Quick word about comments ...
Comments here are 'moderated'. In as much that I have to physically see them and wave them through once you hit Send.
So, if ye write a Comment. Post it. Don't see it? No worries. It's just sitting there, waiting for me to come online and find it in my email. I click and your words appear here.
Please don't post it several times. Get frustrated and storm off, never to be seen again. It's just a measure I was forced to put into place by doxxers, spammers and other, mentally unstable's.
I mean, there's fuck all else to talk about right now. Because of the weather! It's 'The Barren Time' alright. Days are short, hurried and largely just taken up with the usual chores. In fact, it can now be a job in itself to even get all the basic chores done before dark. Today I actually left a small barrow load of shit in the horses pen. Light was going so fast, I'd have been slinging it on the heap in the dark. No point.
And, with the shortening days, we've had the rains ~ naturally. The rains are never far from us here. Not that they've ever particularly effected me, I'm happy to say. The people who built my cottage chose their spot well. The rains come. They pour down from the mountain. They surge down the ditches and swell The Styx far below me.
That, in turn ~ this year at least ~ over spills and floods out the basin of land I sit on the side of. Here's the result. None of the water ye see below has any right being there. All that land I used to traverse in ankle boots. When it's like this? I wouldn't venture out there in rubber boots. Miss a fence and I could vanish into The Styx for ever!
Nigger, bottom right there, would be kicking up water spray on my Home Acre. Cross the deep, dry ditch beneath him and he'd be into Pat's land proper. Over the dark, central band marked by the tree is what I refer to as " The bog ". Pat's lower ground that runs down to The Styx. He used to run his cattle on that. Right now he'd Swim or Wallow them there.
The adjoining part of (part of) Pat's land. Same story. I pursued a rutting Red Stag around the centre right area of this shot, a season or two back. I barely even got the soles of my boots wet. Now? I'd be wading.
Not a complaint. Just wanted to show ye what can happen round here. And I would say 'We're used to it.' Only, we're not. That's to say; I can accept it. Because it doesn't impinge on me. I live up where the shots were taken from. My ground's sodden. Not under feet of water. And, I've only been here less than four years now. I 'know no different'. Likes of Pat, born and bred here, are gutted. They've never known the likes.
Can't help thinking though; If this were england? How long before some well connected shit head Property Developer with friends in the council and the building industry came along and made Pat an offer he'd be stupid to refuse? Then a whole new estate of 'des res' little properties would spring up down there.
And people would buy them. To 'escape to the countryside'. And then the rains would come .....
Cracks me up, a lot of the time, this Dog. He just 'Does Things'. Most often, it's to do with his insinuating nature.
He does very little overtly and in a direct manner. He'd far sooner do anything 'casually'. Like, " Oh! There you are. And here was me, just happening to be sliding my head in here beside ye. Just, err ..... Just looking under this work station, really. By ye left hand. Which doesn't appear, now I actually notice it, to be doing anything much ..... Noticed my ears lately ....? " That's how le Ding will 'ask' for his ears to be fondled. Only, last night, I caught him bang to rights. He'd been laying on my bed ~ for a change. Stove must've gotten so hot he'd decided to forsake that, most favoured of positions. And, there he was. Lounging peacefully.
I'd just got a new DVD and decided to have a crafty look at it. The big screen sparking up, even the introductory credits had no effect on le Dingo. But, as soon as the film started? Simply too much for even him.
He gave up all pretence of disinterest and settled down to 'Watch With Dad' ..... Crazy fucking Dog! :D
Story I heard from Hugh, my Butcher, today .....
So, this old guy came home one night. He's in his eighties. Lives in a cottage much like my own. Isolated as all fuck. No one else around. Only, he has a wife.
But, the wife's away somewhere on this night. so, before going out alone the guy's locked up the property.
Gets home, about 01:00 in the morning. Gets out of the motor. It's a moonless and so pitch black night, just like we've had here, last couple of nights back. Couldn't see his hand in front of his face. And it's about February, so it's fucking Freezing cold out there.
Drops his door keys!
Can't see the ground he's stumbling around on, never mind the fucking keys. Scrabbles about endlessly. Nuff'n!
Nearest neighbour is way away. He'd likely break his neck in a ditch if he tried to grope his way there. If they were in? They might well have took him as an intruder ..... Guy couldn't work out how to use the mobile phone he had. Even if it had any juice. He just took the rare call on it.
He was a bit 'Portly' as well as being in his eighties. While he may have managed to break a small window on his cottage; No way would he be able to pour himself through it and remain in good order on the other side.
Nothing else for it. He got back into his motor and sat there, all night. No keys, remember. So he couldn't start the engine / heater. Couldn't drive back to where he'd been, to ask for help. Just fucking sat there, and half froze to death, till morning.
He spent two weeks in hospital. Recovering from hypothermia.
He'd managed to kick his keys under the motor.
Must be a moral in there, somewhere.
True! We really have had Budapest dropping by! And, at this point, it's customary for me to show ye the little pointer in the map cribbed from my Stat Counter page ..... Only, frankly? I just can't be bollocksed.
PhotoBucket and my own lack of meaningful, on board cropping software means the best I could produce here would be a blurred image. Fuck it. I give up. Been trying for almost an hour and I really have better things to be doing.
But, just so's we can all keep track of my little Country Counter, on the left? Yeppers. I Do have independent confirmation that Hungary has been here ;-)
How to keep Magpies in an aviary.
Please excuse / ignore this one, if ye not interested. I'm prompted to jot it down simply because of the number of people finding their way here, through Google, looking for advice on how to keep magpies.
More people keeping them in aviaries the better. They can't do much harm there. They enjoy captivity ~ if treated right. They're interesting and engaging creatures. It's a win, win, win situation.
Ok. Ye want to keep a magpie or two, for what ever reason? Cool. I have done, for some time now. I started off by catching them in a Larsen Trap. and I'd kill the old one, every time I caught a fresh one.
Only, I realised how, once the fresh ones stopped turning up, the last one would live about a week or so, in the decoy cage. As long as I kept it watered and fed it tinned Dog food. Everyone I spoke to echoed similar experiences. Everyone fed their 'Call Birds' tinned food. No one kept their birds long.
Having decided to try and break the mould, first thing I did was start offering my birds a better diet. I gave one a piece of raw, human grade lambs flesh. And that's how I discovered a magpie will exert so much effort on trying to peck a meal out of such flesh, he'll use up the energy he gains from what little he manages to consume.
Lumps of flesh are no good. Canned pet food is so full of shit, it's little wonder it kills things that eat it.
So, I started trying my birds on fresh, human grade, minced beef. Straight from the counter of my local butcher. Not 'Pet Mince'. Some shit out of the bin, minced. My birds get top quality minced beef. No added salt or other preservatives. Just dead cow. And started living for months in the Larsen Trap.
But, only months. And it was always a relief to see they'd made it through another night and were still in some sort of condition. But, I did note how their condition declined. Tails got rubbed out. Feathers got shabby. Birds became depressed. They just survived, till it all got too much and they gave up.
It actually rather hurt me that, due to lousy service, I was long promising my oldest captive, " Peck, Peck ", a whole new life. His condition was falling away. Shabbier plumage. Thinner body. Visibly weakening. Poor soul keeled over within about forty eight hours of being released into the new Eight foot long, Four foot wide, six foot high, steel framed aviary I bought for him and his more recently caught neighbour. Damn aviary took so long to get here.
But, his erstwhile mate made it. She watched him go and carried on. And she's still out there, in great condition. She actually managed to injure her own leg, within days. I thought I'd lose her as she had to lay down on landing. But, she pulled through. Her leg mended and now I call her " Peg, Peg ", in memory.
Peggie has a new mate. Glorious male specimen I trapped when he came a calling. He settled down admirably within a week. Peg is now so tame, she comes and sits right up by the door when I come to feed them. I could get her feeding out of my hand with a weeks training. But, I have better things to do with my time. I just drop their handful of minced beef on the floor for them.
The mesh is 1" x 1/2". The frame is steel, because magpies, I've found, will peck, peck at timber. They'd reduce a timber frame to a potential disaster in amazingly little time ~ be warned!
They have the expected few branches and bits of foliage, for their amusement and my eye. Most of all, they have a top corner, sheltered from the prevailing winds and rains, by a pair of perspex sheets. 17" long and 10" high. (I'd now consider that the absolute minimum for a pair. Bigger would be better, by far) Above these corner baffles is a sheet of clear perspex about two feet square. They roost in that corner.
Oh; And they Love a bath. Be sure to provide them with a water bowl they can safely get into and have a good thrash about in. Something like a Dog bowl would do, only it'll need constant refilling in the better weather.
My pair eat 3Ilb of minced beef a week. Attending to them is as much a part of my daily routine as my Dogs and horses. Their aviary cost me about £550, delivered into Eire. I couldn't have had one built for less.
Just some things to consider about these intelligent, interesting and rewarding birds, in captivity. Want to know anything more? Just contact me.
Alright. With respect to those who genuinely are Starving .....
But, I couldn't half do with some munchies! It's the bloody snus, see? Smoking fags is famous for it. People even use it as an excuse not to try and give up. I never have. Because I've never needed an excuse not to try giving up. I just smoked because I liked doing it. And because Not doing it caused me immeasurable misery and stress.
I have one of these 'metabolism's', or what ever it is, see? Eat like a fucking horse and not gain a pound in weight through a year of it. So, I can eat what I like. When I like. Not a cellophane rat in hells chance of me becoming a bloated, ex smoker. Just not an issue, with me.
Nor is it the issue here. I'm just So Fucking Hungry!!! LOL! Christ; I had my usual dinner tonight. Only a few hours ago, in fact! And I started feeling peckish over an hour ago. Now I'm genuinely sitting here, thinking about the Tosco 24 Hour, over in the big town. It'll cost me £30 to get there and back. But, by fuck; There Be Munchies!
02:30. It's getting hard to resist. I could ransack the place for all manner or late night snackettes. Probably find things there I simply can't get locally. Bring in a store of things to attack, when the pangs of appetite attack me. As they will. I had this last night too, but tried to ignore it.
I've actively smoked a fag, before now, just to stave off hunger. Works too. Smoking a fag can be like having a sandwich. Quells the rumblings. Only, while I've just looked and seen I have some baccy stuck away there? I'm simply not interested in it. I'd as soon eat sticks and grass to solve this problem.
Fuck it. 'Saturday Night', isn't it? Taxi's round here tend to work till around 04:00 tonight. I'll see what happens.
Trouble is though; It'll all happen again tomorrow night. And the night after! I'm developing a proper appetite. I'll be needing to eat something before my customary, once a day, late in the day meal next!
Shit. Eggs are good. Scotch Eggs. Very filling. I've been discussing pickling eggs, on Jims lately. All this fucking snus. It's been creeping up on me. A natural level of appetite.
Jesus christ; I'm SO thinking of calling a taxi ....!
Nick and Johnny ~ Strong (Portion) lived up to expectations! Comparable to my, so far, favourite of all time, which is General (Portion).
N&J has a less pronounced tobacco taste. It just lacks a certain 'In Ye Face' quality I find from General. But, so far? General and N&J ~ Strong are Ditch's Top Two! These are the ones I take out with me.Phantom Brown (White Portion) ? Not one I'll be buying again. It's just not for me. It's got a 'Fruity' flavour to it, without the citrus. What it has instead though is the 'Opal Fruit' factor. My mouth was running with saliva. So much so that I felt I was trying to drink this thing!
It also lacked 'Power', for me. Didn't give me that all encompassing 'Tobacconess' that I ~ a strong smoker of forty years now ~ yet require. Fruity tasting. 'Wet' in the mouth. Mild in apparent nicotine rush. For you? Maybe. Not for me. I've given that tub to Dean 'O. He thought it quite ok. We'll see how he gets on.
Now, I actually got called away in the middle of all that. It's been a couple of days since and I've thus got a little bit more experience under my belt ..... Or should I say Lip?! :D
Granit (Maxi Portion) is one I've had a few hits of now. Not sure why they call it 'maxi'. The portion bag's the same as usual. The nico' hit doesn't seem tremendous, to me, either. In fact, this is what I'd currently consider a middle of the road, tobacco tasting snus. I.e It's not got any noticeably added, 'artificial' flavours ~ no citrus or what ever. But it's not strong in what it Does have. And what it does have then is a mild taste of tobacco.
One I'll probably try to keep a tub of around the place though. Could be a better day starter than N&J. It's likely also one I'd offer to a tailor made smoker, as a first try at snus. If they liked the flavour but, perhaps thought a bit more kick might be up their street? Then I feel I'd happily enough let them sample Nick and Johnny (Strong) next.
It's here!
My first, very own, hand picked selection of Swedish Snus! I've even bought a small selection of the loose stuff to try out too.
Experts roll the loose, very moist powder into a little pellet which the Swedes call a " Pliss ". That means a 'Pinch', apparently. Well, so they might. But I know it took me years to master skinning up a perfect roll up and I wasn't prepared to go through all that again. So I bought the sweet little tool that cuts and forms ye a perfect portion in a second.
It looks like a little syringe, to be honest with ye. Only, where a needle would go, there's just the blunt end of the plunger. Ye pull the plunger back the calibrated distance ye require the dose to be of and just stick it into the snus. Push the plunger down and out pops a perfectly formed little pellet. Easy as that.
I have one in as I type. " Gottlandssnus ~ Anis ", Loose. Pellet's holding together perfectly well, despite me having it under my bottom lip (Top's traditional. But, I have no top teeth) and I'm drinking tea. Good as gold.
Taste, from this one, is a little disappointing, as yet. No where near as strongly Aniseed flavoured as I'd have liked. But then, I'm now directly comparing this to the " Thunder ~ Frosted Spearmint " Portion I just had. ('Portion' snus comes in tiny little tea bag like envelopes. Just pop one in and enjoy, straight from the tub.
The Thunder hit home like a spearmint felling axe! It must be said. Though I didn't find the nicotine hit off it as strong and satisfying as I had earlier done with my first love, " General " Portion. Now, That's the one Id encourage Any 'real' smoker to try first! I really feel that that's a Bench Mark snus.
Strong, tobacco flavour right off. Good, satisfying saltiness to it. It may scare the less Tobacco orientated, for the initial minute after it goes in. But then it settles down to become simply the best thing since a cigarette. Then, in a day or so? It becomes a smoke!
*** My mate, Adm says of the Thunder:
" Here's my take on Thunder Frosted Extra Strong Portion;
I personally never thought I'd be a fan of "flavoured" snus, but I
bought a can of this to try anyway. It's a mint flavoured snus, extra
strong on the nicotine and is actually Norwegian and not Swedish.
The blurb says it has 16mg nicotine per portion, which is a LOT - by
comparison, Claq Qui has 13mg and that's a strong snus already.The
portion material is really soft and comfortable, and the portions
themselves seem a lot moister than many "regular" portions. Especially
good if it's been in the fridge as it feels extremely nice going into
your mouth.
The mint taste is quite strong and definitely gives a superb fresh and
cooling hit at first. It's more like a cross between spearmint and
wintergreen as it has a cool freshness, plus a sweetness that doesn't
quite overpower the tobacco flavour, but certainly gives it a run for
the money. I thought the mint flavour would wear off quickly, but it
seems to be a stayer, just mellowing out after a while. This portion
that I'm working on now has been in for 90 minutes or so and is still
giving out goodly amount of flavour.
Lots of nicotine in this! I can really feel it coursing through my veins, so
it's probably not a "beginner" snus if you don;t already have a
nicotine habit. If you do though, and don't like the idea of the more
"pure" tobacco snusses, then this would be a good one to try as the
mint taste is really quite enjoyable.
Definitely something a bit different. Although I probably wouldn't use this as an
everyday snus, I'll certainly order it again. I might even be tempted
to try their "berry blast" snus as well.....
My only negative to this snus is that it's not a good one to use while
drinking beer or tea as the mint flavour clashes with those.....you
probably shouldn't eat with it in either for similar reasons. And just
because that's a pretty disgusting thing to do anyway. "
I've edited that in as Adm and I are both bang at the snus and I figured it'd be good to get more than just my own opinions and descriptions of what we try. Watch out for more of Adm's comparative reviews later on too ;-)
Oh yeah. Now this Gotlandssnus Anis is starting to work a bit more. I'm definitely breathing aniseed out my nose now! Lacks a certain purity of taste. But these things can take more than five minutes to grow on one. I've seen many people report that. One seldom chucks a tub after one try.
Unless that is, of course, like Dean O' and I, ye try something like the " Skruf " we both tried to trial earlier. That's one of the 'Citrus' flavoured ones. Me? I dislike citrus anything. One taste and I was like, " Blurrrgh! " and had to get it out. Dean persevered. In fact, he lasted days on it. But then, even he had to admit it was just too 'acidic' on the lip and he wont be bothering with that sort again.
Ok, finally ~ for now then ~ This pellet's giving off tiny particles and I'm spitting them off the tip of my tongue, much as one tends to do with stray bits of 'baccy from a roll up. I'm used to that, so it's not bothering me. Might you? Maybe I haven't got the knack yet?
As I do so though, the mouths natural sucking and swallowing reflex is certainly releasing more aniseed. But, again, it's not so pure and strong as I would've liked it.
What next? I don't think I can resist trying a " Nick and Johnny ~ Strong " Portion! And so many others here to try out over the coming days to! I'll let ye know what I think of them as we go along.
Meanwhile; In a rush for that Rush? Sort yeself out some " General " Portion, and throw those fuckin' fags in the bin! :D
It's not, really. That's just the first thing that came into my head as I dropped in here to show ye a few simple photo's.
See, it's absolutely fucking Vile, out there. It's cold. The wind's lashing. The rain's slashing. People in town are all making jokes around canoes.
And these are people born to it. Seen it all before. Don't need the reassurance of a shared mockery. Only, this is taking the piss, even by local standards.
I looked out, today, across Pat's fields. The very fields I trailed that Red Stag across, this time a year or two ago. Fuck me! I remember Pat wandering down towards the reed bed the Stag harboured in. Today he'd need a boat to cross that same field!
But, anyway; I'm home and indoors now. Came home from town. Fed my dogs and horses. Walked in here to check for e mail and the phone rang. Call out. Domestic rat job. Inside twenty minutes, I'm back in town, doing my thing. Happily, the client offered me a whiskey, after I'd done. Better still; It was Jameson! :D
Back home and I fetched a big bucket of Turf from my shed. This is the stuff you probably got taught, in an english school, that we burn on fires here. Only ye'd likely have been told it was " Peat ". You put Turf on ye back gardens, yeah? Peat ye dig into the flower beds surrounding the Lawn (laid as 'Turf').
Fuck all that. This is the turf we burn on our fires and in our stoves. It's raw, natural and cut out in rectangles. Then stacked in little piles, to dry, right where it's cut. No one comes and steals it, 'mind. We don't do that round here.
Turf
That's the natural stuff then. But, they also take it and process it ~ god knows how ~ and make it into what we call " Briquettes ". Clean, smooth, manageable things that we're supposed to cut into slices and blocks and use a ton of Fire Lighters to set fire to. Then, I guess, we're supposed to heap what ever we have on top of that little lot. What ever .....
Briquette
Ok. That one's a little dusty and shabby. Been hanging around on my kitchen floor for months now. I don't use a lot of this shit. Long since learned to start a fire in a bucket of water, without shit like this.
They have " BNM " embossed on top of them. Barely even partially visible in the shot there. That stands for 'Borda Na M.....' something or other. I think it's Irish for 'Fuel Board', or something?
Me? I like wood, when I have enough. Wood burns fierce ~ Ash is good. Hardwood could make the devil sweat! But it burns fast too. Turf isn't a bad fuel. Once it's got going, it burns on a par with decent wood.
Here's what I have going on tonight:
Contentment
Fuck what it's doing out there, eh?!
I really can't let the guy just slip off, stage left, without commenting on his passing.
Quite honestly, he was always one of my favourite actors. I'd as happily put my feet up tonight and watch Callan as I did back when it was on tv. " Lonely; When did you last have a bath, old son? "
Nicely understated, as befit the roles he played best. Now he's gone. Slipped away. Monday, 16th November.
Here's a glass to " Callan " .....
I had to run into town tonight. I found myself on my last legs regarding booze and baccy. My snus supply is due tomorrow. But, I can't say what time that might finally get here. I stay up late and smoke most at night. I didn't fancy smoking recycled in the morning.
And my keg of Coopers Stout is rock bottom. It clearly wasn't going to last me the night. besides which, the next keg only went in on the 15th. So, having had a week of Coopers, I'm now faced with two weeks on the Guinness, till That keg's barely ready to drink. Bad beer, and money down the drain then.
Now, yesterday, 16th, I put Two more 5 Gallon brews into Fermentation Vessels. (That's 'Big, White Plastic Buckets' to the uninitiated.) They'll be kegged and approachable in a few weeks now. More fucking Guinness I'll have to buy in the meanwhile ....! This, obviously, just isn't working.
I was explaining this to Tom as he drove me in tonight. Thinking as I was talking, as I do. And that talking / thinking it through led me to the solution.
Someone, on the beer forum, had long since mentioned my getting a fuck off great Fermentation Vessel. At the time, I'd agreed. But, then I got so busy I had no time for brewing and anyway, the doubt crept in; What if I fucked up the procedure and wound up with gallons and gallons of vinegar?!
Well, my recent hours in the kitchen, washing, rinsing, sanitising, rinsing and rinsing, refilling, making beer in a whole host of FV's and kegs changed my view. Fact is, I now realise, one can just as easily prepare one Huge FV as fuck about with two or three separate, smaller ones.
In fact, concentrating on one bigg'n would be a comparative piece of piss, compared with repeating such a monotonous procedure. Boredom leads to mistakes. That's how brews get ruined.
So, here's my plan: There's a guy in town, every Saturday. He sells 'Barrels'. Plastic ones. All sorts and sizes. Farmers use them for storage. Cut them in two for drinking troughs, all sorts. I'm going to see if he has a 25 Gallon, food quality one available. Such a 'FV' could easily hold Twenty Gallons of Coopers Stout. Enough to fill Four Kegs. And it'd still ferment out in about a week, same as five gallons would.
Do a single ferment. Twenty gallons. Fill four Kegs, inside about a week. Inside another week, get another 20 on. A week later, as the second FV of the Second 20 becomes ready to Keg, so I'd be able to start drinking the first of the first ferments beer. By the fourth week? I'd have drained the first of four Kegs. Three to go. Four more going onto the rack. I'd Finally be producing beer faster than I can possibly drink it.
That'd mean I'd be making a 'surplus' of beer. Beer which would be sitting around, waiting to be drunk. Get a Third FV on and I'd have Kegs gathering dust! That is as it should be. Purists reckon one shouldn't even look at a pint of Home Brew till it's been sat, 'conditioning', in the Keg for at least a month. I drink my Coopers Stout at two weeks, max. Economic necessity, on the one hand. It tastes simply fucking fantastic, even that young, on the other!
I need to sit down with a calculator and note pad here. Work out the exact and on going logistics of all this. I mean ..... What if I can get myself a Fifty Gallon FV? Knock out maybe 45 Gallons at a run! Fuck ....! That'd amount to One Days steady work. And over Two Months of superb Coopers Stout, costing me just cents a pint!
This needs looking into!
Anyone here into Steeleye Span ? Maybe one or two of the more mature readers may have, as I have, fond memories of Maddy Prior and the lads on stage. Either way, I'm sure Most of ye are familiar with their " Gaudete ". If not, I'd hope at least some bloody radio or tv station will bring it to ye in the coming weeks.
Anyway, I'm not really here to talk about dear old Steeleye'. They're just an introduction to another thought that popped into my head here. See, they also recorded a track called " The Black Freighter ". And the origins of that have haunted me for bloody decades now ~ untill just now, that is. We never had Google back in the 70's!
And That's where I get the title of this chat from. Because ye Don't! Here's the craic .....
Back in the day, in Portsmouth, I was a nightly visitor to a certain, family run Off Licence. The Proprietress was a lady, name of Lorna. Lorna probably had five to ten on me. But she also had a vague shadow of the Japanese look about her. Just something about her, looking back. And ~ again, pre pc days, I simply hadn't been exposed to the stomach tightening world of Japanese girls back then. So, I just knew that Lorna gave me the haunch!
Anyway, I digress ..... I was always in there, because Lorna, bless her, got on with me like a house on fire. Thus, knowing I was an alchy, and permanently skint, she allowed me an on going slate. I could pick up a bottle of 'White Lightening' and half ounce of 'Golden', then pay her off when I had it. Next night, I'd be back. No embarrassment. No old fashioned looks. Lorna knew she could always trust me.
Well, obviously, we chatted too. I'd hang around and chat with her for probably half an hour, most nights ~ at least until the urge to take my stuff off licence and get started over took me. And that's how I came to know ..... Was it Sid or Stan? I'm damn sure it was one or the other.
Let's go with 'Sid'. Sid, it would seem, was another bugger for the bottle. Older than me. He was a short, squat, toad like, sweaty and unkempt looking old guy. Red faced. Gray haired. He looked every bit the sort of bloke who shambled home to a grotty, dingy god knows where and settled down, in his squalor.
Perhaps he did? God knows. I never got to know Sid that well. But, as ye do, we came to be on nodding terms at least. And thus I picked up a hint or two about Sid, from my brother. I'd dabbled with Martial Arts in my time. My Bro' too was sniffing. Thus he heard about Sid and had told me.
That's why, during one chat with Lorna, I'd pointed out to her that the bloke she wanted round, should it ever kick off in her little side street Offy, was our Sid. " He'd fuckin' look after ye! ". I assured her.
Lorna was aghast. " What? Sid?! That stocky, shabby little bloke? He always just struck me as a ..... well ..... "
Yes. Me too. Only my Bro' had a Lot of respect for the guy. Lot of people did. And, having fell in with our Sid one night, as we both wandered back to our individual holes, to indulge our private needs, stopping off on our parting corner, Sid had a little moan to me:
" They want me to go back to Japan. They want me to take another fucking Dan Grading. This'd be my Eighth Dan ..... ". I tried not to thrust my own knuckles into my mouth. I'm thinking like; 'Jesus Wept! And you do Jiu Jitsu? Japanese Jiu Jitsu?! That's the Really Vicious shit. No fancy, flying kicks. You just Grind Meat and Bone!!! '.
For those of ye who don't know about this shit? " Black Belt ". Ye know That shit right enough, yeah? Well, a Black Belt comes with ye First " Dan " level grading. Ye belt gets 'Blacker', the more hideously dangerous ye become. First Dan 'Black Belt'? Nightmare for the common man. Second Dan? Even more lethal. And, there's only Ten fucking Dan's ye can take! Sid (or Stan) was being begged back to Japan, to take his Eighth ~ might have been Ninth. My memory .....
Scary. Half a dozen 'Chav' types, with their knives and broken bottles, ever blocked Sid's path, in a Portsmouth back alleyway? He'd just put them through the mincer. Moving steadily forward. Mangling. Destroying. Spitting out.
People should have more respect. " You never know to whom you're talking. ".
And that means All of ye. How touching. I've been wrapped up in a week or so of busyness and 'nothingness'. Ye know what it's like; Rushed off my feet just getting along. Slogging away at this. Chipping at that. Just nothing 'news worthy'.
Thus, I honestly haven't been able to come up with a shred of interesting stuff to talk about, for about a week now. And yet, being a tad bored right now, I took a glance at my Stat Counter, figuring that'd inspire me to mention how this place is running down ....? Not a bit of it!
Fuck me! Must be the nights drawing in, eh? I guess you poor bastards are feeling pretty much as I am? Wondering what to do with yeself as the days get so bloody short and the nights so long? Either way, if anything, ye visiting here more often, of late! Better try that bit harder to entertain ye then .....
Here's something: Derelict London.
Go take a nose about in there. Great site. Not quite an 'Urban Explorer'. This guy doesn't push his luck. He just wanders about London with his camera and doesn't nip over any fences. Still some brilliant and evocative shots though. I've spent a few whole nights in there. Give's ye an idea of what I get up to, when I'm not in here, see .....
Doesn't matter if ye not a Londoner either, by the way. I've barely been there a dozen times in my own life. Wouldn't know it from Adam! Still fascinating. Go get lost in the under belly of The Smoke for a bit.
Just Un Fucking Real!
I'm sat here, enjoying my penultimate 'Baggie' (" Portion ") of Snus. I have just one left in my tub. Shit. And, with that, I just poked a 25g pouch of Golden Virginia into my bod' warmer pocket. God help me if I found myself in town and without any Snus tomorrow!
Fact is? By tomorrow afternoon, I'll be smoking fags again. What a fucking Drag! I'm really, seriously pissed off about it. Back in the old routine. My energy levels will drop, again. I'll be furtively sneaking from shop to shop, place to place. Trying to suck sustenance from half a roll up, before clipping it and dashing around the next place on my itinerary.
Since 18:00, Friday, November 6th, this year I've tasted Freedom! Tomorrow I rejoin the herd. I'll have run out of Snus.
For now, anyway. Because, today, I put in an order for €50's worth! If that can get here by the weekend? Dean O' and I are in for a regular little Snus Fest! We'll be falling upon the wide and rich variety I've ordered and sampling as much as one can in an evening or so.
If not? I'll be Praying for the phone to ring on Monday ..... some guy from FedEx asking me where the hell I am!
Let me make this easy for ye, people: I've been a case hardened smoker for forty years. I'd sooner die that suffer the withdrawal symptoms of trying to 'Give Up'. (They say we're more addicted than Smack Addicts! What hope have we?!)
I smoke a gram of tobacco per hour. 25g pack, at €8.50 lasts me about 24 hours. Effectively? Two days.
Single tub of Snus, costing about €2.50, max', has lasted me Three and a Half Days.
I can't count. But, even I can see that's cheaper than shit!
On top of that, there's been this feeling of freedom. I go in pubs, travel in taxi's, eat my dinner, wander through shops. Never once bothered by the urge to get the fuck out and get one sparked up.
Best of all? I'll be back on the fags by the time ye read this. So what? Doesn't overly bother me. Just a passing inconvenience. Because my Snus supply will be here soon. I'll suss my favourites and order a rolling stock of those.
And, I now know; The moment I have another tub of Snus in my pocket? I can just breeze out that door and not even care about 'A Smoke'.
This is never fucking Real, is it?! I walked into my local, tonight, at 5.40pm. At 5.45, I crept out for a crafty fag, having just spent ten minutes in a taxi and ordered my pint etc. At 5.55 I was told my Snus had arrived! About 6.00pm, I popped this weird little tea bag like thing under my lip and offered the tub round.
None of my fellow smokers accepted a ..... I dunno. What do we call this shit? A 'Dose'? A 'Tab'? A 'Hit'? We really, as yet, have no common term for it. They call them " Portions " on the tub. But 'Portion'?! Ask a bloke in a pub if he fancies a Portion ....?! Fuck off!
Anyway; Dean 'O turned up ~ and refused to try it. We went about our business and went back to his place. I took my Snus out while I ate my kebab. Put it back in and drank my beer, as normal.
Around 8.00pm, I fancied a fresh Hit. I put the used one in the special compartment in the lid of my Snus tub and popped a fresh one under my lip. We sat and drank beer as we watched an excellent film.
By Ten O'Clock at night, Dean'O was aghast enough to want to try it. I gave him a hit of my General (Portion), and the poor guy virtually spat it out. This is one of the stronger 'Portions'. High Nicotine and Strong Taste of Tobacco.
Happily, I also had some " Skruf (Original White Portion) available. Much Milder in all departments. Apparently has a slight, lemony tang flavour to it? Dean 'O didn't spit that one out.
I left Dean's and am now home. Soon as I got in, just before 10.00pm, I popped my third General of the evening. I also served myself my customary Jameson Irish Whiskey. I'm sat here Enjoying the fuck out of both, as I type this report. The Snus in no way disturbs the taste of the Jameson. And ~ in case ye haven't registered this yet ....? I haven't smoked a fag in FOUR Fucking Hours!!!
I've eaten. I'm drinking alcohol. I'm relaxing and perfectly happy. I have Absolutely No Desire to skin a fag and put it in my mouth! Why the fuck Would I?!
I Don't Believe I just did that! I swear to god; I just hit for the next paragraph. Paused to think what to say next. My right hand lifted up and hovered, uncertainly, over my desk! I was looking for my 'baccy and skins! LMFAO! That's how much of a 'natural' smoker I am! I skin a fag virtually without conscious thought! I'd have skinned one then. Only, I don't actually Fancy one!
My friends and fellow, life long, full on Smokers? All of ye. Addicted or not; This is nothing short of Fucking Revolutionary!!!
I didn't get this stuff to try and kick smoking. I'm quite contentedly resigned to smoking. I Know it'll kill me ~ but, so will much else. I just wanted to try this 'for the craic'. Another novelty. 'Games that men play'.
I'm absolutely fucking astounded at the effect it's having on me! Nothing 'should' make a life long, Heavy Smoker feel this way! It can't be physically possible. Our governments Must know about Snus, obviously. They Beg us, nay; FORCE us to give up smoking ~ or Pay!
So; How come this shit Isn't available in the shops? It's At Least half the price of 'Tobacco', as we know it. It has absolutely Zero effect on those around us, just Looking For a reason to bleat! I don't breath this shit on anyone. It doesn't sting their eyes. It doesn't obscure their view. I don't smell of it.
Fuck me; Unless they want to put their Tongue in my mouth ....?! It's about as bad for our health as yellowy coloured stuff on our sandwiches ~ probably less so, judging by the findings of " The Leitrim Experiment ".
Yet, it's not Allowed to be sold, retail, Anywhere in the EC, except Sweden and Norway. Ye see absolutely No mention of it amongst the plethora of govt. 'Give It Up' sites. No Way is ye GP going to know about it. " Talk to (Fill space with some NHS / Govt Dept) About Giving Up Smoking " ?
No! Fire up ye fucking computer and check out The Northerner. There be the gear. Take ye picks. It's perfectly straightforward and legal to buy it, from them or any other Swedish or Norwegian source, for ye own use. 'Thank You, Brussels!'.
11.35pm. I haven't smoked a fag since 6.00pm. I see no reason to. I feel fine, thanks.
Fuck this; I'm getting me a stock of Snus!
Let's spread the word;
Here's the Revolution!
This, gentlemen, is what it's All About. Fantastic, isn't it? This is how a Man can live. Unfettered from 'A Woman's Touch'. No kids to worry about. Fuck what any passing visitor, let alone the neighbours, think.
I just wandered out there, to get a beer. Surveyed the scene before me. And thought; " ". Yes! This is Freedom!
Am I right? Or am I right? :D
Chuffed as fuck with this, I am!
That's for my kitchen. Just as a place to burn off my paper and cardboard. Cracker, isn't it? Hot Plate covered hole on the top, for filling and fire lighting. Little trap door and vent, in the middle there. Chuck shit straight into the blaze. Then shovel it all out of the hole at the bottom, look.
This is to replace the clapped out old, full sized Range I have out there at the moment. Came with the cottage, that did. Nice. Authentic. (Made by Stanley). Original. But, truthfully? It's fucked with age. It's twice the size I'd need, even if I used it for other than 'Waste Wood' disposal. It needs to go.
This little beauty? No doubt some crap, made in China or Italy. Cost me less than £300. But, it'll serve it's purpose. It'll also stand there, on the three little legs which aren't fitted yet, and save me a ton of room out there.
Be an absolute age before I get it fitted, of course. Still in the shop yet. And now I have to meet the man who I hope will want my old range for scrap. (Things are turning so hard round here, Someone's figured humping scrap metal's worth their while. God knows where to. But, I couldn't get it there)
Then I can strip down and beat apart the old range. Pile it up outside my gate and wait for it to vanish. Then I can call Dean O' in, to collect and fit this fucker for me.
That'll be interesting. Because the range has been fitted in front of the original, 'Walk In' fire place. I wonder? Get the range out of the way. Knock a few bricks back out. Might this lovely little stove fit back into the original alcove, underneath the 'Man Sized' chimney?
Imagine that?! Look the Dogs Bollocks, wouldn't it? Dean knows about these things. Interesting times ahead, no doubt!
If ye've just read the prelude to this? Good for you.
If ye haven't? Why not fuck off back to page one of this entire Blog. Read the Profile and get yeself a clue what goes on around here? This isn't a news paper. Something ye can open where ye fancy and just start reading. Well ..... ye can, I s'pose? But, do that and ye'll miss a Lot. Some great shit back there. Much of it also laying the foundations for what ever might come next.
Anyway; Head lights swept across my window .....
Off we went. Dean O' slyly asking me what footwear I'd brought. I reassuring him that I had my gum boots on. They being more comfortable than my waders. I assumed there'd be some walking to do. And he'd mentioned big vehicle tracks churning the mud about the place too. Weather we've had this year? Regular, overland vehicle movement could form some Seriously deep shit!
On the way, I enthused about my new Pot Bellied Stove. I'd bought it that day. To replace the clapped our Range in the kitchen. Dean was so buoyant that I'd agreed to come, he said he'd pick it up for me and fit it, free of charge. We'll see about That!
On we drove. Sign posts to 'Balligodknows' flashing by. Through villages and towns. Up a little main street. Straight into a fucking Gard, standing there, in the middle of the road, with a flash light! Eh?!
" Have ye ye driving licence, sir? Thankyou. Where ye heading? 'Just up through the next place ye can think of'? Fine. And, who's that in there with ye? 'Ah, Just a friend'? Fine. Ok, sir. Have a good night. "
Thank Fuck he didn't say he had " Ditch Shitter " in the motor with him! That could've led to some closer questioning!
Anyway; Big Night Out, in Eire. 'Halloween'. I guess we might have been a local farmers son, 'borrowed' Dads van and driving it, full of pissed up youngsters, to some party, somewhere. Nice change to see the Garda making themselves 'useful' round here.
Shortly afterwards, we found the gate. " This is it! " Cried Dean O'. " This is where we came ..... in ... ". He sort of tailed off as he took in the fucking great chain and padlock! That hadn't been there before! My self preservation alarm bells started ringing! Time for a bit of caution!
Never mind. There were a few ways into this place. Dean O' wasn't to be beaten yet. We drove on. Down here. Round this side, somewhere, there was another lane in.
And That must be it! See? The cut stone wall? Only a place like a convent would have had those around here. And our convent definitely had them. In we go!
Or not. Steel fucking gate. Load of young cattle behind the fence. Friesian cattle?! WTF?! Listen; Where you are, maybe 'All' cowz are black and white, with fucking great udders slopping about? Around here, we breed Beef cattle. Right mongrels. Any colour ye care to mention, on the outside. Meat inside's all that matters. 'Strange'.
And, what about that fucking great tractor standing there? Nothing at all unusual about that. Weirder Not to have seen one. But, still the sense on unease seemed to step up a little.
Ever onwards. This place did have at least three ways in. And, fuck me! Just look at that Gate House! That's got to be The Main Entrance! The Gate House, built in a style reminiscent of a little chapel. The expensive, fancy looking fencing. The 'religious' (?) looking symbols in the walls?
Yes. And the fuck off great, new and very clear sign blaring, " So and so Dairy. Private Property! Do Not Enter! " Ohhhhh Fuck! And here's Dean' O, driving us straight in there! This outfit owns the whole fucking acreage. They have valuable livestock on it. Their boys get all over it, in four wheel drives.
Few more yards? Another fucking sign: " If You MUST Enter ... Phone ..... " That just about did it for me! Like; They've already warned us not to come down this god forsaken track. Now they're warning us that there's, potentially, some mad old cunt with a shotgun at the other end, nervy as all hell about Anyone who turns up before his fucking phone rings? No Fucking Way!
Still Dean O's creeping forward. Though by now, with me trying to get under the passenger seat and making weird, high pitched squealing sounds ~ bit like a Guinea Pig, actually. Only from the wrong end ~ even He's starting to break a sweat and feel the doubt.
I think it was the last sign we approached that finally broke even Dean's youthful will; " Mad Old Cunt With A Shotgun At The Other End. Ring His Phone, Or Else! " That about did it! We were out of there. Fuck This for a game of intrepid nosers!
As we sped off homewards, it was Dean's phone that rang, as it happens. His mate from Dublin. Calling to ask how it was going. It wasn't going, of course. Mission Aborted and Returning To Base!
Made me laugh; " If that was me, " He'd said, " I'd have gone Straight over that first gate! ". Oh no ye wouldn't, son. Especially after Dean O' had mused that there had been empty 12 Bore cartridges lying about the place!
Fuck That ....!
Yes. I know I'm a bit late in referring back to Saturday night. That's how busy I am. Literally days behind here. Thought I'd get this one in, before it goes by the board, though. And I'm splitting this tale too. Otherwise it'll just seem interminably long and even I'd get bored with writing it. Anyway, it starts long before last weekend.
Weekend or two before that, actually. Dean O' had a fellow 'Urban Explorer' freak up from Dublin and they set out to do a couple of explores. One was an old Workhouse. (I hope to bring ye a taste of that one in the future) The other was an abandoned Convent.
Dean showed me the photo's they took of the convent. Amazing, vast, purpose built structure of stone and concrete. Made about eighty years ago. Abandoned, fuck knows when or why.
But, I could see ~ and quite appreciate ~ Dean O' felt this was unfinished business. Ye see, Dean's, basically, a 'Plumber' by main trade. Loves anything mechanical or what ever. Always concentrates on getting photo's of fuse boxes, dials, valves and gauges. This shit turns his screw.
And that's what was so bugging him about the convent. He'd fairly risked his neck to find a way into the Boiler Room complex beneath the place. Only to find one room flooded. And tantalisingly visible, through an open doorway, across this shallow swimming pool, his photo's showed, were boilery, valvy things. To Dean O', quite fascinating. He wanted to see those too.
And that's why, having not long got in and settled down with my slippers on and thinking only of my dinner, I had Dean on the Messenger. Bugging, cajoling, just about begging me to come out on a 'Scary Explore ..... For Halloween'.
Scary explore, my arse. I knew he had only one thing on His mind. That 'Hidden' Boiler Room! Anyway, what the fuck. If his bloody parents indulged him like I do? He'd be fucking ruined! As were all thoughts of my dinner, and a nice, quiet night in, unwinding.
Truth to tell? I had my fucking gum boots on, long before I put him out of his misery by openly agreeing I'd come! Dogs and eager young men; They should be made to feel they've worked for and earned our favours ;-)
Inside fifteen minutes, headlights swept across my window. I groaned, resignedly, and heaved my tired carcass out of this chair.
Now go back out and see Part 2. If ye interested in how it all went off, that is .....
Took my lot for their usual, daily stroll today. Le Ding, being a proven dasher and cow botherer, I have to keep on a retractable lead and under strict eyeball and verbal command at every other second.
Nigger? He simply will not enter a field with a cow in it. Must be genetic to his breeding? Only, obedience to recall certainly doesn't seem to have been bred in and, till I get a bloody whistle, there's not a great deal I can do to train it in either.
So it was that today, as with probably more than half the days, he dashed at the last leg of our walk and was last seen flying down under a gate and out of sight. Bastard. Completely ignores me calling him too.
Well anyway, I don't usually worry about it too much. Because, unlike le Ding, I pretty well know he won't get up to anything that'll bring hell to my door.
Only, today? After two hours of waiting for the prodigal to return, I realised how I couldn't focus on anything. I had a pile of dread deep in the pit of my stomach. And I was generally sitting here stressing out on 'roids.
I was imagining all sorts of things, whilst recognising the futility of a search. So many banks, ditches and creases in the ground out there, it'd be pitch black before I'd aimlessly wandered a couple of acres.
Eventually, I decided I Had To 'Do Something'. I was loathe to go away, lest he reappeared and found me missing. Or worse, trailed me up to the road. Because I'd decided to go up there and have a word with Pat. It's all I could think of to do.
So, Screaming at the others to stay there and for fuck sake For Once do as they're fucking told, I squeezed out the door, threw my jacket on and, almost shaking with stress and dread ~ it was really sinking in how fond I am of this little bastard ~ I closed the gate and headed out up the track.
One plaintive and pointless call of " Nigger ....? " as I scanned the sweeping basin of ground down towards the river and beyond. He likes that river .....
Then, as my gaze levelled ahead, a movement caught my eye in the top field beside the track. Bastard!!! There he fucking was! Nose down. Tail wagging. Running carefully one way, then another in little, measured bursts.
'My' hare lives in that field. Fucker was obviously scenting her. And, for all I know, the single minded fuck head may well have been up there, trying to unravel that damn scent for the last two hours! The Dog's fucking mental!
Or, is that me? I mean; I keep the fukka's .....
No. It's not a typo or an acronym. Perhaps it is a Swedish word though? I'm really not sure. What ever. Sweden appears to be the epicentre of it. And I'm going to get some.
In a nut shell; Snus is a medium through which one can gain the nicotine which smokers, such as myself, 'die for'. Yet the impact on ones health is probably about on a par with drinking coke ..... No. Scrub that. I wouldn't drink coke! I suspect Snus is safer.
So, it's a 'Medium' ? Well, sort of Mild, Medium and Strong, really. Comes in all sorts of strengths, flavours, even several forms. But, it's basically tobacco. (Hear me out!) Tobacco is a plant. It synthesises a chemical we call Nicotine. Nicotine could kill ye, stone dead on the spot, if ye ingested a small amount of the pure stuff. Of course, so could Parsley.
But, we smokers are addicted to nicotine. Not parsley or it's chemical constituents. In fact, at the levels we consume nic', it doesn't really matter. It's the other shit we take in, as we inhale the chemical morass formed by setting fire to the nic' harbouring vegetation ~ And the vile concoction of additives they lace the raw vegetation with, simply in order to make it all burn at an acceptably uniform and convenient rate!
In short then? Nicotine addicts smokers. Actually more strongly than Heroin does Smack Heads, believe it or not! But, nicotine doesn't kill smokers. The shit we go through to get that 'fix' does.
Back to Snus then. Snus is tobacco ~ Pay attention at the back! ~ hard to get nic' without that plant. Only, ye don't burn and inhale its smoke. Ye don't chew it. Ye don't even sniff it up ye nose. No. Ye just poke it under ye top lip! :o I shit ye not!
First uproar? " No Fucking WAY am I shoving a gram of cigarette tobacco under my lip! " Err ..... No one's suggesting ye do, mate. That'd be on a par with 'Chewing Tobacco'. That stuff can seriously fuck up ye face.
No. Can we please just forget all about " Tobacco ", as we think of it? Tobacco is just a plant. So is Barley. Do one load of things with Barley? Add things? Ye get beer. Do and add other things? Whiskey. Or even refreshing Robinsons Barley Water. Just so the tobacco plant. One treatment creates cigarettes. Another cigars. A certain way gets ye snus.
Put brutally simply? About 50% water. 5% Salt. The rest made up out of 'baccy and what ever flavourants and the odd thing to make it all come together? That's snus, in laymans terms.
Well, anyway, I'm gonna get some. From Here.
I'm Not trying to give up smoking. Given up trying to give up, decades ago. But, having used Snuff before, I know how an alternative source of Nicotine can drastically cut down on ones need to actually Smoke. This is 90% economics ~ Snus works out cheaper ~ and a passing nod to the fact that I'm simply too fucked to even fuck. I could use some breath.
No soap box then. Not evangelising or proselytising. Just bringing up something else that has caught my notice and which might be of some interest to some others reading this shit.
Week or two and I'll likely be telling ye what I make of the actual stuff; Snus.
