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.






 

More Duck Tales

We now know that our black duck is definitely male.  He's been chasing every female that twitches a tail feather in his direction.  I feel sorry for the poor old females because not only do they get their necks well and truly pecked until they are bald by the males, but they also get their heads ducked (get it?) under the water at the same time.  It looks a bit like waterboarding to me but I suppose it's just nature doing its thang.  I have been calling the black duck Fatty because he is fat and very greedy.  I'm going to call our white duck Petula (as in 'Don't Sleep in the Subway') now that I know she is female (baldy neck - poor wee thing).  If we do get some ducklings I'm not sure what colour they will be because our black duck has been chasing all the wild ducks and maybe even Petula.  I will keep you all posted on duckling developments. 
 



Fatty (a gauche) and Petula-la (a droite)

Petula having a wee hop and a skip


 

There is a new female wild duck on the scene, who has a drake husband, and I have instantly named them Nora Batty and Wally.  I have never heard anything like it.  Her constant quacking, which sounds as if she has a sore throat, is just like someone nagging and nagging and nagging.  She seems to be shouting at all the naughty male ducks and even Fatty gets short shrift when he tries to chase her round the pond.

 

When I'm not looking, those naughty ducks get up to all sorts.  We found out from our neighbour that they waddle over to his yard when he is feeding his chickens and pinch the corn.  Then when I come down with my bucket of corn, they look at me wide eyed and innocent and squawk about how hungry they are.


We've been chasing wild geese from our pond again this year.  Roberto goes on a wild goose chase every morning.  They are a nuisance and before you know it, there are about 100 of them on your pond.  They also go into the nearby fields and eat Mr Forrester's wheat, which makes him tear what's left of his hair out.



Noisy Nora Batty (a gauche) and her husband Wally
Stuart Little's boat is in the background.







 

 

More Unbelievable Nonsense

You are not going to believe this, chers amis.  You are just not going to Adam & Eve it.  Our local Parish Council along with the Ambulance Service have, in their wisdom, decided it would be a good idea to install a defibrillator in our local Inconvenience Store.  I had to laugh because it said on the notice we received that no training would be necessary.  I'm sorry, I don't usually swear (not much anyway!) but for fluff sake, what is that all about?

 

Imagine the scene.  The dead eyed students are behind the till, someone faints in the shop.  Dead eyed student slightly wakes up, heads for the new defibrillator, grabs the paddles and zaps the poor old dear who has passed out on the floor, not knowing that she has a pacemaker installed.  Result = one dead old lady on the floor of local shop and one stupid kid, who is still in the Xbox zone, taking a selfie beside poor old dead lady with his iphone.

 

Scenario 2: Mrs Sourpuss, who sucks lemons all day, steps over old lady and walks to staffroom to have her tea break. She'll switch the defibrillator on when she gets back because, quite frankly, she can't be a**ed and it's not exactly in her job description.

 

Scenario 3: Gladys, good old Gladys, dead slow and stop Gladys, sees the old lady fainting and shuffles over at a leisurely pace (no rush is there?).  "Hello lovey, can you hear me?" she says "Are you all right lovey?"  Gladys shuffles off to get help and doesn't return.

Scenario 4: Someone passes out on floor when the local village Numpty-Do-Gooder-Busybody just happens to be in the shop.  "Wait, just a minute.  Clear some space everybody.  I know what I'm doing here," he says, taking over. He's been watching a bit of Casualty and he knows what to do.  He grabs the paddles and shouts "stand clear" and just as he's placing the paddles on the person's chest, he/she wakes up but it's too late and said person has just been launched to the other side of the shop.

I don't know what the Ambulance Service/Parish Council are thinking of.  Personally, I think it is complete madness to let the general public loose with a defibrillator, and although they would be talked through any possible scenario by the Ambulance Service, how does anyone know it's their heart that is the problem?  Is it just me?

Council Nonsense

I don't watch the News very often but sometimes our local news, BBC Look North, is quite amusing.  There was a report recently about a Council in Lincolnshire where the councillors have been awarded a 26% pay rise. This is at a time of huge Council cutbacks, job losses, pay freezes for the workers....the whole austerity thing.  

 

Well, there was a lot of bluster and commotion about this and, of course, it wasn't the councillors' fault because an independent body had awarded them the pay rise and there was nothing they could do about it...blah blah...that same old story that we know so well.  

 

Anyway, the leader of said Council, who actually looked as if he needed the extra spondooliks (teeth missing, sticky up hair, the dragged through a hedge backwards look), informed the BBC reporter that he was refusing the pay rise.  Good for you, setting a good example for the others. 

The reporter then interviewed another old duffer councillor who voiced his very loud opinion about it being scandalous, outrageous, ridiculous in this era of austerity, council cutbacks, libraries closing..blabbity blah blah blah.  When asked if he was refusing to take the pay rise, there was an audible sharp intake of breath and a look of sheer panic on his face.  "Well...eh...ahem...yes...quite..well, I  shall have to seriously consider it." Boom Boom. You just can't make this stuff up.