Thursday 19th February 2009 – my first mole

It’s offical! I am a mole catcher of note……….well, I have caught one, a big one and very exciting it was too! The smug satisfaction stuck with me for at least 3 days. It has now worn off despite the fact that the dead mole is ceremoniously hung on the fence by the back gate for all to admire providing a daily reminder of my achievement. There are two problems – the dead mole is starting to smell and it hasn’t to date, been joined by any of it’s friends.

Rather than providing a marker of my mole hunting efficiencies – the said dead mole only serves to fuel suspicion that  I have gone stark raving mad.

I have become completely obsessed with my trapping. Armed with my spade, gloves and traps, I am on a one woman mission to restore my view from its current lunar appearance back to uninterrupted meadow. I have approached my task with a significant amount of planning and preparation. The first rule of war, is, I understand, know your enemy. As such I have spent many a long evening researching everything there is to know about these velvety devils. I am alarmed by the breeding cycle and as such have put down the books to focus on manoeuvres. I eagerly follow runs and have spent far too long squashing old mole hills so that I can monitor their recent movements.

Sadly, all of this for just one mole. I shall not be deterred – the war continues.

Meanwhile, there appears to be trouble in the hen house. Having been convinced that out of my 11 surviving birds, only one was a cockerel, suddenly, it looks like I’ve got at least one more. They may just be butch hens but I am sure I heard a stifled cock a doodle do from one of them. This could explain my lack of eggs – still nothing and the weather is so much milder. Clearly, no amount of mild weather is going to encourage the cocks to lay!

I think more hens are called for.

23rd December 2008 – A cheery christmas commute to the city

Having just received a free cuppa from the young trolley man on my commute north – my spirits are lifted! Christmas really is upon us. I don’t really want to think too hard about all that is to do at home (including the annual pilgrimage for a free Christmas tree – more of that later) but I am looking forward to a cheerful day in the office. Why can’t we tackle every day with the same cheeriness that we manage the day or two before Christmas?

 

Train very quiet this week – my regular travelling companions, already on their holidays. The platform at the start of my journey is usually host to an amusing assortment of characters. There’s the country gent travelling to the city to earn his crust – no doubt keeping the children in school and the roof on the old pile. Immaculately tuned out, all he is missing is the rolled up newspaper and a bowler hat! The goatee beard – bedecked in suit with the most extraordinary pair of brown hob nail boots provides much intrigue – just what does he do? Particularly as he departs at the most sleepy town in North Shropshire, trousers carelessly tucked in his boots, he strides forth purposefully with a clickety, click of his boots to who knows where! Then there’s the battle of the cyclists – the small grey beard with his fold up bike and the young thrusting athlete, clad head to foot in lycra! Mr Lycra can usually be spotted looking down his nose at Grey Beard with utter disdain – clearly not convinced by the environmental benefits of fold up bicycles, preferring a cycle with tyres so narrow they look sharp enough to slice through paper!

 

The chickens are becoming bolder by the day and have recently discovered their wings – regularly they greet me defiantly from the top of the stable wall. I am faced with no option but to clip their wings – although how I tackle this remains a quandary – what I do know is that even my amateur attempts to curtail their flying habits will be preferable to them being eaten by a fox or more likely a small terrier!

6th December 2008 – An opera singer in the woodshed!

Returned on Friday from a few restorative days in Devon. The benefits of coastal and moor walking combined with the obligatory pint at lunchtime are still evident in my rosy glow. I swear that despite the time of year, we could have walked (and talked!) in shirt sleeves! Just the ticket for my previously exhausted state.

 

I have neglected to update you on the very exciting arrival of 12 Moran chickens , following a deal in a pub car park in Gloucestershire. Not as seedy as you might think but did manage to acquire them rather cheap (hah hah!) on the basis they are not as yet sexed. Hopefully there will be plenty of productive hens amongst them particularly as four have been ear-marked for a special god-daughter’s Christmas present. D is secretly hoping for a high proportion of cockerels so that he can wield his axe, French peasant style with the anticipation of a hearty coq – au – vin on his lips!

 

Anyway, lovely to return home to my chickens, woofs and husband of course.  A dear girlfriend and new man, Mark the opera singer arrived for the weekend to much excitement and rapid guzzling of wine. The dull headache and lie-in on my part, the following morning – clear evidence of the previous evening’s excesses. Whilst having my croissant and quietly discussing the day’s plans with Steph, a rather guilty looking Jack Russell wandered into the kitchen and promptly rolled over in a sort of ‘sorry, I couldn’t help myself’ pose. Dismissing the relevance of such behaviour, which as a JR owner tends to be a rather regular occurrence, Steph and I quickly coated and booted in order to take advantage of clear blue skies and a crisp winter’s morning.

 

The scene that greeted us was sufficient to warm the heart of the coldest of Iron Maidens – men hard at work – D and accomplice fencing the pig paddock and Mark chopping wood in between bursts of Oklahoma. Our warm smugness soon disappeared on spotting a motionless chicken by the stable and the JR, who on spotting my look of horror quickly rolled over again in an attempt to look endearing but clearly giving away the identity of the culprit!

 

As predicted, it had taken only a matter of days before one of my beautiful birds fell victim to the worst predator of all – the terrier. At least it was days and not hours I suppose, but sod’s law says that was the only hen!

 

We have spent most of this afternoon building the pig palace, helped along with frequent swigs from the hip flask. I quite fancy moving in myself – so far it looks very snug and certainly much less draughty than the house! It would appear, that half a tonne of Berkshire sow comes higher up than me in the pecking order when it comes to housing requirements! The amount of effort that has gone into insulation and draught-proofing is quite incredible!

 

Steph and the singing woodman have departed but not before we had a rendition of Old Man River from the terrace, which boomed around the forest, leaving the hair on my neck standing and no doubt putting the fear of God into any unsuspecting walkers out for their Sunday stroll.

Monday 4th November 2008 – Life with a ‘camp bistro’!

Our off grid, self sufficient living is gathering pace as we target our oil consumption and install the Rolls Royce of wood burners into the kitchen. It had been sitting in the corner of the room for at least six weeks, making it a useful rest for a cup of tea whilst we contemplated its installation. Numerous drawings were hastily scribbled on scraps of paper in an attempt to establish the best way of connecting the dratted thing into our rather temperamental hot water system.

 

Despite coming up with some interesting sketches more akin to modern art we chickened out and called the plumber. Hey presto! The old wood burner is out and the new one in and no doubt you can now picture us languishing in a bath brimming with hot water courtesy of our log pile, smugly grinning as we wonder what all the fuss was about – well not quite!

 

On being given two options for the installation we naturally opted for the cheapest – we are in a credit crunch after all! What we failed to take account of was the implication of disconnecting Stan the range from the hot water pipe-work – the whole purpose of the exercise! It has transpired that despite Stan having two boilers – one for cooking –the other hot water, he does not like running the cooking boiler on its own. The plumber has been summoned to work his magic (we are assured of an easy solution!) but in the meantime we have resorted to cooking on the ‘camp bistro’ – a single gas ring rather than a French café full of men who are a little light on their feet!

 

I am feeling particularly proud of myself having cooked a three course supper for six on Saturday evening courtesy of camp bistro and the top of the wood burner. Now questioning the need for Stan – certainly if we removed and sold him we could pay off the plumber but selling oil fired appliances in the real countryside is a no go! Aga is becoming a dirty word as our friends switch them off and resort to ugly, gas or electric cookers, a far cry from the lifestyle status the aga and others have gained in recent years.

 

Am city bound today to an over-warm office (bliss), the train journey at each end of the day providing a much needed opportunity to sleep or write my blog, greatly assisted in the evening by my usual tin of Greenalls ready mixed G&T and a bag of cheese and onion! It may only be 8 o clock in the morning but I am looking forward to it already! Toodle pip for now.