'll read some comment in a forum. Open my kitchen drawer ..... Off I go!

And there's the crunch, see? If this herbert had approached me a week ago? I'd have likely said, " Yeah. Fine. What ever. I'll now start telling Word Pad what goes on in my head, from day to day. Give it six months or less and I should have reams of stuff for ye to look at and choose from. "

But now I have This, see? Spot the dilemma? How am I to pick and choose between what to put here, for free. Just for the hell of it. And what to write up, in the heat of the moment, yet keep salted away and reserved for some book. A book which ~ pardon me but, quite bloody obviously! ~ I'd hope and pray a good many people would see fit to risk a not to be thrown away slice of their hard earned on.

Do I start churning out 'left overs' here? Thus lowering the entertainment value of the whole project? And, let's be honest; This is for ye entertainment. Ye come home from work. Ye knackered. Stressed out and wound up. Kick ye boots off and let that crazy old cunt in the semi derelict cottage bring a half smile back to ye face as he gives His view of things.

But I'm not here to dish out the burned offerings. Nor would I like to offer 'B Side' stuff in a book.

So, what's the alternative? Not bloody sure, to be honest with ye. And, frankly? Frankly, I don't bloody know. That's why I'm asking you lot. Fact that ye reading this shows that ye give a fuck. Who better to ask then?

And that brings us to the final question, for now; How in hell do ye express ye opinion? I'm genuinely not sure. I see I have three " Followers " ..... Oh shit! Here I go! Rant Alert!!!

(Who the fucking hell thought That bloody term up?! Eh? Makes the poor sods sound like fucking sychophants! Why not force them to be labeled " Deciples " or fucking " Arse Licking Poodles "? FFS! I see those people simply as my " Registered Readers ". And, if I could mess with the HTML of this place, I'd bloody well fix it too!

Forgive me, lads. I Hate that stupid title the system's lumbered ye with. I understand ye just people who want to be alerted to new activity here. A conveniant way of keeping ye fingers on the pulse. I wonder how many people thought, " Fuck That! The guy amuses me with some of what he says. He's alright. But No Fucking Way am I going to become one of his 'Followers'! ". Stupid fucking term and I hate it!

Peeps? Please don't let that 'Crap By Default' piece of mind fuck bother ye. If ye want to 'Subscribe' to this place? Just hack ye way through their crap and become what They term a " Follower " of this Blog. Fuck all to do with joining the Church of Ditch.

Christ, that annoys me though! " Blog Watcher ". That's the term I'd have chosen.)

Anyway ~ rant over .....

Yes. So; How to let me know ye views on this book business? Not sure. Try to leave a comment to this post? Maybe if the first person to read this could try that? Especially if ye Not a Registered Blog Watcher. Even if ye haven't got a view. I'd be most grateful if ye could just punch in " No comment. Not a Blog Watcher. " Anything like that. Only it'd show others who aren't signed up BW's that they too can get a Comment up. Then they can.

Clearer than mud?

Poll, On the Left, There?

I'm digging around in the background of all this. Trying to find out what I can do to possibly make the place better for ye. I'm trying to learn about it, so I can tell You about it.

One thing I found is that I can run a Poll. Quick click type. Just move ye cursor to the nearest thing to what ye reckon. Click. Done.

I can't tell who clicks what. So, feel free. I don't mind what ye opinion is either ~ Not that it doesn't matter! I just mean I won't cop the grump if ye reckon it's a shit hole. If ye reckon that? I'd also appreciate knowing Why ye think that. If I can improve things, I promise ye I'll try. Just remember; One mans meat .....

Anyway, let's give this one a blast. If we see a response, I'll probably wipe this one and formulate another, based on the results. Try to burrow down to what anyone wants from this place. Be it one person or a dozen; I'd sooner keep the majority entertained, rather than 'Ham It Up' to one or two ~ or appear to be doing so.

Simple bottom line is this: I set this up to communicate with my distant mates, en mass. I'd talk to ye all in subtly different ways, in private e mail. Here I'm trying to strike a happy medium - without losing my own identity.

I Think ye can Comment to this post, without having to jump through hoops and Register with anything. Please do try it out. If I get no responses, despite registering visitors? I'll try to find another, dead simple, way for ye to talk to me.

Quid pro quo.

Derelict Places .....

The title's a Live Link. Click it to go there.

This is bloody brilliant! Found a link to it, today, on another forum I frequent. I've now spent the rest of my day in there, and have only been sniffing around!

Come on, admit it; There's just something about derelict places, isn't there? They have an air about them. They hold something. I know they do for me. On various levels.

This site's particularly 'Photo Rich'. And they don't seem to appreciate that not everyone has mega megabyte Broad Band either. But I'm still so entranced by it all that I'm quite happily clicking into a thread and then getting on with my life as it all unfolds.

I've had a peek into " Foreign ". Found a brilliant old pig farm / slaughter house in there. And some cottage, in Denmark, where a bloke had lived for fifty years. They'd obviously just dragged his stinking corpse out and left it at that! Fuckin' incredible! The bloke who went in there, years later, was showing all his cupboards and stuff. Even the poor bastards porn stash! FFS!

Then there's the " Rural " board. Of course, I'm in there like a ferret! Best bit is, they have an " Auld Farm Implements " thread on there. I'm going to ask them if they'd accept Irish stuff on it. Fuck knows; I have enough of that stuff in the hedges round my own place!

Tell ye; My camera died the other day ~ second one! I looked into buying another little Compact, but, at £300 a throw for the sort of thing I like? I just didn't have the stomach for it. Now I've found this place? I might yet just jump in a taxi, tomorrow, and spend about £60, just getting to a half decent camera shop, to splash out £300 on a new camera!

This place has just really struck a chord with me. If they can accept me? I see this as being a place I'll be spending a Lot of my time! I'm absolutely surrounded with dereliction here ~ I Live in a virtually derelict place, for chrisake! And my work and relationships gives me bags of opportunity to be mouching around in such places too.

Take a look? If ye join up, tell them Ditch gave ye the heads up!

This Is Funny!

Maybe give our mate in Iraq a smile?

Hullo, Iraq!

I'm fuckin' amazed! We actually have some poor sod stuck out in Iraq looking in here! I shit ye not!

I have a Counter from http://www.statcounter.com/ on here, and that shows me all sorts of fun stuff which reassures me I'm not sitting here talking to myself. I've just been poking around in there, pressing buttons and seeing what it makes happen. And I came up with a map of where people are coming from to look in here. I'm wiped out! Look ..... Bottom right? That's our boy!

Makes ye think, doesn't it? While we're all sitting here, having fun, there's some poor bastard stuck out there, surrounded by people who'd very much like to do him great harm. And you think You had a shit day at work yesterday?! I'm raising a glass to that guy, right now.

Please stay safe, my friend.

Dogs; Expensive Fukka's!

le Ding; Laughing at me ~ Must think I'm a cunt!

I know that some of you reading this will know that I have " le Ding " with me. Originally known as " Dingo ", because that's really about as much as one can say about the damn thing; That he looks like a Dingo. But, I'm a bastard for settling on damn silly names for my creatures. Thus the poor bastard now gets referred to as " le Ding ". He actually answers best to " Ding, Ding " though; He'd be great fun at a fuckin' boxing match then!

Just to quickly recap on Ding's chequered career then, for those without a clue: Dingaling Dog was bred by a cunt. The guy was a cunt because he bred him, then considered he had no use for him! Sadly, while it's fine and dandy to shoot Dogs, we aren't allowed to shoot pricks like that. But, Happily, Ding got lucky. " Valantino ", of THL Forum, heard about him and took him home.

Trouble being there that Val' was already stocked up with fine Dogs. He didn't need another one so looked around for a permanent home for this one. Seems some cousin took a shine to and custody of the Dog. Great. Great, that is, till Val' finds himself in the area some months later and drops by to visit his old mate, Dingo Dog.

And that's when the story broke, on THL. Val' showed us the photo he took. My fuckin' eyes are burning at the memory of that damn photo and, if I don't just plough through this bit, I'll break down.

Poor fucking Dog was on a short chain, tied to an empty kennel box and surrounded by his own shit. His coat was disgusting and the poor little bastard was cowering, obviously expecting more of what he'd learned he'd get when a human came near him.

Val' unhooked him and put him in the motor, there and then. The rest is history. He still didn't need this mad mutt, but no way was he staying with the second rank cunt he'd known in his short life. So he asked, on THL, who would like a ~ by now fully recovered and back to his old self ~ happy go lucky, nutty as a fruit cake, bouncing bundle of energy who could only really be described as looking for all the world like a Dingo.

That must've been about a year ago now. He's made my own life more " Interesting " ever since! Life, with le Ding, has been a constant effort of wondering what he was doing. Dreading what he might be doing. Then finding out what he was Actually doing ~ and trying to devise a way of stopping him doing it again!

Ding' spent some quality time around horses, when he was with Val'. Thus he now has it imprinted in his tiny little mind that horses are great fun. Happily, my own one and my insane donkey are too laid back or insane to worry much about the bouncing yellow peril either. So they're fine with him.

However, le Ding can't seem to differentiate between horses, donkeys and cattle! Now, surely to god, if there was ever an animal put on this earth good for Nothing but doing away with and eating, it must be the Cow. I mean, what do they do? They stand about in fields. They trample far more good grass than they actually eat. They shit all over the place. They churn up mud. They try to get our Dogs shot. Then, finally, we kill the useless fuckers and eat their sorry corpses. Good fucking riddance!

And Ding has this thing about them. He figures they too are great fun to be around. Thus he tries to have a bit of craic with them. Maybe torment them a little, as he does the donkey. Ye've seen " Boratt in USA " ? Well, it's just like when he goes after Pamela Anderson, with his sack; Fucking mindless air head racing off towards the next county, udders bouncing as it bellows like the cunt that it is!

You ever seen an Irish cattle farmer who's just seen that go off? I have. I don't Ever want to see it again! And the cattle are due to be released any day now. Time I took the hint. Le Ding needs keeping under control.

Now, this Dog can jump about anything that gets between him and where he thinks it'd be good to get to. He also has this child like propensity to just wander off and get into mischief. I can't watch him every second of every day. I can't keep him locked up, in doors or in a pen. That'd be cruel. He's a fit little fucker and likes to run about. I Do chain him to a kennel box, when I have to go into town ~ he goes into Destruct Mode within five minutes, if left in here unattended. But, no way is he living his life on an eight foot chain either.

So, having had some experience in these things, I've sat here and pondered. I've looked out at the hundred and thirty plus yard length of the Home Acre, out there. I figured it out: I'd give him a 'Running Lead' set up. Length of the field. He can belt up and down it and torment the 'horses' when ever they get near. Lay around in the sun. Hide in his box, during rain. Scare the living crap out of anyone who comes near my top gate. Sorted!

And, with that simple enough solution in mind, I rolled into town today. Got lucky in the third and last store. They had a drum of just the right thickness of steel rope.Great! Without a thought or a care, I noted that it contained 200 yards ~ perfect. I'll be running him diagonally across the field later. Give the land a break and him a different view of things. Sauntered up to the counter and breezily enquired as to how much this entire drum was about to cost me.

I almost fucking shit myself!!!

Ye looking at a cool £300's worth of safe and happy Dog!

What Have I Shot?

I got asked this, in e mail, the other day. Again, this seems to be a question of perennial interest to my fellow gun owners; What we shoot with them. Ok. To save anyone else asking; Here's the score.

To date, having had the new rifle about a month? I'm yet to fire it at a live target. (Shock, horror! Ditch has had this exquisite gun all that time and he hasn't killed anything with it yet???) No. I haven't. And, if ye think that's fucked up? How fucked up does that make You?

I have a Power Saw out there. Brand spanking new. Bought that a short while ago too. Never even taken it out of the box yet. I have no pressing need to cut wood just now. I have a drill, yet I don't run around making holes. I buy these Tools for when a Job presents itself.

See, I'm a Pest Controller. Not a " Hunter " or even a 'Sportsman'. My idea of fun doesn't particularly include tramping about with a loaded gun, looking for something to fire it at. I do like carrying my gun. But, that's because the very fact of having it with me has an extremely marked effect on my own conciousness.

With that gun on my shoulder, I'm a different animal. I move with stealth. I'm alert to the slightest movement around me. My whole being is tingling with an electrical sense of alertness.

Upshot is that I spot tons of stuff I must be missing when I'm just walking up the track, going about some mundane errand. I spot the little bird trying to creep away from its nest in the hedge bank. I tune in to the disquiet of a Blackbird two fields away. I stop to observe a distant speck; Thus getting a better fix on the territory of a neighbouring pair of Gray Crows.

Hour or two of simply being out there, with my rifle, is the best damn relaxant I know. I never fail to come back feeling totally at peace with the world and freed of all stress. I've also, often as not. learned something new about my local environment. Added another small piece to the jig saw.

That said, I fully intend to use it for what it's all about. Only my quarry are amongst the most crafty bastards out there. My intended victims now are Hooded Crows and Feral Cats. Each, in my experience, about as fucking vile and sneaky as they come. Figure in the fact that I need my crows on the ground, with a safe shot. And I'm also talking daylight cats? I've got my work cut out!

What about foxes? Well; What about foxes? Fuck foxes! I'm leaving any more foxes alone. I shot the only damn fox I ever saw around here with my other rifle. Just because someone mentioned they'd seen one. What was the point???

I ever get reports of a muscle bound fox taking down cattle round here? I'll take him out. Meanwhile, I haven't and hardly expect to. So why in hell should I go around, taking it out on foxes? There's nothing for them to harm around here and I have nothing to prove. Foxes are 'Off'. So are Jackdaws and Rooks, just for the record. Those poor things are so trusting, ye could knock them off with a catapult. So what?

And there ye just about have it. Ok? Ditch has a lovely new rifle. Ditch goes out with it. One of these days, Ditch'll blow some things lungs out with it. And then what? Ye expect me to plaster this place with fucking photo shots of a blown up corpse?

Just ask yeself; Since when have I ever been into displaying photo's of the creatures I've had to shoot? Ye want to see dead things, shot with big guns? Fine. Get yeself a gun and go out there and shoot something yeself. Only, please don't bother me with ye trophy photo's. I'm not interested.

'Nuff said?

This Is Rank As Fuck!!!

Ohhh, jesus fucking wept! I've hardly been on line an hour and I come up with Just the sort of thing I want to talk about ~ THIS is the sort of shit that I can only imagine makes me of such interest to others? Shit that just seems to Happen to me! Here's the craic .....

For a few days now I've been aware of a whiff in my kitchen. I mean, we're talking Bad here. Has to be, doesn't it? Like that time I left some steamed Brussel Sprouts in my cupboard ..... for about a month! Remember that one? Well; This beats the shit out of it! This is fucking Harsh!

So, I've got this smell. It's emanating from my sink. Yeah? Now, being an old, isolated Irish farmstead, I have no plumbing to speak of. This sink has only a single, cold tap. And that tap drains into some sort of soak away ~ I guess. Figured there must be something down there got a bit bacterial. No problemmo. I slung some disinfectant down the plug hole a night or two back.

Maybe it's me? But, I wasn't so aware of the stink by today. What I was aware of was the fact that my Land Line phone is due to have been connected by tomorrow. Thus, in anticipation, I'd rung myself on my mobile the other day. Got an engaged tone sound. Today I got the ringing sound. But no phone ringing.

See, I have this weird little phone I brought with me. I've plugged it into the phone socket and have charged it up. It's sat out there, in the kitchen. Won't ring though. So I reckon there's something (Oh, this fucking stink is doing my head in here! No Way can I eat my dinner with This!) I reckon there's some button I've not hit. But which button?

Now, I'm a fucker for Manuals. I always read them. Then I keep them. I've been actively looking out for an A4 sized box file. Somewhere I can store all my stacks of manuals for things I have here. Haven't found one yet. But I thought maybe I could find the phones manual somewhere about this cottage.

Like most of us blokes then, I have a vague idea where I put things. I know I keep some manuals in the 'cutlery' draw of my sink unit. Uh huh. Sink stink? Now we're getting to talk about the drawer in the sink unit? You wait!

Sooooo ..... I pop open the drawer. I look down at the usual contents. Stack of manuals. Some bunches of Dog fur (I can explain that! I brush my Dogs out and stick the fur in the drawer. I save it up, through winter, to put out for the birds. They take it for nesting material. Still got some in there) And the usual crap one puts in ones 'Kitchen Drawer' down the years. Ball of string. Pair of brass hinges. Ye know the sort of shit.

Only, I don't quite remember this brown fur. In fact, it reminded me of young robins feathers. I couldn't quite get a make on it and my mind sort of went into over ride. Alarm bells were ringing. I somehow found myself heading straight out the door with this drawer in my hands.

Then I saw the fucking Maggots! And the wet, leathery, black skin! Ah, jesus! Oh my fucking christ! It was a Dead Fucking Rat!!!

No shit! I've got this well rotted down, maggot crawling fucking rat, right there in my own kitchen draw! Fuck knows how he got in there. Obviously took the bait I regularly put down around here ~ but outside, for chrissake! I can only imagine this bastard came in somewhere round where the waste pipe goes out. I'll have to check tomorrow.

Right now I'm calling a cab; See if there's anywhere I can eat out tonight. No fucking way can I stomach eating in here. The rat's long gone, but this stench is still burning my nostrils!

This is the actual shot I originally took with my new phone!
This was in my fucking drawer!

My New Rifle

Man has to start somewhere, I guess? And, as most of anyone who comes at me has an interest in " Hunting " (Never could get used to that term for what you lot do. To me " Hunting " is something ye do on a horse, wearing a red coat, after a fox. Me, I Shoot. I Lamp. I used to Ferret. Never 'Hunted'. That's that out of the way .....) I figured I'd bring ye up to date about my rifle.

The old NEF Handy Rifle, .22 Hornet finally packed up on me completely. Fucking thing. It was a bitch, pig and a nightmare from word one, really. Weighed a ton. Trigger weighed a ton. I was sick and tired of the thing even before it went completely tits up.

It did that one evening when I was out with Dean O', my partner in various crimes. We were up in a gate way just opposite and down from Pat's farm yard and there was a flock of magpies about. Can't remember if Dean had been using his excellent, digital calling box. But, they were about and giving it large anyway. Game on then.

Craic is; I loaded up and lined up. I had one of these muvva's in my cross hairs and the shot was confirmed safe. The sinews in my right wrist knotted and bulged under the strain till, finally; Click!

FFS! I kept my cool and reached into my pocket for a fresh round. About three rounds refusing to fire later, I imagine one must've gone off. I don't remember where I was aiming though. I certainly remember I never got a maggie that evening. Then, having fired a live one and broken the gun open? Fuck all. Damn round was stuck fast!

Cutting a long story a tad shorter; " Throat Erosion ". That and the Pin Spring was fucked. All in all, time to move on.

I actually found and fell in love with a Browning A Bolt, .223 with all the trimmings. This thing was a Goddess of a gun! Diamond cut receiver, fluted barrel, black synthetic furniture, light weight and beautifully balanced. Gorgeous gun.

But, as I gave myself time to ponder and check out this calibre a bit more, I came to the simple conclusion that she was just too much gun for me. I simply don't need that sort of reach around here. I'd have to hold a summit meeting, phone a friend, the whole shebang before ever even touching that trigger.

So I looked at the other options. Rimmy anything? Fuck that. No Way was I stepping down to a rimmy. I decided a .17 Centrefire would be the Dogs bollocks. I found only one available. And that thing weighed a ton!

So on and so forth, till I actually worked out what would be my ideal; Another NEF Handy, break action, single shot .22 Hornet. These days they come in Black Synth. Look cool and weigh a site less. The trigger's also said to be lighter these days.

Months later, I finally had to face the fact that no power on this earth could get me a black NEF. They simply aren't available in Europe. FFS! I was getting truly pissed off. By this time I'd missed the entire winter season of 2008/9. Things were getting desperate.

That's when Dave, my Gun Dealer, suggested a CZ 527 'Lux'. A Bolt Action, five round clipped, wood furnished rifle. Just about everything I Didn't want! Then I took her out of the factory sent box ....!




There she is. My Queen. Dressed to kill! I fuckin' Love this gun!

Read The Profile, FFS!

If ye one of those people who'll come bowling in here at some indeterminate point in the future, take one glance at the latest post and half expect to know what's going on? What the fuck do ye think I can do for ye? It's like on fora; Two pages of shit gets written. Loads on info'. Then there's always the fucking idiot who reads only the Title. That's the idiot who pops up in what becomes the middle of it all, asking or stating that which has long since been covered. It makes a mess of the thread and a cunt of them.