Archive for the 'Around the garden' Category

In search of Sandy’s hole

Grandad January 12th, 2008

Our Sandy has a hole and she keeps climbing through it.

I keep blocking it up but she just makes a new one.

Our Sandy is very intelligent.  She is computer literate, she reads a lot [she likes the Irish Times, and Margaret Forster], she has a wicked sense of humour and frankly would outclass Bertie or Dubya at any quiz show, even if they acted as a team.

There is one thing she is ignorant about though, and that is traffic.  She can cope with anything else, but she doesn’t understand the concept of being run over.  If the gets onto the main road, she will happily amble up the middle of it while cars miss her by inches.

I live on a lane, as you know.  If you go up the lane, you will find the house where Fizz lives.  Fizz is a little white terrier, and is Sandy’s friend.  Sandy likes to visit her friends and so she keeps getting out.

Unfortunately, if you go down the lane, you come to the main road which is full of lunatic drivers, boy racers, exploding buses and women drivers.  It is a damned dangerous place if you’re not careful.  And Sandy isn’t.  And she goes down there sometimes.

I would love to leave the gate open so Sandy could visit Fizz anytime she liked, but I can’t take the chance.  I don’t want her to end up as a long smear on the main road, because I love her.

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Not a very good photo

Our boundary is very long.  It mostly consists of hedging and trees and I like that.  I hate concrete walls.  They are too suburban for the countryside.  But hedges and trees are damned difficult to seal off against a determined dog, so I spend my time filling in gaps with bits of wire netting.

I have to go out now and re-fence a stretch in the middle of a clump of bushes, because that is where she keeps getting out now.

It’s a right pain in the hole.

Do I need bigger cock?

Grandad November 12th, 2007

I received an e-mail on Saturday night.

It wasn’t a very long mail but it got me worried.

What it said was "You know you want a bigger cock, don’t waste anymore time"

Now, I never even thought about the size of my cock.  Did size matter?  I began to fret.

The Doctor called yesterday, as we were to head up for some practice shooting up the valley. I told him about the mail.  He offered to help.

He said he didn’t think size mattered either. He asked to see it, so I showed him my cock.

"That looks like a fine specimen" he said. "I’ve seen one or two bigger ones all right, but that is definitely on the large size"

"Thank you" says I.

"Nice colour" says he.

"Thank you" says I.

He looked at it from all angles.  He looked at it from a distance and he looked at it from close up.

"If I had a cock like that, I’d be very happy" he said.  "It looks extremely healthy.  Does it do everything it’s supposed to do?"

"It does" says I.

"In that case, I wouldn’t worry" he said.

Great news.  I could stop worrying.

The cock then flew up onto the shed roof and crowed lustily.

I’ve been tagged again

Grandad November 11th, 2007

Our K8 has come up with a new meme.

And, bless her little cotton socks, she has passed it on to me.

She wants me to write a post that uses every tag. It’s all very well for her - she only has a few. I have loads. The cow!

Now I may be getting old but I find these difficult. I had a hard days blogging yesterday, as I had a good rant on a podcast to America. That was after I did my post on Cully and Sully.

So today I went for a ramble around the garden, trying to think of a topic. No go. There was no inspiration around the house either, and I’m damned if I’m going around the village or around the town for something so trivial.

Back in the 70’s life was a lot simpler. There were no computers or Internet, or even television so there were no memes. I had no irritating daughter in the family either. We found our pleasures in simple things. I remember learning to drive so we could go on holidays touring in the West, with no worries about flying and Global Warming. We had such simple sports as children in times past, like watching spiders spin their webs, and the designs they’d make. We’d go for rambles through the woods and have picnics of tea and spam sandwiches. We were a lot healthier for it.

Nowadays, work is the new religion and people have lost the use of their imagination. People only get worked up over celebrities and smoking out corrupt politicians. They panic over property prices and have lost sight of the soul of life.

No.

I can’t think of anything.

I elect not to do it.

I’m going to file this under Uncatagorised.

Maybe Sixty should have a bash at this?

Or how about Kirk at Just Thinkin’? I haven’t tagged him before.

And it’s a while since I annoyed Grannymar!!

tag-award

F*cking memes….

Don’t pee on my patch

Grandad October 17th, 2007

I am being driven demented by noise.

Next door are still rebuilding after the fire I started, and they are hammering all day, every day. I am going up the walls, but I suppose I can’t really complain.

Yesterday a new noise started up. There was some loud rumbling coming from the lane and that really got on my tits.

I went out in the afternoon to set some traps. They are old miniature mantrap type things, and they are very handy for catching people who get through the minefields. While I was out there, I decided to go and see what the racket in the lane was about.

As I came around the corner of the house, the first thing I saw was a man pissing through the bars of my gate. Quick as a flash, I whacked a trap onto his manhood which was poking through the bars, and meant he couldn’t move, as the gaps in the gate are quite narrow. Jayzus, but that bloke could scream! But I don’t like people pissing on my land. It’s like a dog thing. Territory, and all that.

It transpired that he had been filling the potholes in the lane with asphalt, and the noise was coming from a big vibrating roller. This was still idling away and still making a racket.

I decided to gave a go with it. It’s a great yoke. I think I’ll hold onto it.

Oh! And if anyone from the County Council is reading this, could you please come and collect your employee.

I don’t know his name, but he’s wearing a DayGlo jacket and a greasy cap. He has brown hair and brown eyes. He’s about 16 feet tall, 4 foot wide and about half an inch thick.

Neat and tidy

Grandad July 30th, 2007

I mentioned the other day that I bought Herself a Dyson.

While I was out, I thought I’d buy myself a little gift too.

We have this crazy setup where we are encouraged to install wood burning stoves [eco-friendly], but are outlawed from burning wood in the garden [eco-unfriendly]. And my humble little estate is on an age where, instead of planting things, it’s a constant battle to keep plants in check. So I spend a lot of time hacking at things and cutting branches. And, of course the weather does a good job too. So I have ended up with a massive pile of old branches. And I’m not allowed to burn them.

I went into the hardware shop and toddled over to the gardening section.

I found an assistant [that took half an hour].

“Do you sell munchers?” says I.

“Munchers?” says he. “Oh! You mean shredders?”

He brought me down to one of those hidden areas that always seem to contain whatever I’m looking for.

There were a couple of munchers there and they looked impressive.

The salesman started prattling on about how efficient they were and how powerful. It occurred to me that between manufacture, transportation and running costs, these beasts probably had a massive eco-footprint compared to a piddly bonfire, but I let that pass. He also raved about the safety features. He pointed out that there was a special yoke at the top to stop you accidentally putting your hand in.

“Suppose I left that yoke off?” says I.

“That would be very dangerous.” He looked at me like I were a fool.

“Would it grind up my arm?”

He just looked at me. But I’m patient.

“A simple question.” says I “Would I be able to put, say, a severed leg through it?”

He turned very green and fainted. Young people these days have no backbone.

I bought it anyway and towed it home.

I’ve been playing with it for a few days now. It’s brilliant. It chews up everything.

The mountain of branches is gone. And I discovered in the manual that it is great for shredding paper too. Better and better.

I have quite a few invoices from arms dealers old bank statements that I didn’t want to put in the bin so in they went.

So happy days are here again. Herself spends the day vacuuming the house, and I spend the day destroying evidence making compost.

offal.jpg

I’m back

Grandad July 19th, 2007

I woke this morning at half five and went to do what old folk do at half five in the morning.

I went back to bed, but I was wide awake so I got up again.

I’m glad I did.

The sun is shining fit to bust. The birds are shouting their heads off, and the builders in the neighbours ruin haven’t started shouting in a foreign language yet.

On top of that, the grounds of Headrambles Manor look great. I finally cut the grass yesterday. It hasn’t been cut in weeks because of the rain, so it was sort of long….

giraffe1.jpg
My lawn yesterday morning

It was a bitch to cut, and it took two hours as I had to keep unblocking the chute at the back of the machine. Forest Gump made it look easy. There is nothing worse than plunging your arm down a narrow tube to clear out the grass, and not knowing what else you are scooping out. Sorry Sandy - I know you have to go somewhere!

Anyway, I feel I have done my penance, so the amnesty is over, and the fatwah is back on all tourists and sunglasses wearers.

sunglasses1.jpg

Incidentally, Brianf - where is that shipment of laser sights that I ordered off you? And the RPGs still haven’t arrived either. I’m running low on the latter.

On days like today, I really feel good to be alive.

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