More Ducks

I've taken a few more photos of the ducks.  Hope you haven't got duck fatigue yet.  I've zoomed in as much as the camera would allow but the zoom is not that zoomy (technical term).

Nora Batty with her new little brood

Fatty, Petula and the Drakes

Petula (my favourite) having a moment

Ducklings

We just took a few quick photos of Nora Batty and her ducklings this morning.  The sun was really bright so we could only get a couple. I'll go down there later and get some better photos of those little balls of fluff.

Fatty admires Nora Batty from a distance.  He's not the ducklings'
father but he fancies Nora like mad.

 

 

 

 

 

13 little balls of fluff. So cute and squeaky.



New Life

I just wanted to tell you some good news.  The wild duck that we have on our pond, the one I named Nora Batty because she squawks non-stop, appeared today with thirteen ducklings.  They are beautiful little balls of fluff.  Imagine having thirteen children!!  I can't post any photos yet as Roberto has taken the camera to a motor racing event (yawn!) but I will keep you posted with duckling developments.  Our own black and white duck, Fatty, is still trying to chase her and impregnate her again.  Bloody men, eh?

 

Anyway, Happy Ishtar, mes petits canetons.

Happy Easter!

I might have told you this story before, mes amis, but I was reminded of a young lad I used to know who lived in our village.  I think he was about 18 at the time and he was telling me about a film he had been to see called The Passion of the Christ.  He told me the story as if I had never heard it before, about the lead up to the crucifixion and how brutal it all was ("...and they actually nailed Jesus to the cross!").  Then he said, "I just wish there had been more.  I'd like to know what happened next". I'll just leave that one with you, mes petits lapins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Pollution and Pings

What's all this nonsense about global pollution?  Have I been asleep or did it suddenly just happen overnight?  The mainstream media seem to be preparing us for the end of the world.  Are the four horsemen of the Apocalypse about to appear, riding through the smog with oxygen masks on?

We now zoom over to Shanghai as China has the worst pollution on the planet.  Oh, it looks like a lovely sunny day, no fog, no smog, no sand from the Sahara desert blowing in the wind.  And look over there at that lovely little happy-faced boy sitting on the front of his dad's scooter.  They're not wearing masks.  How will they breathe?  Look, the little boy is smiling and laughing and having a jolly old time with his dad, while the BBC voiceover tells us how bad the smog is. 

 

Back to the UK and the BBC News producer is getting the women's footy team prepared for filming.

 

"Right, girls, I want you to run around for a bit until you're puffed out and then when you're on camera you need to say that your chest feels tighter than usual today and it's not because of your new extra strong reinforced sports bra.  Oh, and another thing, it would be great if any asthma sufferers could mention that the Sahara sand is exacerbating their symptoms.  What? It means making it worse, dear......and ACTION."

 

David Cameron is then wheeled out, having been programmed with the appropriate words of warning, just to add to the frightening scenario. We're all doomed!



...And another thing.  Apparently they've heard a 'PING' from the missing jumbo jet's black box.

Sky News reporter to Ping expert: "What does the ping sound like?" (Is it just me or do you also throw things at your flatscreen?)

I suddenly had an image of Sean Connery in my head saying in a lovely Russian/Scottish accent, "ONE PING ONLY." (The Hunt for Red October). Just wondering if the 'experts' are going to find a Russian submarine on covert operations when they locate the source of the ping.

Just off to glue the TV screen back together. I may be some time.

Squeak soon, mes amis.

 

 

 

On Getting Older

I forgot to tell you this, mes amis, but last year I had a lovely compliment that really made my day.  I was sitting in  a waiting room, waiting for my appointment, as you do, and this man started talking to  me and telling me all about how he had worked abroad doing all sorts of interesting things.  Anyway, he mentioned something about the '80s and then proceeded to say "Oh, you won't remember that,  you're far too young."  I laughed and told him that I'd just had my 50th birthday and he nearly fell off his chair.  He didn't believe me.  It really made my day and I floated home on a pink fluffy cloud.  I told Roberto when I got home and he uttered those immortal words, "Maybe he needs to go to Specsavers."  Honestly, men!  Methinks he was a little bit jaloux, n'est-ce pas? 

 

Anyway, that's just  a long story to tell you that Roberto and I have been pondering this question just lately....when did we suddenly get older? It seems to have crept up on us when we weren't looking, We were watching Countryfile on BBC1 last Sunday night and Blue Peter boy was visiting his mother.  His mother looked really young and we were a bit shocked to think that we could be old enough to be that annoying boy's parents.  God, he must be at least 30 years old.  That can't be right.

Normally I have a really good memory but just recently I can't remember if I've switched things off, like the emersion (see comment from retired English teacher below) immersion heater or a light upstairs.  I go back up to check, start faffing about doing something else and then go back downstairs and then remember that I forgot to check if I put the bloody light off. 

Roberto can't get off the sofa without his bones creaking and groaning and when I kneel down to clean out the wood burner, I can't get back up. Then when I do haul myself up I have to walk like Mrs Overall until my knees stop aching. Note to self: buy some Cod Liver Oil capsules.

Anyway, I still feel young inside and that's all that matters and I don't think I look my age either (good gene pool, NOT botox or surgery). 

Heathcliffe, just run upstairs and check that light is switched off, there's a good boy.