Rats

I have just been reading a lengthy chapter in one of M's old motoring books on the crankshaft. Being an old book, it's beautifully illustrated with those engraving type diagrams of different kinds of crankshaft. However, the illustrations can't disguise the fact that the subject matter is, to me at any rate, mind-numbingly and fingernail-chewingly turgid. BUT even this life-sappingly deadly reading matter can provde some light relief from the scenario phtographed here. You see, M finally agreed that the ceiling should indeed come down on the dining room. So this is what happened next because it then transpired that this ceiling, too, is full of rat bedding and droppings. It all stinks like you woudn't believe. This room is going from bad to worse. We should never have gone in it. We could have just stuck a picture of how we would like it to look on the door, and distracted any more persistent visitors with the offer of yet another game of 'Nostalgia' and another glass of calvados.

Fire Gardening

Here is another handy hint. We were shown this by the long Swede in the second pic. You need a dry day-which today was. Then you get a match, and set fire to your garden. All the dry bits flare up and burn. No mowing or strimming required. Just raking to move the burning parts around. There's a constant crackling as the fire travels about, doing it's business. Then it hit the bay tree. There was a huge roar and wooosh as the tree turned into a firework, throwing flames and smoke up into the air. It was incredibly noisy. Then just as suddenly, the fire moved on, leaving the tree intact. It had passed up through the centre of the tree, burning only the dead leaves and sticks. Phew. 'I knew that would hoppen' said our inscrutable friend. Hmmmm....I hadn't realised before how terrifying the noise of an approaching fire could be. Or how rejuvenating fire can be. Marvellous! I don't know why we never thought of setting fire to the garden back in England....

Dangerous Dogs

Obviously, I am in favour of the government's recent proposed guidelines for the keeping of dangerous dogs. We all get bored out of our skulls from time to time and, speaking for myself, I just love forms and time wasters. They have hit upon a real vote-winner here. Luckily, we own two dangerous dogs. The first, Bessie, is pictured here. She is on a mission to reduce all humans to having cone shaped heads by continously licking them. Also, one of her favourite foods is mallow like duck shits so her mouth is a haven of good hygiene. Our other dog is a teckel who farts noisily and noxiously. His second weapon is complete disobedience and disregard which inuduces a state of apoplexy in any human associated with him such as is likely to bring on heart failure. I look forward to their risk assessments and am confident that they will achieve high scores.

Complexities

Things are never straightforward, are they. There we were thinking we would just put in a new floor...now this seems to involve numerous further steps including replacing a stair case, and knocking out a new doorway. No wonder the man in a beret is looking a little overwhelmed by events. Meantimes, the taller man seen through the new hole in the wall is, being a Swede, keeping himself peacefully occupied with a necessary task. On further looking at this picture, it seems that M is tackling this task without putting something down on the floor for his knees. He and I have argued about this oversight in the past since he will suffer later for this when his knees start cracking and he starts moaning. What is a woman to do??? I didn't think we had even decided we wanted a door there but there is a certain momentum to these things and, once started, there can be no going back...

The true nature of bullies?

Cruella is stuck on the chicken shed roof. All four of the chickens, after days of snow, have got tired of being confined to their coop. So on the first sunny afternoon, they have flown up on to the roof of the nest boxes to gaze at the areas in the rest of the garden where they used to be able to peck freely. So I find all 4 of them there when I go up to collect the eggs. Because, being chickens, and having chicken brains, they have forgotten that they won't be able to fly down again. They are too fat and too scared. They are also badly out of practise. One by one, the other three have let me lift them down but Cruella is made of sterner stuff. Every time I make a move towards her, she backs away.

"Stop being silly" I tell her-"you can't stay up there forever"

"I shall fly down myself". she answers. "I am just resting my wings". There is a quiet clucking from the rest of the birds below-are they making fun of her?

When the chickens first arrived, Cruella quickly established herself at the head of the pecking order with a few quick but spiteful nips at the other chickens. This is how she earned her name. Since then, I have come to have some respect for her courage and fearless leadership. She is a Captain Mannering amongst chickens.

"Go on then" I goad her. "Nobody's looking".

She shuffles towards me on the skiddy surface of the snowy corrugated iron roof.

"Make the others to go away first" she hisses in my ear. I look at her with suprise-it's not very easy separating chickens at the best of times.

"They are stupid". She is hissing now. "Just show them some corn".

So I do-and after about 10 minutes, Bianca, Joan and Hilda have all happily waddled away to sit by the frozen pond with a scatteing of corn.

I return to find Cruella still in situ on the roof, in a squatting position now, with her eyes tight shut.

"Do it Now" she hisses. "Put me on the ground. Just don't break my wings".

I oblige, and a couple of seconds later, Cruella is fluffing herelf up on the ground and rejoining the others, squawking importantly.

I am left to ponder how often the bully turns out after all to be the frightened coward.

DIY Tip Two

Times are hard. the weather is reamaining inclement, and the economic pressures are making us all more inclined to consider Growing Our Own. So in accordance with this, tonights' tip is about how to make your own Indoor Vegetable Garden.

1-Remove your dining room floor.

2-With any luck, you'll discover, as we did, that the floor is only being held up by rotten beams balanced on little rocks, resting on an earth floor.

3If you have a small dog, this is a good time to let it play freely and dig in the soil in order to uncover any rat runs.

4-Find some men to take some of the horrid earth out. If they start flagging, grab a spade and start wafting it weakly in the direction of the pile of soil, sending scatterings of soil all over the place, asking for advice on how to use a spade. The men will react by taking the spade from you, informing you that this is Man's Work, and set to again with redoubled efforts. You can provide them with food and refreshment apparently.

5-You are now left with a good soil in which to plant out your veg in comfort. I plan to divide my area, growing legumes in one quarter, salad items in the other quarter, and I will turf the other half with grass seed and use it for visitors to camp in. lovely!

When I was a child, my Mother would sometimes confuse me a bit by referring to something called"It" as in

"It's all very well her spending all that money on clothes, but if you haven't got 'It', you're wasting your time."

or, a little more darkly,

"Your father has been trying to charm her with his wit for the past 45 minutes and is now struggling since he's realised that she's got nothing going on between the ears and what's more, she's just not got It. Serves him right."

She was never really specific about what was necessary to have "It". I wasn't really even sure if she approved of "It" and it's only as an adult that I've realised that she was definitely referring to Sex Appeal. So what constitutes Sex Appeal? I suppose it's different for everyone. Myself, I'm not sure that the sex appeal of the average modern celebrity has gone up in direct ratio with the amount of plastic surgery they have, or quanitity of naked flesh they thrust before a camera. For me, I think the kind of come-to-bed tousledness of Brigitte Bardot might have been more the kind of thing my Mother was driving at. A certain gamine quality, with a natural disinhibitedness, and those winsome, playful, come to bed and play with me eyes. I think Bessie shows all these traits to perfection in this picture. Perhaps it comes from her Spanish origins...