Visited An Abandoned Coal Mine Today .....

I've got some photo's. But, I can't show ye shit just yet. Because my fucking modem's at it's tricks again and I can barely get a page open on the entire net. 404 Fest. Never mind. I have a head full of imagery and anecdotes. Should yet be something in this for just about everyone.

Anyway, Dean O's got wind of this place, so off we went to explore it. Seems it's on top of the mountain I can see from here. The one the rains come down off of and flush my ditch. Only, unless ye actually used to Real mountains, ye won't have the vaguest clue of what I'm talking about here. People who've spent their lives in cities and have never experienced a Mountain could barely start to comprehend one.

I mean; This fucker's known as Coal Mountain, funnily enough. There. So now ye maybe thinking ye have me pinned down, eh? Get a map. Lookup Coal Mountain. Ditch lives somewhere beneath it, eh? Fucking try me! This bastard divides Counties. And, from where we got to today, we could look over into Ulster and out across various other places for miles and miles around. Seems my place was somewhere on a far horizon.

Anyway, we drove up there and the first stop was what I'd already explained, from Dean O's earlier description, must have been the Dynamite Store. Todays closer examination bore me out on that. Completely isolated. Small, steel door. Odd, angled vents in the sides and a reinforced concrete roof.

Inside, through the long ago seized up steel door, was a wooden door. That led into a wood lined chamber. Here they'd have stored the dynamite. Nice and dry, see? And, someone having smashed a small hole in a top corner, I gleefully encouraged Dean to get in there. Which he did. Unfortunately, without any nasty little accidents, which I was hoping to capture on film.

But, it was the 'Mad Shepherd' who really stole the early part of the show for us. We'd pulled up in a lay by, high on this mountain side. Got out, to stretch our legs and have a look round. Spotted this figure approaching up the hill road about 150 yards away and decided ~ 100 yards away ~ to give him a minute to ..... " Mornin'. Not a bad day ..... "

Fuck Me! How did he Do That?! Fucking guy was late sixties, if he was a day. Slim little bloke. Wearing an old pair of turned down gum boots. And ye'd think he was an Olympic 'Walking Race' merchant! Fucker came up that hill like he was motorised and virtually flashed past us to step out onto the mountainside and vanish, along with his little collie Dog.

In my youth, I was a notoriously fast walker. But, I couldn't have walked that fast, that far, on a flat pavement! This cunt was steaming up a fucking Mountain Side like he was breaking his neck and there was a loo at the top!

Wasn't just me either. Dean was completely fucked up by it. And when, moments later, we followed the human jet out towards the dynamite shed, I almost screamed when I made him out, down the bottom of the fucking mountain, rounding up sheep and moving across the ankle snapping, roughest of all terrain almost as fast as his damn Collie!

Freaked us out completely. But, there we are. Born and raised to it, no doubt. Probably been doing that since he could walk. Every fucking day of his life. Rain, wind, sun or snow.


Anyway, having given the store the once over, we wandered back to the van and were a bit slow about actually getting into it. This was because a motor had pulled in behind us and out had got a young couple. And, to say She was a bit fucking tasty would be a right understatement! So, Dean kicked his tyres a bit, whilst I fiddled with my jacket until they'd turned and wandered off in the other direction.

Then we took a drive further along the mountainside. Heart breaking, as it happens. I mean, here we were, up on what should be one of the most desolate places in Eire. Barely a dwelling visible in the panoramic views beneath us. Yet there was fucking Litter all over the road sides!

Honestly; I've long harboured this fantasy about secreting myself along some country roadway, shouldering a Rocket Propelled Grenade. Watching for passing motors. Let me see a bottle, crisp packet or coffee cup fly out that fucking window and ..... Bastards.

Amazing thing is, we'd gone a mile or two along this god forsaken track when we ran smack into a Garda patrol motor, coming the other way! You have Never seen two seat belts go on so bloody fast! What the hell he was doing up there, we couldn't fathom.

So, we turned round and followed his route, back to where we'd come from. Devanned and started hiking up to the peak, where the coal minings were. Here we go; That couple were just coming off the high track, as we approached its intersection with the lower track we were on. Sadly, we'd got the timing just wrong, so we'd passed beneath them. Thus we couldn't get another decent look at her. Bastard.

That's when I pointed out to Dean O' that he'd obviously been fucking her, up there. Thus we should try to find the condom as soon as possible. Dean looked at me rather old fashioned then. But, I then pointed out that, never mind its contents. If we could find it, still glistening and wet on the Outside? Surely worth a lick?

It was quite interesting then, to notice how avidly Dean started casting his eyes about the ground before us! He actually started pushing ahead, obviously anxious to find likely spots before me! LOL! Dean O' learns things from me ;-)

Never did find the glistening prize. Plenty of curious sheep and yet more fucking rubbish though. Most of all, Dean discovered a hole in the rock face. I, at first, thought it must be a foxes hole, by the position of it. Just a barely man sized, irregular hole, half covered by juncus and such. Till Dean shone his torch in ..... Fuck!!!

I'll leave it there though. For now. Just tried PhotoBucket again and it still won't let me in. Next time, I want to show ye some photo's.

Alison Moyet ..... Would I ....?!

You all remember Alison Moyet, of course? Big Ol' Girl, did a number or two with some pasty, spiky haired little prick. Then cut out on her own to record some truly memorable stuff in that astounding voice and style of hers.

Her own rendition of " Love Letters (Straight from Your Heart) still ranks as one my personal top five, Ever, singles. I could swap that for tinnitus any day!

But, whilst ~ once she'd lost the 'Punk' look of her own spiky hair, and the Alice Cooper school of make up ~ she was still, undeniably 'attractive', in her way. But she was still 'A bit of a Big ol' beast!'

And that's how I remember her. Twenty? Twenty five years ago? I'm still perfectly happy to have her 'Love Letters' locked into my head all day. But, I still think of the 'Tank in the Tent' belting it out too. Or used to!

This Was .....


Horror!!!

But, through one of those quirks of following a link in a forum. Getting side tracked. Clicking somethings else and .....

Fucking Hell!!!

More ....?

What a difference twenty odd years can make, eh? The girl's in about her mid forties now, I believe? Had her ups and downs. Now she's as we see. Well; The camera seems to like her, doesn't it? Not exactly what I'd call 'The Beautifully Voiced Beast' anymore! Phwoaaar!

Fantastic write up about her ~ while they keep it on line ~ here, at the Mail on Sunday.

Yeppers. Not exactly my own cup of tea either. But then, I don't read Any papers. Just came across that piece whilst ferreting links.

Quite livened up my evening though!

Bit of a fuckin' scorcher for late September, eh?

I Wonder About Some Aussie Blokes ....!

I mean; They're all meant to be called Bruce, right? Have square jaws. kin like (if somewhat melanomic) leather. Treat women as only 'Real' men would ..... Then go and fuckin' turn up here ~ reasonably Manly place, I s'pose? But; Looking for This!

Yeppers. I had a nice peak of visitors today. That made me curious, so I went and checked my little map. Three in from Oz. Turns out one was just innocently searching on some term so mundane I've already forgotten it. He stayed just a split second. Another was interested in my thing about the male magpie. Looks like he read it. But That fukka? He hung around! Must've read the whole piece.

And, as far as I know ~ I wasn't interested enough to trawl back any further ~ spring boarded out of here in search of Further shit about the most legendarily Gay nation on the planet.

That just seems so Wrong for a 'Digger'.

Dunno. Maybe it was an immigrant? Oz is said to be sinking under the weight of 'foreigners' these days. (I'm fuckin sure the Aborigines have been saying That for a Century or two now!) Maybe it was a 'Sheila'?

Then again though; I can't help but think back to Bill Allen. Bill was the Head Hall Porter at a top class hotel I worked in, nearly forty years ago now. He was queer as a bottle of chips. Used to be in 'Rep' and had visited Australia.

He once told me how it made even him falter, to step out onto a balcony above a huge party, and look down on Six Hundred guys, all mincing around exhibiting their seemingly snapped wrists. That was even damn near Too queer for old Bill.

That is, till he took a holiday in Greece. Even he had a gut full of it there.


Urgh! Now, Why did I say that? Now I feel quite sick! What a gross concept! FFS!

VietNam Wants To Fucking Forget It!

I shit ye not! Just sorted out that post, below. That raised a question in my head. So I went of to check something, And what do I find? VietNam has been in here!

Curious as fuck, obviously ~ were they tunnelling beneath us? Crafty little buggers ~ I ran a back check on them.

Usual thing, of course, They'd found their way here through an 'innocent' Google search.

For what?

For This! " Fucking Forget It "

Yeppers. God alone knows what goes through a Hanoi Head. But, That is what brought VietNam to us.

How fucked up are we?

One Skip Later ..... And Other Thoughts:

Well, be fucked ....! Here's what I started with. (Spot the Nigger!)






And here's what I bought.







Six foot high, that bastard is. Meant I had to man handle, heave, at least chuck just about everything I had into it. Bastard.

Best bit is; I still have plenty left out there. And that fukka's levelled over. Couldn't fit another gallon oil can in it. And don't talk to me about 'Boarding up the sides' either. That fucking thing crept into the place I needed it, Only with me lifting an overhead wire the extra couple of inches with a damn hay rake!

Their contract states, 'Don't Overload'. My eye says, 'I don't need the drama, or the Electrician!' FFS.

Just thought I'd show ye this, as I realise I've been a bit quiet of late. This is much to do with it. Working like a slave while it's, at least, not chucking it down here.

But, the Ash and Sycamore leaves are dropping now. As are the temperatures and day hours. I've had the stove lit for two or three nights now. Tonight it hasn't crossed my mind.

But, Rosie and Donks are out there, right now, with their heads amongst a bale of hay. I pulled that out of their 'Back Up' store, today. I'll pull another bale tomorrow. Jesus; Where is this going? Where will I find, let alone afford more hay?

Pat's cut his fields. It kills me to see the edges left. All that stuff my horses would die to get at. His cattle would taste, trample and shit on. " The other mans grass ".

Different creatures eat different ways, see? Sheep eat so low down they'll starve a horse. Horse will starve a cow. Cows just wander about, munching about 1/10th of what they tread and shit on into shit. Then, ye can chuck their own shit onto the same ground, and they'll repeat the whole shit on that field.

Horses don't like to eat grass that's grown through their own shit. Much more of this and I'll be going right back to my roots; Travelling, just to find verges to feed the damn horses from!

Oh well. This sort of shit certainly puts all the old, citified bullshit into perspective. Be that Country Life, Moaning Farmers or Witchcraft. It all ends up tied into the seasons, when ye life's dependent on the land and thus seasonal moods.

And we've just had one of the worst ones.

An 'Interesting' time lays ahead.

Pimping My Shotgun .....

I've been dwelling on this one a little. Like; Should I tell ye? How Could I tell ye? How much Can I tell ye? Hmmm ..... Not a Lot!

Let me just put it to ye this way; I handled the " Home Protection " model of my own shotgun today. The Mossberg Maverick 'Security' version. It was 'nice', in the flesh. But, I really didn't care for the perforated 'Heat Shroud' over the barrel. And, frankly? I was rather surprised to see it still bore the standard stock too. 24" barrel gave it a nice, tight angle of arc, granted. I've always favoured that.

Then I saw a Folding, Skeleton Stock. Integral capability of holding extra cartridges. Pistol Grip ..... I Liked! I also liked a 24", Rifled 'slug' Barrel! I quietly smiled. Here be Tools.

Anyway .....

Gun Fun ..... Men Only Need Read This!

Dean O' and I went somewhere today. We visited a bloke who has a .223 'AR15' semi automatic rifle. 30 round magazine. All but the last half of the barrel is cammo. And this fukka's fitted it with a £400 moderator. So, basically, we're talking about as close to a military spec 'Man Stopper' as a normal citizen's ever likely to get his hands on.

Not that there's actually any great likelihood of a normal citizen getting hold of one anyway. I mean, what the fuck could ye state ye wanted such a beast for? Starting ye own fuckin' Militia?! Anyway, no names. No pack drill. This guy has one. And he let us handle it today.

I've never heard a .223 fired before. I've fired an unmoderated .243 before. And That made me shit myself, because I was sure everyone else, for miles around, would thing WW3 had just kicked off! I've simply never Heard anything bang so fucking loud! But, this one had the best moderator money can buy. And I took my hearing aid out. My own .22 Hornet makes more row than I heard from this thing.

I reckon my own rifle recoils harder too. I mean; A fuckin' kiddie could fire this AR15. There was a recoil, I s'pose. But it was only a bit like being poked in the shoulder with a cushion.

And, firing a rifle on semi auto was quite the experience too! As fast as I could work the trigger. off she went. " Crack! ... Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! " Can't ye just imagine the grin as I turned round after That?!

It seems there's also a way of firing this model in Full Auto too! " Bum Firing ", it's called. Now, I'm not big on the 'Toys for Boys' aspect of firearms. To me, all my guns are just tools.

I bought a lovely new pair of Stanley Side Cutters today too. Very nice. Feel great in the hand. I'll cut some old flex out with them tomorrow. But I hardly have a hard on about them. Much the same with my guns. They're tools to do my best work with.

Dean O's that much younger though. Things like this excite him. He had to try this 'Bum Firing' craic. So it was he held the rifle in the proscribed manner. Pointed it at the middle distant ground. And " CrackCrack! ". I seem to recall that, after a few words of guidance from our host, he then managed Three shots, all on automatic. That was cool.

But then, the true highlight of our little session. Our host took possession of the rifle. Held it so. And opened up! Fuck Me! That sound! But, more than that, seeing the turf ripping apart and flying off in all directions! And this wasn't a war film. This was Real Fire Power! Fuck sake; I barely caught Dean O's reaction, because I was heading off to the back of the queue!


Having said all that, of course? It was a bit of craic. A grand and half's worth of, undeniably very nice but, quite useless toy. I mean; Name me just One situation in which a Field Shooter is going to need, let alone be clear and safe, to loose off ten to thirty rounds of .223 in rapid succession. It's just silly.

Next time we pass that way though, all things being equal, we've been promised another new experience. This one I'm really quite looking forward to as well. Next time, I get to live fire a real hand gun. A .357 Magnum ! Now, This, even I'm looking forward to. Had it been a .44 Magnum ? I'd be drooling! I just Love the sound of a .44 Mag'. So blunt. Abrupt. Distinctive.

Who knows? One of these days ....? I mean; Who'd ever have thought I'd have got to fire an AR 15?

Well; The Stove's Lit .....

19th September, 2009. I've finally done what I kept telling the Dogs I would have done, had I brought some turf up from the stock shed. Been telling them that for a few nights now. Just been too busy, in the day, to even think about it. Only when I've settled down of an evening that I've realised how the clothes I've worn for ... god knows how many months now ... just aren't cutting it any more.

Thursday, I think it was. The skip had arrived the evening before and I'd thrown myself into clearing out " The Ruin " the next day. Worked so fucking hard in weather I never really noticed ~ but it didn't rain ~ that I took my shirt off. And worked up a sweat anyway.

By dark, that night, I was trying to settle down and get my dinner on. But I could feel the cold trying for a grip on me. My head felt cold. My fingers ached. My whole system was warning me that I was a cold, old sack of shit who would be in big trouble soon, if I didn't do something.

Funny how I've so long since learned to listen to my body. Thus speak back to it. Work out a strategy for us both. And thus maintain good, basic health. (Don't confuse this with Fitness! I'm not fit to fuck! But, I honestly can't remember the last time I got a cold or flu) So, I put my bod warmer on, zipped up to the chin. Put my socks back on. Inside the hour, I was ready to join the SAS. Well; At least open the door for them!

Never felt overly warm in here that night though. And, tonight, at Dean O's, he sat there on his electric radiator and announced that it was 'Getting cooler'. He didn't mean the radiator either.

So, whoopee doo; Tonight, as I muttered to the Dogs about how I Would get some of that turf up here, the penny dropped. Wasn't there a load of peat briquettes in that damn green bucket that's been sat there since for ever? ..... God damn! Looked more like a bucket full of Dingo coloured rats, I'll grant ye. All furred up by the drifting and unnoticed hairs of the Lord Chief Shedder round here. But they still burn ok.

Fuck, it's warm in here! Dogs are all flaked out. Snoring and twitching in warm contentment. Me? I'm picking at the back of my dicklo. Back of my neck's actually getting 'A Bit Warm!'

Fuck it. Less than two weeks of sunny weather all year. Now the stove's on. I think Orange Dog and I may even turn the quilt down a bit tonight though! I guess we're both at that stage now where we'd as soon laze around inside a warm room as trudge about in the fucking rain.

We've had no 'Summer'. Here comes the 'Winter'.

Costing Culture Shock

I don't know how this'll go down with most of ye. Because I obviously have no idea of what experience any of have had of Scrap Metal. But, suffice it to say that 'Scrap' is a virtual cultural icon amongst Gypsys. It's money. And money to be found laying around all over the place. Discarded by 'normal' people.

Why do ye do that? I've often wondered, throughout my life time. You'll hire a skip, at no small expense to start with. then ye'll start half filling it with what amounts to fucking Cash! It's like ye going through ye own pockets and slinging pounds, shillings and pence into a big tub that's already cost ye a small fortune to hire. Just to have someone take it all away and dump the fucking lot.

And that's how I ~ in my own, small way ~ and many, many more 'Professional' Gypsys and such made a living. By going round, dragging all that shit back out of your skips. Thus we'd actually make more room for ye to dispense with ye rubble and shit. But we'd dig out all the metal ye were chucking out.

We'd then sort it, into various grades and types of metal. Separate and 'Clean' it. (I don't mean dust it and polish it! Just remove any non metal components. Or remove the tin handles from alli' saucepans, eg.) And then we'd take it all down to the Scrap Yard and come away with a big smile and a nice pocket full of cash.

I made my living doing this. I even made huge bonuses, whilst primarily working at some other job. Simply because I have this genetic instinct, born into my very blood, to collect scrap metal.

And now I'm in Eire. And I have a huge, collapsed and derelict outbuilding. And the Biggest fucking skip they can supply. And I'm breaking my back emptying the contents of the one into the other. It's doing my fucking head in! It's doing my head in because probably fifty percent of what I'm dragging out and skipping is Scrap Metal!

FFS! I've just paid over £300 for a fucking skip. Now I'm slinging shit loads of perfectly good scrap in there. And I'll be grateful when I'm done and the man comes to take the lot away. And he'll just dump it in a land fill. No One will come sorting through it. The metal will lay with the old feed sacks and the plastic. This just seems simply and intrinsically Wrong, to me.

But, there it is, ye see? Different country. Different culture. Different economy. You'd be hard pressed to go dig up a sack of peat, for ye garden. Here ye'd be hard pressed to find a Smelting Works. We simply have no industry geared toward the rendering of 'any Old Iron'. Thus no body has any use for it. It's worthless here and not worth enough, over there, for us to ship it across.

So, we bury it. And here's me, shaking my head in despair, as I cart load after load of what I've always seen as money, and slinging it into my own skip, which I've already paid handsomely for. England? This amount of scrap would likely have paid toward the cost of the skip. In Eire? I just hope so much of the shit doesn't take up so much room I'm left needing another damn skip!

That'd just be taking the fucking piss!

Nigger's First Retrieve .....

Five minutes ago. Well, it sort of started ten minutes ago. I was just emerging from my ditch and noticed Nig Nig nosing around in a certain corner on my perimeter. I wondered what he was up to. But, then he moved away and so did I. Moment forgotten.

Just got back in here and am arranging that last post. Gazing out at my magpies as the photo loads. Along comes Nigger. Thankfully, I spotted the bastard, out the window, before he decided to bring it in here!

Ye've guessed it, haven't ye? Fucking great dead rat!!!

Just what the fucking hell's going on around here???

What The Fuck Have I Said Now ....?

To elicit such a sudden and strong interest from United States? I mean, look at that. Compares quite nicely with my more usual and 'home grown' readership, doesn't it? I've never seen such a rash of readers before.

Strange. Wonder if it's because I said " Okinawa " ? Of course, I could go in there and back track all of them. See where they came in from. But, it's not exactly That important, is it? Just one of those things.

Either way, it's nice to see people :-)

Weird To Do With Rats .....

Now that I appear able to function, on line, again ..... Some nights ago, I was just giving the Dogs a last break and I couldn't help but notice how they all became gathered and preoccupied, over on the grass.

That's to say, they usually just content themselves with a piss on the gravel. But, this night they were all mingling about, in the dark, over by the back side of the cottage. Not that I read too much into it. Just sort of struck me that this wasn't their usual routine.

Another little 'Back of the Minder' is the hole, up by my post box. You wouldn't know it was there. I do. I know because I found Pat with his arm down it one day. Doing something with a spanner. There's something to do with water pipes, in there. Governing one of Pat's cattle troughs, I imagine. Doesn't concern me. Been concerning the Dogs of late though.

For a few days past now, on our daily wander up there, all the Dogs have been 'Marking' that pipe hole. There's a rock on top of it. And the pipe inside comes under the road, from the ditch opposite. So does some rather foul smelling water. But, it's never attracted my Dogs before. I'm thinking Mink.

Fact that, a couple of days ago, le Ding went under the fence at the hedge below this hole. Had a sniff around and said; " Look, Dad! Shit! ". And so there was. It looked a lot like mink shit too. Frankly, a bit too damn fresh for me to want to go touching it and sniffing it! I had other things to get on with anyway.

And, perhaps that was the night the Dogs behaved funny. Messing around on the far side of the grass. Towards my ditch?

What ever. Next day, out we all came. I was heading for my ditch and, as always, scanning the ground for land mines, laid by the Dogs as I got the kettle on. That's how I found the rat. Good, full grown one. It was stretched out on the grass in such a way that it had obviously died whilst running flat out. Most unusual.

It had been running from my little wood bunker too. I knew they were back in there ~ Dogs had told me that too. Simply too rushed off my feet to bother just yet. And, right then, I had other things on my mind too. I slung the rat into my compost box, as I passed by into my ditch.

Minutes later, more relaxed, I re emerged and walked back the way I'd come. And there's this fucking rat again! I turned round to Nigger and asked him how in hell he'd managed to get into my compost box. Never mind. I slung the damn thing back in there. Right on top of the Other One!

This was getting 'noticeable'. I was pondering all this as I went to the kitchen sink. And that's when my morning fresh, pre fag nose picked up that old, familiar scent again! Oh, for fuck sake ~ Not Again?!

I very gingerly eased the drawer open and peeked in. Lifted the papers ..... Nuffn! Thank fuck for that then! So, what was going on here? Then I remembered the trap. I'd long since set a rat trap in the cupboard under the sink. I'd seen how rats had got in there, using my wood bunker for cover. Dear god ..... I slid the door open.

Bingo!

And that's how I came to find I had Three dead rats in my compost box that morning.

Hat Trick!

The only thing still bugging me now is; It seems as though one or other of the Dogs likely caught and killed the two outside. Orange Dog is certainly more than capable, and she has quite the obsession with rodents too.

Perhaps le Ding scored one? I've never known him show much interest in rats before. But, given one streaking past him in the middle of the night? How could he refuse?!

But, here's the kicker; What the fuck were Two, fully grown and perfectly fit, rats doing, running the gauntlet of three Dogs like that?! What ever possessed them to break out of my wood bunker, simultaneously, and make a blind dash across open ground full of Dogs?

Can't help thinking about that mink. Less than two hundred yards away, moving among all these inter connected ditches .....

I'm Having A Voda Shit Just Now!

Fucking ~ so called ~ " Vodafone 3G Broadband " ? Even I'm at a loss for expletives to sum up my utter contempt for these bastards!

Bottom line is; I can barely open a fucking page, on line, anywhere! This applies to midday, midnight, now; 04:00 in the fucking morning! My 'Speed', having almost immediately having been capped at 236.8 kbs ~ once the cunts realised I wasn't some 'Businessman' who'd only be using his modem in fucking airport lounges, for less than an hour a week ~ has now been showing a signal strength of TWO 'Bars' (Out of a potential of Seven!) for days now! My normal is five.

So, I'm tending to get work done around here. Read the odd chapter of a book ~ as I 4 - 0 fucking 4 all over the place. Occasionally glancing up, or wandering into the room, to click " Try Again ". Bastards!

For fuck sake, peeps, get the word out there! Avoid 'Vodafone 3G' Like The Plague! In fact, I'd say steer well clear of fuck all else they come up with. They truly are a company going down the pan, on the backs of their customer base. They're just figuring new ways to screw ye. Promoting their shit with 'Life Style' colour photo rich brochures of bright, young people you'd like to screw. Bastards.

That aside? I have Dogs, rats, guns, magpies and christ knows what else to tell ye about. Just can't be arsed right now, whilst I can't get a photo up or even rely on This fucking post making it!

Christ, I'm pissed off with this poxy fucking 'Connection'!

Japan's Been In .....

Almost as good as Australia too, with his " Just Fucking Rifles ". Remember that?

And I back tracked on Japan too. Eager to know what brought them here. Only, I was a bit perplexed at first. Then, I read down the Google links a bit till I found the link to here. Then the laughter started!

I wonder if this was another example of some nutter at Google having a wry sense of humour? Just bear in mind how we, in the west, tend to mimic Japanese pronunciations ..... Japan found us via Here!

Here he is, on my map. Lower, far right hand corner? That's our friend in Okinawa!

Caught A Fuck Of A Magpie Today!

I mean, seriously! This fukka's a Beast!

I've been dimly aware of one 'in the area' for a week or so now. It's seemed to prefer Pat's lower top field. End of my track and towards the river. Between there and the big Ash.

Though Dean O' and I spotted one coming up my back hedge, last Sunday. What ever. I might have glimpsed it once before now, round my aviary. But I know my bird gets agitated when it's around.

Today then, I'm working away here when I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. Spun round and, yeppers; Wild magpie at the door end of the aviary. I actually sent a note to the Bird Track peeps, to say it was on my land and targeted for " Taking Into Custody ". We log shit to the passing hour there. So I logged that at 15:00.

Got back to work. 17:00, I fed the Dogs and horses. That done, I decided to fetch the Larsen Trap down off my porch and set it to work. Then I carried on in here.

Couple of minutes to 18:00 and something else has distracted me. Like; I had the fucker! Great. Told the Dogs to stay out of it and went out there. I shifted the trap round, as I'd previously worked out I'd have to, to give me freedom of movement while reaching in there and catching the bird. Then I slipped my arm in and started trying to grasp the bastard.

Jesus fucking christ! It was like getting hold of a Gyr Falcon! As soon as my hand closed round this bugger, I knew he was big. Then I felt the muscles which were making him so big. Then I felt the sheer bloody force of the bastard! This was a magpie on steroids!

Told him so. Said, " You're a big bastard, aren't ye? Now; In there ye go. " And into the aviary he went.

Checking the grub situation, I figured I'd sling a last bit in there. In fact, I slung a fair old lump of minced beef in. Then sat in here and observed.

Dear god! That fucker didn't hang about either! He picked up a lump the size of a good sized mouse and popped about with it. I thought he'd choke himself. Finally got that down the neck and went back for More! I'm like sat here goggle eyed, just watching the bastard packing it away. I'm thinking, " Hey! I have to Pay for that, ye cunt! " Never seen a bird eat like it in my life!

Anyway, there we are. Now I have what I'd certainly take to be a gendered pair. Hulking great male and a lesser female. Let's see how these two get on in an 8 x 6 x 4' aviary.

" Grow Your Penis ....."

Just found one in my Spam trap; " Grow Your Penis Three Inches Longer And Thicker. Girls Will Love You. "

Frankly, I couldn't help but thinking; Any girl who'd come any where near my minging penis, I don't think I'd want anything to do with in the first place! What a dirty fucking slapper That would have to be!

My thought for the day, any way .....

" Nice Try, Karl Marx ....! "

And, if ye don't remember where That one comes from? Ye weren't watching the original run of Monty Python! It's been a personal catch phrase of mine for longer than I care to remember.

Anyway; That's what I was left saying to myself today. As I watched Chain Dog laying happily in her bed. Inside her cage. In my living room. I'd tried.

Rewind about a month or so ago now. Dean O' and I were just pulling into his yard when I said, " Ye know what you need? Ye need one of those long, thick bolts, with a good, solid ring at the end. Like we hang gates on. Mm. "

When, knowing me as he does now, Dean cautiously replied, " Uh huh. Why? ". I breezily continued; " So ye can cement it into the wall of ye shed there. And put Chain Dog on it. ".

Knowing Dean O' as I do now, I was quite satisfied to hear his response of, " Oh. ". That told me my idea hadn't landed on a sheet of armoured glass. I left it there. To settle.

Well, that was probably more like six weeks ago now. I've been insidiously working on Dean's mind ever since. Massaging it. Soothing it. Whispering to it. Nurturing the idea .....

And, last night, after he'd finished fitting my new kitchen sink unit and was ready to go home, I lightly suggested; " Why not take Chain Dog? ". And he did.

It wasn't without a hitch. Dean's a strong, young buck. Less than half my age and damn near twice my size. But he simply has no experience of 'real' Dogs. Thus, I noticed how Chain was easily able to yank him around ~ literally. She took me by surprise, in the early days. Had me clean off my feet and dragged me across half the compound, on my face! She's a tank alright!

But, it's all down to ye own stance and how ye move yeself. Reading the Dogs next idea before it becomes manifest. I could see I'd have to give Dean 'O some lessons there. For now though, I just picked her up and put her into the back of his van. With her bed and water bowl. It was the bed that did it. Once she saw that in there, she knew where to be. And off they went.

I figured Chain Dog needs a better life. A Life! Hell, she's in that damn cage, 24 / 7. I take her out to empty herself once a day. Less than ten minutes a day. Then it's, " In ye bed! ". And she bounces back into that damn cage, bum stump wagging. Happy as Larry. Crazy fuckin' Dog!

It's doing My head in. I figured it must be doing Her head in. So, I hatched plans to give her a better life. Two of them. One fell flat. Then I realised how well she might get on with Dean 'O.

He came up on Yahoo Instant Messenger Service last night. Said he was home and everything was fine. That meant he'd managed to get her out of the van and safely indoors ok. For the next hour or two he was showing as still on line. I tried to relax. Then he logged off and I had fond imaginings of where Chain Dog would decide to sleep that night. In her bed? Or in Dean's? What ever.

Today, I got up. Had a smoke and a cuppa. Opened my front door and let the Dogs rip. Just like that. I called them together and opened the gate. Off we went, for our daily stroll.

I felt born again. No chaining one Dog. Locking another in a room. Locking two in another room. Unlocking Chain's cage. Taking her out ~ mind the horses. The bird. The other Dog. Bringing her back in. Locking her cage. Giving her her treat. Listening to her explode as she knew I was going to release the other Dogs. Shutting the door on her. Unlocking the other door. Then the other. Calling the Dogs together. Opening the gate .....

We came back and le Ding rushed straight in here, looking for her. Empty cage. Door wide open. Dean 'O coming up on YIMS .....

She'd been trying to eat her way through his door. He didn't know what to do. Obviously, I told him to load her up and fetch her back. And, inside twenty minutes, there she was. Back in her bed. Inside her cage. In my living room.

There. That was her then. Fucking great huge snore / sigh of absolute contentment. FFS. She's home and happy again.

Dog's institutionalised. I know about this shit. I spent long enough in the nut house that I've experienced, first hand, how it gets to ye. As Bowie put it;

" I'd rather stay here, with all the Madmen,
Than perish with the Sad men roaming free.
And I'd rather play here, with all the Madmen.
For I'm quite content; They're all as sane as me! "

Remember that one? Check it out on the Tube.

Looks like she's staying. Her in her cage. Me in my daily cycle of wishing there was a life for either of us. But, ye see? I played it right. Dean 'O couldn't handle her. Now she's back here and safe. No way is this Dog ever disappearing into 'The System'. Last person who couldn't handle her sold her to someone else who couldn't handle her. And That person called me out to Shoot her!

Oh well. Time to get thinking, again. Maybe, if I can find a muzzle 'guaranteed not to come off' ~ like what they use when training Personal Protection Dogs ..... Build her a weather proof kennel ..... Chain line running between my two gates ..... Lock the others in here with me, few hours a day ~ as they normally are anyway ..........

Know what? I like the way I'm thinking ....!

Well; I've Finally Seen .....

" Snatch ". What can I say? Yeppers; Brilliant film. I love that 'freeze frame on a frozen expression ' form of direction. I'm now totally at home with Brad Pitt ~ it's that other lemon that gets on my nerves. What's his bloody name now? Sean Penn! Can't stand him. Tries to pull off every facial expression Bob de Nero uses; All five of them!

Anyway, as the last guy over fifteen years of age not to have seen it; I have now. You all have, so I won't bore ye with my opinion. Nor do I fancy myself as a film critic. Just to say that, when the Dog ate that toy? I was in fuckin' tears! I think it about hit me then, that this was meant to be a hilariously funny film; And it had just become one.

In fact, I think the Dog was my favourite character! When they were all in that room together, just before / after the diamond vanished, and the Dog got excited and started jumping about, biting everyone ..... I'm laughing like a cunt now, just thinking of it! :D Just So sums up what I like in a Dog! Bless him!

All in all? Bloody good film. One I'd be more than happy to see a second time round. And it also confirmed my own, strong suspicion; That it was the root source of so many long since pronounced fucking Brain Dead's coming out of the wood work to utter, " Do ye like Dags? ", every time Gypsys are mentioned!

In fact, just to clear something up here, before I go: What Brad and the boys were 'speaking' in that film was not " Gypsy ", " Pikey ", " Irish 'Pikey' " or anything else remotely related. Ok? English Gypsys speak a mixture of every day words, mixed together with some Romany words.

Granted, they may mumble it, in your presence. They may actually have broad accents from their home county. They may also tend to speak so damn fast ye couldn't catch half of it, no matter what. But, That wasn't it.

Irish Gypsys speak a form of Gaelic which you and I would find incomprehensible, regardless. " Mickey " and his mates weren't speaking anything like Gaelic.

No. Just as I once saw on an old episode of " The Sweeney ", when Regan and Carter tried to interrogate some english Gypsys; The guys portraying the Gypsys just spoke utter, ad libbed bollocks! It was fascinating to listen to! LOL!

I'm quite sure " Snatch " used an Irish based 'accent' and they had to each have a clue what the other was saying, because they so often repeated it in unison. But, it was Still bollocks. Not 'Gypsy Language' ;-)

Stereotypical Greek Guys ....!

I pissed my self when I sorted this out! Is that entire fucking nations male population out to perpetuate the stereotype? Or are they simply, Really all just queer as a bottle of chips? FFS.

See; I just knocked off the bit about my hearing aid, below there. Then, as I was glancing over it, checking it, a new colour on my little 'Country Counter' there caught my eye. I watched it scroll up and was amazed to see it says 'Greece. Three Visits.'

So, I'm like thinking; 'Hang about. Three visits? Is this some guy who's found us and has an interest? Or has one bloke just shown his two mates the link and They've looked in? And, anyway; What the fuck do I say that could interest a Greek? I mean, what do they Do out there? (Apart from what they're probably best known for ~ And I sure as hell don't talk about That on here!)

So, I fucked off to my StatCounter site for a more below the surface scratch. I checked my " Recent Visitors Map ". Sure enough, Greece was flagged as having been here. But only once. Just one pin pointer showing.

I clicked that, to see what it might tell me. Loads of shit pops up which, frankly, means nothing to me. But, I spot a live link to where this fucker found me from. Good old Google! I hit it ..... See for yeselves what this fucked up fukka was searching for, on Google, when he came up with This place in the top five! FFS!

Wrong fucking context, Carlos! I mean; Didn't anybody ever tell ye that " Builders Crack " is an abomination? Way you've been obviously searching the net for such is just plain Wrong!

I Could Hear A Pin Drop ....!

And it's just in, fucking, credible! I feel like a top predator! I can hear things now that you'd never be able to pick up. A motors door locking is the most amazing series of bangs and clunks. My own boots, on the gritted track, sound like glass being ground! It's almost trippy. My awareness of sound is so heightened. This must be more like how a fox experiences audio stimuli.

Yeppers. I picked up my Hearing Aid today :-) It's absolutely turned my existence around. To try to demonstrate the difference it's made for me; I walked into that girls office today and she was speaking to me. So, I'm sat there, hunched forward in my chair. Inclining my head. I'm really seriously fucking concentrating, because I'm being spoken to.

Without even realising it, I'm actually focusing more on her mouth than anything. It's like I'm trying to learn to lip read people, because I can barely hear what half of them say anyway. And she's showing me this tiny little device with a mangled, transparent plastic plug on it. This is my new Hearing Aid. That goes on there. This is the half pea sized battery. It goes in here, like this. This bit sets in ye ear. Try it at '2'. Half volume .....

And she put it in my ear. And the entire world leapt razor sharply into a whole new focus! I'm already exclaiming shit like " Oh, Wow! " and thanking her profusely. Fuck knows what she was saying. But it was coming over loud and clear! :D

Next thing ye know, I'm lounging back in my chair ~ almost sprawling with relaxed, laid backness. And I'm looking at her Eyes and face as we exchange a few words about Pink Floyd. It was the first time since I can remember that I was able to relax and chat with anyone without a strong voice.

Then I stepped out into the world. Crisp, crackling gravel under foot. Some bloke locked his car door, to a superbly orchestrated symphony of bangs, clunks and clicks. That was just wonderful! I almost felt like asking him to unlock it again, just so I could listen! LOL!

Then it was back to town. No Way was I going home just yet, sitting here listening to nothing. I just Had To hit town and Talk to people.

And one of the first people I spoke to was my dear mate, Hugh Logan. My Butcher. Hugh and I have long shared our mutual joke that we're each death as a fucking post. I frankly stating that I am. Hugh always blaming his band saw, mincing machine, freezer ..... Hell, Hugh even blames the electrical hum of his fucking scales!

And, as we're bantering away there, I'm watching Hugh ~ Not just his lips. And I'm seeing it: That slight tilt of the head. That hint of squint about his eyes. The slightest pursing of his lips. He's actually trying like all fucking hell to keep up with what exactly I'm saying. He was trying to learn to lip read me.

What can ye do, people? I told him how simple and straightforward it was for me. I implored him to pop over to the doctors and get that ball rolling for himself. I know what it's like, for him. I also now know what it Can be like, to be fresh again. To hear how I'm Not walking like a Ninja, in my heavy, size eleven boots. To hear rain drops spattering on the brim of my hat. To sit in a taxi and Enjoy the craic with the driver; Without leaning round to the back seat and yelling, " Eh? "

Ye don't need to go there, peeps. Ye don't need to live like that. Just tell them and they can sort ye out.

Hear what I'm saying ....?