Musings of Murphyfish

A gloomy walk....

2011-11-20T20:03:00.000Z

.... but not because of my mood (for a change), indeed not for it was the mist that wafted in waves across across the slopes of Moel Famau this late afternoon that I speak of. In the thickest parts of it visibility was down to just a few yards and then within a few minutes the only trace was a slight haze to the air around me, that and the dampness of my clothes and the warthogs fur!
But the walk served its purpose, tired and hungry we arrived back in Buckley. Again no fancy words this time but they'll come in time. So once more just a few pictures of the meander through the mist. One thing at least Willow doesn't play the spook game, shame really.

Can you believe these drops of mist left moisture on these webs?

So till the next time take care and maybe then I'll have found my voice.

John

Fungi Photos

2011-11-19T17:47:00.000Z

Apologies for the lack of words lately just the way it is for me at the moment; a little like a mushroom - kept in the dark and fed on shit...
So with this mind here are a few fungi photo's from the last couple of weeks;-

Hope you like them, all the best,

John

Autumn.....

2011-11-14T10:59:00.000Z

Just a few glimpses of the last few weeks around here.....

Well there's a surprise..

2011-10-25T21:08:00.000+01:00

Well yesterday the forecast for today was rain, torrential and unceasing rain – with some showers thrown in for good measure. Now with a problem of pooling water in Fluttering Heights due to the type of slaps that the chicken run I built stands upon I spent the majority of yesterday laying twenty new slaps to enable the water to run off and drain freely, surrounded by the extra wet relief security of six bags of gravel. I’ll let you into a secret dear reader after completing the job in my usual meticulous manor I was bloody well knackered. So with the deluge of biblical proportions anticipated, the chickens no longer in fear of having to start saying quack instead of cluck and my back in more than two pieces I laid plans of the internal type for today, which did not impress the Warthog as a decent walk was off the cards. So settling my head upon my pillow I drifted off to sleep with thoughts of cider making and adding some more sloe gin to my already burgeoning collection of homemade liquid refreshment.

Once awoken this morning but still on remote I stumbled to my keyboard, a very large mug of tea grasped vice like in me mitts, and commenced upon uploading a few photographs onto face book in a vain and pointless attempt to impress folk with my artistic and technical brilliance – not. Yes before you start, I do know that I have an inferiority complex, but it’s not a very good one at that! It slowly dawned on me that there was absolutely no sign of the forecast rain whatsoever, no patter of raindrops on the roof, no tsunami like wave threatening to wash Buckley into the abyss, nothing not a sausage not even the tiny but tell tale specks of water upon my upraised face. Mmmmm well the apples will keep awhile and the sloes can be done tonight thought I as Willow looked on expectantly. Ten minutes later we’re thrashing the Fun Cruiser through Mold (thank god that police car didn’t turn around) heading for the deserted quarry at Hendre. Err... where trespassing is not allowed, but then again if it was it wouldn’t be trespassing then would it, I suppose!

The walk was wonderful, not because of heights traversed; indeed the real hills could be seen only in the distance.

Moel Arthur

Not because it was of any distance either, in fact in the hours that we were out us probably only covered four miles, if that. Well ok Willow probably covered twenty as she really hit top speed today and it was with sheer pleasure and a good deal of chuckling that I watched as she tore around the spartan grasses. To be honest I don’t really know why it was so wonderful, it just seemed that for the first time in a long time that I stepped forth on a trail with a little glimmer of hope here about the future. Of course all expectations and even the dared dream can be smashed and torn from us by this sometimes cruel life, but not today. So instead of the trail lifting my spirits it simply added to my feeling of wellbeing, it won’t last I know but to have a few moments of inner calmness once in awhile is something that usual eludes this little rotund Hobbit so yes, this was a wonderful walk.

Not even the Warthogs persistence in trying to ruin every waterside shot I tried couldn’t dampen my spirits, and it looked as if she was going to be the only creature near water that I’d capture for you (nothing new there then).

So there are not too many pictures this time to tell the tale of the walk just these few;

Oh but I very nearly forgot! Regular readers here about (up to eight on a weekend) will know of my frustration at my lack of fauna photographs with only able to capture some grainy shots of mostly uninteresting flora. But not this time aha for this time we have....wait for it..... a.... bug. Well actually dragonflies. We’d settled by one of the small pools, ok I’d settled by one of the small pools whilst the Warthog made merry once more to watch the mating dance of these incredible flying insects. Not for one instant did I think of taking a picture until that was I spied a solitary one (probably all sexed out) resting in the rushes, so snippety snap and hey presto a dragonfly for your pleasure;

I then even tried to capture them on the wing whilst they were... err... distracted in their antics. And bugger me the shots didn’t turn out so bad after all;

Could this be the beginning of an improvement in pictures here on this excuse for a blog? I doubt it but hey ho life goes on.

We arrived back at the Fun Cruiser in a buoyant mood, which was really nessary being as it did rain today.

Did I not mention I'm Welsh?

‘Till next time, take good care my friends,

John

A favor to ask of you....

2011-10-23T22:43:00.000+01:00

Mmmmm, I know that you folks out there in the great old blogosphere may not believe this but, if I’m perfectly honest with you, I’m a hobbit of little confidence. There I’ve said it, world shattering news eh? Ok to most folk this may not be a great deal but for one such as me it can dictate to whole course of one’s life; backing away from the edge, taking the easy option even if it’s not the right option, failing to speak out when I’m hurting, going along with the flow because it’s easier or even taking a step backwards when somebody could use my help. So why do I mention this now? After all I can bluster with the best of them, projecting an aura of confidence, of calmness even of threat! But that’s just it, its bluster whilst inside my stomach is churning, my thoughts are racing and I look for the easy way out! I’m absolutely crap at meeting folk for the first time; it sends bloody shivers down me back with my mind questioning how I come across to them – foolish? Maybe, but it’s a difficult thing to live with. So repeating myself, yes why do I mention it now? Well I have a favour to ask of you fellow bloggers, no don’t worry I know I’m Welsh but it doesn’t involve sheep. Some of you I have come to know well, as far as electronic communication may allow, others may well be full of bluster like myself but hide behind the monitor, but it’s hard to tell sometimes who are genuine folk or not. Ok I’ll stop rambling and tell today’s story of the walk and then put to you my question.

For the last few months I’ve been feeling more than the usual disconcertion with the road my life has followed, here I am in my mid forties (guess you didn’t think that from my youthful looks?) spending my working life grovelling around machinery trying to keep it running, funny thing – the engineer doesn’t produce a bean, keeps stopping the machinery to fix it and is intelligent enough to be a pain in the arse for a management team that doesn’t understand what we bring to a factory and also thinks we can fix absolutely anything with glue and bleedin’ fairy dust! Sorry off tangent again. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to be mauling my decaying body around heavy bloody machinery on a god damn awful shift rota any longer. But what options do I have? I’ve worked in factories now for too many years to change, or have I? Yes I have other issues with my life, don’t we all, but work certainly seems to be the main bug bear at the moment.

One thing that the hills around Moel Famau do for me is help clear my mind, they may not provide answers but they give me a sense of calm and it has been far too long since the hills here felt my foot falls upon them. It was afternoon before I managed to drag myself and the Warthog up there and on arriving the car park was absolutely chocker – bugger me thinks; half school term, people, little people, red faces, stupid questions about my gear, fat dogs on their yearly walk and an avalanche of detritus left by folk who have no understanding of, or just don’t care for the world outside their own four brick walls. I nearly turned around, I nearly did but I didn’t. I know enough of the area to know where the rarely trodden paths are, where even on a busy day like today the likelihood of meeting folk is minimal and these are more than likely of a similar mind to me. So off we trudged, leaving the clamour of the car park behind and soon forgetting the earlier frustrations as we’d arrived.

Our pace was not fast, I’d forgotten how little serious walking that I’d done lately and my breath at time was hard to come by. The woods alongside the trial were showing the colours of autumn in abundance and my thoughts grew less troubled and I was able to think more simply and more clearly.

As I walked today thinking upon my plight once more I came back to the same thoughts that have touched my mind with more and more regularity lately. Since been on this blogging journey I’ve come to realise that I love to write, love sharing my thoughts and having people respond to them. Some of you know of my other blog, Tails from the Fish, where I did try a little writing other than the drivel found here. One story there I enjoyed writing immensely, Something Under the Sea, a childhood tale of an evening adventure in Anglesey. So I turned the thoughts around once more in my mind, could I write well enough for folk to want to read my stories so much so that they would pay for them? Confidence it’s a bugger, the lack of it makes you pull away from a path late you cannot see to clearly ahead and I have dismissed this idea so many time in the past. The trial continued....

Sorry about the clarity of the pictures but the warm air was laden with moisture.

We came across familiar a friend, pictured many a time on previous posts and once more thoughts turned briefly to the Bog monster as we were approaching some of her favourite places where she used to play ‘the spook game’ with me.

But as in all things change comes about, where once stood old pine trees casting forbidding shadows on the path and if you had the courage to glance into their depths as you scurried past you’d be reminded of fairy tale woods. No, not the ones with shimmering elfin lanterns and the sweet singing of the little folk – no these trees reminded you of the darkest depths of primeval fears where the talon and the fang lurked in the shadows awaiting to pounce upon the unwary traveller. it was here always that Lucy would inevitably play her games.

But no more, for Lucy has gone to tread other paths and the trees stand tall and dark no more, the landscape left does indeed resemble ‘the desolation of Smaug.

Further on we broke clear of the hills, descending to the fields that skirt them where the exposed Hawthorn trees have been twisted and torn by years of harsh weather found here in the winter months.

Clinging to one was a large fungus, one I do not know but it may be called the ‘beef streak’ fungus.

My thoughts drifted as I watch Willow stalk a pigeon on the path, it taking off far later than I thought it would. I thought about how animals perceived colour through their eyes and wondered that if some do see just in black and white would the Warthog’s coat allow her to blend more;

She is in there honest

I sometimes wish that my life could be more black and white, but I guess I’d soon miss the colour of not knowing the future.

The walk was all too soon at an end, as we crested the last hill we could just make out the trig point a couple of miles away at Nercwys, me thinks that we’ll be heading there Monday, before the light fails, and try to catch a sunset.

As we sat the catch breath once more sitting in the fun cruiser, thoughts once again turned to my plight and I decided the ask what I’ve been mulling over for some time. I am going to have a go at writing, stories from my youth and later, hopefully told with warmth and humour and perhaps with some poetic licence. What I would like is to have some folk as proof readers to help me along and give advice. So there you have it, if you’d seriously like to take the time to read my struggling future attempts and pass back constructive feedback, good or bad as long as it is constructive, please let me know and do not let confidence hold you back! Take a look at the ‘unpolished’ story here and then decide if you’d like to help and receive stories to study and remark upon. As I’ve already mentioned I have received a kindly offer to help with my photography so now it’s your turn! I have a couple of folk in mind whom I hope will reply with an offer but me thinks that it would be best not to ask and just wait and see (confidence again)

Fingers crossed, your friend,

John

Not what I planned.....

2011-10-17T21:09:00.000+01:00

I well have mentioned this afore times, but sometimes I get so lost in myself, trying to achieve things that are absurdly out of my reach, trying to perhaps be somebody that I’d like to be but that fate and circumstance degree otherwise and so I remain this searching soul. With that I then become morose with feelings of failure and of losing the sense of who I truly am and what the hell is the point of all! Perhaps for all you more ‘well rounded’ individuals out there this does not make too much sense, well perhaps it doesn’t. I find it hard to explain the inner turmoil that sometimes threatens to overwhelm me and just make me give up on everything like walking, blogging, fishing, and generally trying leading a life that is morally right and just say "stuff it, work the grind, go home, get pissed sleep and get up for the grind once more". Well why not? It seems to work for so many numpties that I know so why should I be any different? Why should I give a damn? Why the hell should I give stuff about anything and instead just bury me head in the sand and say bollocks to it all?

I’ll bloody well tell you why, it’s because I do. Something, that I cannot find the words to explain, courses deep within me making me look around at all the shit that this living bacteria that is the human race does to this planet and to each other, without a second thought for the consequences and the hell that we’re eventually going to bring crashing down around our ears and if this rotund Welsh Hobbit can make the smallest of differences then I bloody well should, and if I can convince just one other person to make a small difference then even better – acorns n oak trees come to mind..... Whoa hang on a moment is this the rambling, blustering and generally filled with nonsense blog that my fine readers have come to expect, me thinks the answer to that would be a huge no, after all I did mention in a previous post that I’ll try and keep this an uplifting type of blog, at least I cannot fail at that dear reader.

But having said that I am human (well sort of), with all the failings and neurosis that comes with it. So saying, even I am apt to have an off day or three. Take this morning; oh please do, last night I went to bed with my head filled with notions of being an accomplished photographer and sharing such dazzling images of wildlife with you so increasing my standing before my fellow men. Idiot, fool of a Took even! I have enough trouble finding adequate words for this blog let alone try to be something else that I’m not! Anyway back to the plot, awoken by the alarm droning in my ear I realised that I’d already made a mistake as a quick look outside revealed a lightening sky, not sun up yet but getting brighter – I should have been ensconced in my pond side location already, awaiting all manner of wee beasties to photograph. So the mad rush began; feed the bloody chickens, make a brew (I really cannot function without at least one gallon of tea in the morning), gather the gear together (really should have done this last night), pat the mournful looking Warthog on her head and set off in a sedate manner. Erm... well not quite sedate the poor ol’ fun cruiser has not seen a turn of speed like this for some time and by the time that I’d reached Nercwys woods the adrenaline was racing through my body. What I have not mentioned so far is that I purloined Clare’s camera for this sortie hoping indeed to improve the photographs taken. Ah pride cometh before a fall as they say, although the same make as my own little snappy camera with very similar functions I has absolutely no idea how to get the best out of it. Entrenched beneath a hawthorn bush, sheltering from blustering wind and drizzle, alongside the pond where I hoped to take some photographs other than my usual fair, i.e. something that moved instead of static stuff, I floundered woefully. When the one real opportunity to take a really good shot arose I only managed to get the blurriest image imaginable. It was a badger and I’ve never been so close to one in my life! And yours truly managed to drop the ball totally, missing the shot and also spooking the animal before I could reorganise myself. Instead of feeling honored as I should to have been so close to such a beast my mood darkened and I decided to call it a day. Heading at first back towards to the car I tried taking photographs of the usual fair with Clare's camera but whether it was my foul mood or just the lack of familiarity with the camera absolutely nothing went right. I was exasperated and began asking myself as to whether it was worth it all, hence the ramble at the start of the post.

Supposed to be the sun through trees?

Not good are they?

Funny thing nature as is friendship you know, as I sat down trying to collect my thoughts I caught sight of my staff laid to one side.

Staring at me was the carving that a true friend from across the pond had sent me the design for many months ago. This person has certainly been through the mill but their words and care for others never stopped. I hardly get to speak to them now as their path has taken a turn for the better and their life seems to be filling with joy once more, which makes me sad for the lack of contact but overjoyed that they have turned the corner and find life good again. Looking at that design first made me think of the pain they have been through but then of the love for life and others that shines through them so brightly. Taking hold of that staff this morning was like taking hold of Leigh’s hand and the joy that came with it was immense, chasing those demons that once more threatened my mind away once more. Thank you Leigh and fare ye well.

I turned around and headed back into the woods, just wandering and soaking in the air, smells and feeling of belonging once more. In my hand I found my own camera once more and I wondered why on earth I had wanted to be bigger, better – after all it’s not me is it? So yes there are some pictures for you to glance at, not brilliant as usual but at least they tell the tale of the walk and show the world as I see it.

Vanity, tis a terrible curse....

I'm suspecting mice....

As I strolled I found myself singing! Yep lung burstingly singing as I strode beneath the whispering canopy of the trees, perhaps they too thought that I was unhinged? But I’d found my balance once more. Some more sights to interest you;

Interestingly though this tiny oak, together with a fir in another, were growing in bowls of a beech tree where its branches had been removed some time ago, funny thing nature.

There were signs of death, firstly a pigeon had met its demise, probably at the talons of a raptor as the quills of the feathers had been pulled and not chewed off.

And secondly what I think may be a magpie’s remains – this time I suspect a furry culprit as the quills here were chewed. Oh whilst I think on if any of you fly fisher folk would like these green oily coloured feathers drop me a line and I’ll post them along with some patterned chicken feathers, yes even to America ya buggers.

And at the end of the walk yours truly even caught something furry on his camera, not a badger maybe but at least it counts;

Told you so......the fungus nibbler...

So there we have it from morose to happy in the length of a walk in the woods. Oh and with the promise of some photographic help from a new acquaintance, Max, maybe someday I’ll get that badger. But it does not really matter in the great scheme of things in the end. My balance, for now, is restored so all is good. Even the Warthog forgave my walking without her.

Thank you once more for your indulgence, ‘till the next time take good care.

Your friend, John

How to make Cider - Part 3

2011-10-15T23:05:00.000+01:00

Ah, before I leap into describing my rough and ready method of producing nectar from apples I must first add a couple of items that I had over looked when listing the sundry items required in part 2. The first of these is a funnel and the second is a small diameter length of tubing being of about 4mm in diameter. Again please remember to ensure that you have cleaned all items thoroughly, I do not use preservatives in this method so to avoid disappointment please clean and clean again.

Stage 1, Mulching.

After cleaning your equipment the first stage is to prepare your hard won apples for pressing. I call this mulching, I know that it’s not the correct terminology but this is my write up and I happen to like the word mulch! Basically what we are aiming here for is to reduce the apples into mulch that can be pressed easily so releasing the apples’ juice.

I prefer to wash the apples simply in cold water before use; this is to remove any detritus and chemicals that may be on the outer skin of the apple. As I mentioned in part 2 this is traditionally done by first roughly segmenting the apples and then pounding them to a thick pulp with a piece of suitable timber. This works fine, but for an out of condition and rather rotund Hobbit like myself it is rather knackering. The method that I employ at the moment is to quarter the apples (6ths if large apples) and then used a food blender to reduce the apples to the desired consistency. The reason for segmenting the apples in this case is to simply allow them to be fed easily into the blender. The consistency should resemble small chucks of apples and you should not process them too much so that it resembles a paste!

Stage 2, Pressing.

The press itself is simplicity itself consisting of few parts, which briefly are the ‘pan’ complete with threaded shaft;

The ‘basket’, vertically slatted hardwood strips held together with metal bands (open top and bottom);

And finally the hardwood pieces and ‘capstan’ for the applying of pressure to the mulch;

The ‘basket’ sits on top of the ‘pan’ which in turn I position so that the lip of the ‘pan’ overhangs above a suitable container for the collection of what will hopefully be a torrent of apple juice.

Over the collection container I stretch a course net to catch any bits of apple that escape the press. This is in turn held in place by some ancient table cloth weights.

Once set up it is now just a simple case of loading the ‘basket’ to the top with the apple mulch. Place the two semi circular press pieces on top followed by the spacing pieces at 90 degrees. The pressure pad comes next (metal plate up) and then all that is left is to screw the ‘capstan’ down applying pressure, as the plates are forced downwards more pressure is applied by the use of a bar to turn the ‘capstan’.

The feeling of achievement that I get when the first drops of juice make their way into the pan and then start dripping like a cold nose on a winters morning is something else (sad I know). As more pressure is applied the drip soon becomes a steady flow and my smile does tend to get a little bigger.

Once the ‘capstan’ reaches its lowest point allow the juice to run until it basically stops. Unscrew the ‘capstan’ and remove the pressing plates, add more mulch to the top of the pressed mulch and repeat the pressing. I tend to repeat this one more time, ant more than this I find that the pressed mulch is difficult to remove from the basket. So after three pressings lift the basket and empty the ‘cake’ (the pressed mulch) into a clean container. Do not discard it just yet for if you find yourself short of a little juice some more can be obtained from repressing the ‘cake’. Repeat this ‘pressing’ process until all your apples are used or until you have obtained sufficient juice. As a rule of thumb it takes about 16 to 20lb of apples to make a gallon of juice.

Stage 3, Additives;

As earlier mentioned in part 1 the ingredients used here are simple with no chemicals and the like. Once you've obtained your juice add the juice of 1 lemon to about every 3 gallons of apple juice. I must admit to a slight cheat at this point as I do not squeeze my lemons for their juice (oh err missus), but I slice sufficient lemons and add them to the blender as I’m processing the apples.

Also to be added is a mug of cold, black tea for every couple of gallons of apple juice (about a 6th of a gallon) for tannin. Stir this in well and then add the yeast, the packet of yeast should come with manufacturers instruction upon the quantity of yeast required per gallon of juice. Allow the yeast to float on the top of the juice for about 10 minutes and then stir in.

Stage 4, Fermentation;

You can now transfer the juice to your demy johns. What I tend to do is line the demy johns up and fill them at the same time.

What I mean to say is that I’ll pour one jug of juice into the first demy john then move to the next and pour a jug of juice into this one. Moving along the demy johns this way means I get an even ‘mixture’ of the juice into each one as I find that the yeast does have a tendency to drop to the bottom of the juice even with stirring. I stir the juice after each round of jug pouring and repeat this until the demy johns are filled to just above their shoulder. It’s at this point if you find that you have miscalculated your quantity of juice and are a little short that the ‘cake’ can be repressed to obtain more juice. It does take more effort the second time of pressing but it is better than being short of juice.

The demy johns can now be closed off using a rubber bung with a hole through it and air lock assembly. At this point it may be worth noting that I do not just put water into the airlock but water that has been boiled and allowed to cool. Another point is that I cover the open top of the airlock with lint free cloth, held by cotton or an elastic band to prevent detritus or insects entering the airlock. All being well by the next morning you should have the satisfaction of seeing your airlock releasing bubbles of gas from the demy john. During the natural process of the yeast consuming the sugar within the apple juice it produces two waste products; alcohol and carbon dioxide, this is the gas you see bubbling through the air lock.

The time for which the juice continues to ferment can depend upon a few factors; amount of natural sugar in the juice, temperature, amount and strain of yeast etc. This may take from two to several weeks. As the juice ferments the appearance will change from that of something that may have been expelled from an effluent plant to a clearing and pleasing golden colour.

As this happens keep an eye on the fluid in the air lock and the rate of bubbles passing through it. As the rate slows to a hardly discernable flow or stops completely it is now the time that I bottle the juice.

Stage 5, Bottling;

Bottling is straight forward enough and I just siphon off from the demy john to the bottles. I personally do not rack demy johns off from one to another to help clear the sediment formed during the fermentation process. It’s not because I’m lazy, well not just because, but I prefer to leave the juice well alone and reduce the risk of contaminating it by say dirt off my hand. This does leave sediment at the base of the vessel so care has to be taken not to use a tube of too great of a diameter, hence keeping the flow rate slow and also keep the tube a little above the sediment.

At this point there is a choice to be made about your end product in that you can have flat cider, preferred by some or, like myself, carbonated cider (cider with fizz n bubbles). This again is simple enough as if flat cider is required then the juice can be siphoned directly into your bottles. If carbonated is required then add a level tea spoon of sugar (caster sugar dissolves faster) into each litre bottle before filling. For this I use a dry funnel so as to avoid getting sugar around the bottle’s top or neck. The adding of this sugar achieves carbonation simple by giving the remaining yeast a small amount of sugar to feast upon producing some more alcohol but more importantly now some more carbon dioxide. Because the bottle is now sealed the gas produced cannot escape and the pressure increase forces the gas to be absorbed into the liquid to be released once you open your bottle of cider with a satisfying ‘pop’.

If all goes well your cider will be drinkable in 6 months (a tad earlier if you really cannot wait) but I left mine for 10 months after bottling. A word of caution though, because of the lack of any preservatives in this method it is not wise to leave it anymore than about 12 months after bottling with it then being at risk of ‘going off’. This method, for me, produced an extremely drinkable, dry, cider which without being biased I preferred to many of the shop bought labels. I like it chilled from the fridge and it did have quite a kick, enough to redden my face a tad after a glass or two. Any who sampled it drained their glass holding it up for more and I simply could not ask for a better endorsement than that.

So there we have it, cider the Murphyfish way. If you have any questions or points of improvement to put across please feel free to comment. I know that to some of you this seems a rough and ready way to produce cider and the purest may well be now a wailing and gnashing their teeth, but it is, like me, rugged, simple and honest. Funny, it is hard to believe that a grease monkey like me can turn effluent into this;

As tradition dictated my last bottle from last year was drank as I crushed the first of this year’s apples, simple but strangely rewarding for me. I hope that you’ve enjoyed this straying from my usual meanderings, and ‘till the next time take good care of you and yours my friends.

John

How to make Cider - Part 2

2011-10-13T11:42:00.001+01:00

The Equipment required;

Just as the ingredients mentioned in part one are straight forward and simple enough, it just so happens that so is the equipment required, well at least the equipment that I use is!

Containers;

A selection of containers will be required for tasks such as washing the apples, a place to keep sliced apples, to hold the pressed juice etc. For all containers I strongly urge the use of stainless steel or food safe plastic to avoid issues such as contamination, affecting the taste via leaching amongst others. All containers must be clean, and I do mean clean! The biggest lesson that I learnt from least year’s cider making was that it is a lot of wasted effort if you loose a couple of gallons of cider by not ensuring that everything is clean.

Masher or pulper;

Last year saw Chunky Monkey and me laboring with a piece of 3x2 wood, pulverizing the apples in a plastic container.

Although effective the process soon had us both knackered and several ‘recuperation’ breaks were required by both. So for this year’s production I was looking for an easier way to reduce the apples into a state into which they could be pressed, especially as I had been abandoned by the Chunkster due to work commitments with his fledgling company. For a brief trail last year I sneaked Clare's food blender into that hallowed space known as the garage and very effective it proved in reducing the apples into the right consistency for pressing. Unfortunately my experiment was cut short when my plan was uncovered (luckily for me it was the only thing cut short!). This year though I have obtained a second, all singing and dancing blender from a recent car boot sale for the princely sum of £2.00. This I graciously gave to Clare who in turn allowed me to claim the original blender. So for this year a blender was the weapon of choice for mashing the apples. Again you must insure that the item is clean before use, and I do not mean a quick rinse under the tap.

The press;

The press above was obtained last year by the Chunkster and myself for around £50.00 each. This was by far the greatest expense of the operation but once obtained a well made press should last for years if properly maintained. The idea of the press is relatively simple; apple mulch is loaded into the top and is pressed down using the wooden plates via the threaded bar and capstan piece. As the wood is forced onto the mulch the resulting pressure forces the juice through the vertical slates to be collected in the drip tray and then into a suitable container.

Storage bottles;

For the initial fermentation stage I use traditional demy johns fitted with pressure releasing air locks. For the bottling stage I prefer the ceramic topped bottles where the top is held in place by a strong ‘spring’ and the seal between glass and ceramic is obtained via a rubber seal.

Sundries;

As well as the above there are a few items which make life that little bit easier; a couple of sharp knives, food safe chopping board, flexible spatula, food safe lubricant, anti bacterial cleaning spray, an understanding wife, a transfer jug, lint free clothes, mesh bag, stirring spoon (a big un)and finally a CD player with a varied selection of your favorite music as the process can be quite time consuming. I would venture that early ZZ Top, Fleetwood Mac, Rye Cooder, Steve Earl and perhaps a little of the Wurzels are suitable accompaniment whilst laboring over your apples.

Cleaning solutions;

At the risk of repeating myself I cannot stress strongly enough how important I feel that keeping everything, even your hands, as clean as possible is.

Before use I wash or soak every piece of equipment mentioned in the above paragraphs in a solution more commonly used for the cleaning of baby drinking/feeding containers before allowing it to air dry. There are of course recognized brands available but I stick with the cheaper supermarket own brands to save a few pennies and they do the job just as well. As well as this I invest in a decent anti bacterial cleaning spray which I constantly use to wipe down various items and surfaces throughout the process. Perhaps you may think that this is a little over the top but believe me when I say that the dejection felt after all the work required to produce a couple of gallons of apple juice is all for naught just because of not paying a little time and attention to cleanliness is not a good feeling at all – the term ‘well pissed off’ certainly comes to mind!

Well I think that covers the equipment required and so ends part two of this here Hobbit’s feeble attempt to explain how I make cider. If you’ve got this far then I haven’t done a bad job so far. The third and final installment will follow soon and is the best bit, being the actual cider making process.

‘Till the next time take good care of your selves,
Your friend, John

How to make Cider - Part 1

2011-10-12T00:08:00.000+01:00

After a couple of requests from some of my readers from across the pond I feel compelled to give my take upon the ancient and dark art of cider making. Now regular readers will know that I'm as about as expert on this subject as I am on say; lobotomy operations, the art of chess or even writing for that matter! So for me to try and produce a readable, practical guide to making cider using ‘The Murphyfish method’ should be interesting to say the least! I’ll endeavour to make this as plain and as simple as possible, although from me you would expect nothing else! Having said this though, the very beauty of the method that I’ve put together from various sources and other peoples accounts is in its simplicity.

A lot of the recipes and methods that I came across talk in much more detail, using chemicals and some more natural bits n bobs to produce cider comparable to shop bought. But I’m a simple man and when myself and my friend Chunky Monkey set about making cider last year we decided to forgo a lot of the science and plumb for the simplest method that would result in a drinkable and alcoholic brew. The results were firstly a great deal of fun and laughter in the making of it, a lot of expectation and of staring at bubbling glass jars and finally a brew that proved to be far more enjoyable than we could have ever hoped! Every person that sampled the stuff finished their glass and held it up for more. This, more than anything, says that the method that we cobbled together between us worked fine enough for these two bumpkins!

The Ingredients;

Apples;- Yes apples, now I know some you might well be thinking ‘well that’s bloody obvious’ but before you start smirking and wallowing within your smugness, a word. Several cider recipes that I perused last year in an effort to gain an insight into this dark art named specific types of apples that were “absolutely essential” in the production of drinkable cider – hogwash. There may well be truth in that certain apples encourage certain qualities within the finish product but if, like me, you do not have access to such fruit and like me, which is more than likely the case, your apple identification runs to Crab apples, Cooking apples and then other apples well then worrying about specific types of what apples to use is pointless.

One thing that I gleaned from the abundance of material out there on the subject is that the more diverse a mixture of apples you use, of whatever types you can lay your clammy hands upon, the better. But words of warning, try a least to make some sort of record from whence you obtained your different apples and in what quantities they were roughly mixed. The reasoning behind this is if, like me, you manage to produce an acceptable and palatable cider then it’s wise to have a record or recipe if you like, of what made it successful.

Apples should be picked when ripe or as near as damn it with any bruised of rotten ones discarded. After picking I tend to store my apples for a week or so in cardboard boxes again discarding ones that appear to be rotting. It’s at this point that the inner sanctum known as the garage begins to smell like an orchard.

One final word (for now) is that you’ll require around about 20lb’s of apple to produce 1 gallon of cider. This is because there is no water used in my method so all the liquid comes from the fruit. So be aware that if you decide to produce more than just a couple of bottles then a large quantity of apples will be required.

Yeast; - But more specifically cider yeast. Now do not expect this befuddled hobbit to know the ins and outs of yeasts but apparently different types will give different results in the fermentation process, hence cider yeast is the one for me. From the little that I’ve learned so far, yeast is a fungus (I think) with several different species/varieties that consume the apples’ sugar at different rates so giving different quantities of waste off in the forms of carbon dioxide and alcohol, hence the different effects upon the end product.

It is possible so ferment cider using only the natural yeast that is found on the apples but I felt that was a little bit of ‘leaving it to chance’, hence the addition of the ‘produced’ yeast. After all it’s a lot of apples and effort to waste if it all goes tits up!

Lemons; - I add about 1 full lemon to each one of my production sessions which is about 3 gallons at the moment. This is added to introduce some acidity and seems to help the process along. Like I said I’m no expert and I do not know exactly why this works, but it does.

Strong cold tea; - This helps provide or increase ‘tannin’ in the cider. The best way that I can explain tannin and it’s need in cider production is by being lazy and giving you this link to follow; http://www.cider.org.uk/tannin.htm. Yes I know it’s a small cop out but I didn’t want to cheat and pretend that I know all the ins and outs of this part of the process.

And that’s it, just four ingredients! Well that's part one done and dusted, part two will give a run down on the equipment used and the method of turning apples into something a little bit special. I hope that this is making sense so far.

Your friend,

John

Out and about..........

2011-10-07T18:02:00.000+01:00

Afternoon all, and a wet and windy one it is at that here in 'sunny' Buckley. It came to mind that recently I've allowing a few things slip lately and that ol' devil lethargy and his side kick Mr. Morose have been sneaking up on me, rather like mosses slowly covering a stone - at first you don't notice it but if you're not careful they'll completely swamp you and you'll not see the truth lying underneath.

It's certainly not that I haven't been active but the pressure of 'the grind' has been heavy upon me and there just never seem to be enough hours in the day to finish everything, so in the end you end up like the Irish man who was put in a barrel and told to piss in the corner - very dizzy and still with the pain of a full bladder!

Fortunately I know of a remedy to these woes, a walk in the woods on a crisp autumnal morning - and I do mean crisp! We headed back to Nercwys woods, a place we have not been since the Warthog cut here hock a while ago. As soon as we set foot upon the trails we fell into our routine, Willow investigating anything up to twenty yards ahead and this here Hobbit once again having his breath taken away by nature.

The walled area where pigs were kept awhile ago now homes a small flock of old breed sheep, and they fitted perfectly within their new surroundings.

All along the trails were signs that autumn has final taken over from summer after the recent mini heat wave that caressed us and teased that it would be warm for a few more weeks to come. I'm one for defined seasons so so finally have autumn weather here is a blessed relief for me at least. There's not many words this clumsy bugger could use to describe the joy of the walk and the relief that it gave from what was beginning to feel like a deepening gloom taking hold. Suffice to say I'll let me quickly taken pictures share some of the walk with you;

So there we have, few words but a bloody lovely walk that rid my blues afore they even had chance to take a hold of me. Hope that you enjoy this little meander of mine, and for a tease my next post will be serious one upon cider making!

Till then take good care my friends,

John

Goodbye to the chickens...

2011-09-30T23:33:00.000+01:00

OK so that's another one of my misleading post titles, what it really should say is 'Goodbye to the chicken's house, Poultry Towers'. But hey if it grabbed your attention then mission accomplished me thinks.

But yes today was the day when 'Poultry towers' ceased to be. The obvious and most labor saving method would have been fire me thinks, and after today's pantomime I'm beginning to think that would have been a good choice. Firstly I should explain the reasons behind the ending of said chicken coup, remember that we started with just two cute n cuddly bantams (with a hint of loveliness)? then one of the buggers went all broody, and then my friend (?) Mr. J. Grey cajoled me into taking six fertilized eggs and then all the buggers only went and hatched (damn Penny for being such a good mum)? OK so one sadly didn't make it but the other five mini dinosaurs have positively thrived and now require larger accommodation - bugger. Mini dinosaurs you ask? bloody right they are, have you ever seen the veloceraptors in Jurassic park? could have been my chickens I'm telling you straight!

So back on tangent it was decided to donate Poultry Towers to a deserving cause, and what better cause than the bugger who finally got me hooked on chickens, especially as he's suffering from a case of the worst illness known to mankind - yep man flu.

Having carefully deconstructed said creation to enable easy (ha) reassemble it was then loaded into the Fun Cruiser and trailer (yep that big) and off we set. At this point I should just perhaps mention a couple of things about my trailer: firstly it's old - me and my dad made it when I was 12 ish, secondly its number plate does not exactly match mine (OK it does not look anything like mine), and finally I don't plug the lights in because they blow me brake lights. Yes I know as a engineer I should fix this but do you know of a green keeper who likes gardening? Damn thing is though it's about 15 miles to John's abode for chickens and other fowl and I swear to god that in that short journey I have never ever seen so many bloody policemen sitting in their jam butty cars, talk about a fraught journey! Needless to say tomorrow I'll be working on the trailer repairs, bugger.

Once the Beverly hill billies (that'll be us and our trailer) safely descended on John it was quickly apparent that he wasn't at deaths door after all and was able to provide a hot brew and plenty of moral support and chicken advice as I manfully struggle to erect my temple to chickens.

After a brief construction process Poultry Towers was finally relocated in its new home, I'm sure that it'll give plenty of future chickens a safe haven, especially with John looking after them.

Oh and another thing just crossed my mind, you know how I damn well struggle to take furry animal pictures when upon the trials? Well ha, no I think a double is required here so Ha ha mortals. For your perusal a selection of photographed animals from John G's menagerie ;-

OK so I didn't take the feathered ones, or the cave man in the earlier photo by Poultry Towers, but the pig ones? mine all mine I tell ya.

Oh and what of my own, coup-less chickens? fear not dear reader for I can take great pleasure in unveiling;-

Fluttering Heights - ta daaaa

Right that's enough bunkum for one post, as always thank you for reading and until the next time take good care.

Your friend, John

Couldn't think of anything better....

2011-09-28T14:46:00.000+01:00

Tis indeed a hot and beautiful day as I shrug off the woolen headed feeling left around me head from last nights show of horrors called 'the grind'. I've being contemplating my 150th post (yes I know 149 too many) with all manner of classy, humorous, sharp, jaw dropping and general captivating pieces, but for those you'll just have to wait, probably for a long time and on somebody else's blog for that matter!

I thought that I'd just show a short video clip of what's been happening within the dark recesses of the sanctuary to all lost boy scouts and whittling type folk, known to you simply as 'the garage';-

Sadly this was the last bottle from my cider making of 2010, but do not fret for already there are several gallons fermenting of 2011's hopefully fine batch......

Short but in no way sweet...

2011-09-12T15:43:00.000+01:00

Afternoon folks, tis just time for a short post before I headeth out into the howling gales that are battering me newly erected fence (you just know that's going to come down...) and take meself and the Warthog on a truly cobweb clearing walk. Hoping to pick up me new (well new to me at lest) 'puter this week so blogging, e-mailing etc. may be in short supply whilst I get to grips with it. Hopefully not too long before you have to put up with more of my babbling ramblings but you know me and modern technology, we just do not mix..

Me next post will be me one hundredth n fiftieth, can you believe that? and that I've managed to spout so much drivel and still have folks reading? Guess I'll have to pull me finger out and make the next post a good un then (that'll be a first).

Seriously though, I'd just like to take the opportunity to offer a heart felt thank you to all of me readers, for your time and sometimes even your comments ;o). It truly does amaze and humble me the response that I get here. Right enough of that, time to go and get windswept.....

Till the next time (may be a few days) take very good care of your selves,

Your friend as ever,

John

Morning walk....

2011-09-06T11:56:00.000+01:00

Now I have a whole host of things to do before my reluctant return to ‘the grind’ this Thursday and truly no time to finish everything, but this morning I had a little of the butterfly in me. Let me enlighten you a tad more;-

I rose early, before dawn’s first light had highlighted the gap above the bedroom curtains, after one of the most vivid and stomach turning nightmares that I’ve had for some years, it is still etched in my mind as I sit and type this tale. So I’m up early and a tad upset (yes even I have some feelings you know), I dress quietly so as to allow the house to slumber and take a brew outside to greet the morning. The wind is rising and there is all manner of debris strewn around the back yard which, with an absent mind, I clear away. I feed the chucks and the Warthog and return inside to make a fresh brew and toast smothered with proper butter and honey. Clare emerges bleary eyed with that ‘you're up already look’ upon her face. I skip over the dream and let her know that the chores are done, “tea and toast?” I ask, intending now to start upon the ever escalating ‘jobs for John’ list. “Windy morning, why don’t take Willow out for a while before you start?”, this is Clare’s way of saying “get yourself out from under my feet whilst I get ready for work you dotard”. But never one to require a second invitation for a stroll five minutes later the two wanderers are pacing the streets of Buckley heading for the outskirts and relief from the trappings of man. See butterflying, and to define this word;- ‘in all good faith intending to knuckle down and doing some serious labour but then being easily distracted and doing something all together different (and more enjoyable)’.

I must admit it has been a while since I’ve waffled on about our walking under the canopy of forests or on the skyline of the hills, but the reason is simple. Since the Warthog managed to damage her rear leg so severely it has been a long haul to return her to a level where I’m not worried about further damage occurring and her fitness had returned. So we’ve been pacing the streets of Buckley, slowly increasing distance and confidence and we’ve now reached a point where we are leaving suburbia behind us and are traversing the surrounding countryside which consists of farm fields and the odd, scattered island of old woodland. I had never really given much thought to the area immediately surrounding the town where I live but truth be told if your patient and observant there is as much, if not more, wild flora and fauna to appreciate than on the walks that usually find our paw prints in the mud. Another benefit is that I’m not using the fun cruiser as much so my affect upon the local ecology is reduced a tad and I’m also a little better off in the wallet. This is not to say that we shall not be treading the wilder trials again, bloody hell no, just not as frequently but perhaps then they will have more impact upon my soul.

Once we’d left the shelter of the built up area the freshness of the morning assailed our senses, the wind had picked up even more ensuring that there were no cobwebs left clouding my head. The odd shower was driving sidewise into us, buffeting our steps. I smiled and laughed aloud, for after all this has become my favourite time of the year when Mother Nature’s larder is overflowing with fare for those with a mind to feast upon it. The air has a freshness about it which seems to flow through and infuse your body and mind if you allow it to, the world of the grind and of chores is left behind and forgotten for a few stolen moments. Even the rain lashing against my face just added to the feeling of ….. well sheer bloody happiness to be honest. Even the Warthog seemed to be infected with the atmosphere;-

Speaking of Mother Nature’s larder it seems to be truly over flowing this year and I cannot shake the feeling that this abundance of wild food bodes for a truly severe winter to follow. But hey, in for a penny in for a pound as they say (don’t ask because I still don’t know who ‘they’ are yet), and for me it also means that there is still plenty of foraging to be done over the next few weeks as I slowly learn to live closer to nature. It is a slow journey, one that I truly wish that I stepped foot upon so many years ago but you cannot change the past only try and shape your future as the saying goes (yes I know ‘they’ are at it again!). So I guess you’ll be wanting a few pictures then to prove that I had not imagined the plunder to be had;-

Elder berry.

Crab Apples

Hawthorn Berry

Bramble or to some Blackberry

Blackthorn/Sloe Berry - now what to do with these....

Rose Hip (from Dog Rose)

Acorns of course

Small Puffball Fungus (I think)

Also we came across plenty of rabbit sign, a small field pit (with a couple of mallard, yep no photo), and some squirrel infested woodland so I think a few ‘undercover’ outings will be called for as the nights draw in, for after all a larder should hold a little meat as well.

Our time of escapisium was all to brief and we soon found ourselves heading into the greyness of town with the prospect of the ‘to do’ list looming large once more.

Bugger

But there was just time for a little more butterflying, so with yet another brew I sat down to relive our walk and share it with you my friends, I hope you enjoyed the stroll.

Till next time and an update on the brewing madness here, your friend,

John

Pear cider - maybe not....

2011-09-01T23:35:00.000+01:00

You know that when you’ve done something and it’s worked in the past but then the voices in your head tell you that there is a better way to do it? You know it’s wrong to listen to those fraudulent voices and that they’re just trying to lead you astray but still you listen. I mean to say they really know how to talk to you, a little whispering first putting doubt in your mind, just a small amount, then more smooth and silky words you cannot resist “go on John you know you want to, after all what harm could trying it this way possibly cause?”. And then the shit hits the bleedin’ fan once more….

Readers that have stuck with my demented ramblings for some time may well recollect the fun that my friend Chunky Monkey and I had in our first attempt at making cider last year. The method was simplicity in it’s self; collect apples, mash apples with log, press juice from apples, add yeast, add lemon juice, add cold tea (no milk and sugar thank you), roughly filter juice into demy jons, wait for several months and drink cider. This seemingly unpretentious method has worked for folk since Ug first found his fermenting pool of apple juice. But stupid John here decided that he could go one better, oh yes there’s always a smart arse who thinks that they are just that incy wincey little bit smarter and ahead of the game isn’t there? But to be honest I was not entirely to blame for my misdemeanour, I neighbour of mine (who’s name shall remain hidden to protect the guilty) mentioned that using a juicer to extract fruit juice for the purpose of ‘brewing’ would be a far easier method than the pounding of apples with a piece of 4X2. See those voices jumped on this and convinced me that neighbour must be write ‘cause everyone knows more about brewing than I do, ah foolish mortal if only I’d had more confidence in my own abilities. So a day later here’s your friendly idiots new piece of cider making equipment – ta da a juicer.

Now I’ve just been given some pears and a few apples so me thinks ‘ahaa let’s be taking the grunt from pounding the fruit’, so with much aplomb and gusto I set forth with the juicer attacking the fruit manically. I even roped in Clare to help wash and cut the fruit as the juicer devoured it so fast. “It’s a bit er frothy” says Clare, Mmmm “be fine” says me, with the first inkling of impending doom scratching the deepest depths of my mind. Carrying on regardless, well you cannot say that I’m not a stubborn bugger that’s for sure. Soon the Demy Jon is full to the required level with er… well to be honest something that looks like a bloody Quatermass experiment – bollocks, no I’ll take that back, what I meant to say was “double bollocks”! But, never one to give up, I carefully placed the Demy Jon into the garage (there was no way in hell that Clare was letting this stay in the kitchen) but then I swear to god that as I placed it on the work bench the damn thing chuckled at me, bloody hell! it was alive and had it’s own thoughts of world domination. Ok so perhaps a little exaggeration there but it did have a hell of a lot of movement in it, swirling and all sorts going on!

The early morning light did show a little improvement but I'm not holding me breath for this one. On a brighter note though I did find a bottle of Sloe gin somehow forgotten from last year and it is to die for, absolutely bloody gorgeous my friends. Not only that there is still a gallon of Elder flower wine to bottle, a gallon of plum wine just started in the Deny Jon, two gallons of apple wine ready to consume (well they will be in a weeks time) and saving the best to the very last I’ve just started a third of a gallon of Damson gin. Now some readers may be under the impression that I may have a drink problem but please let me assure you one and all; I drink, I get drunk and then I fall down – honestly it’s no problem at all!

Seriously though, contrary to all evidence I do enjoy a drink or sometimes two but that’s the key, I enjoy a drink. I don’t drink for the sake of getting drunk, In fact that is a rare occasion indeed. No I take pleasure in what I drink but I do not allow it to affect my life or interfere with me ‘getting out there’, ok sermon bit over.

Oh and just one last thing afore I leave you in peace, you remember them chicks that have hatched here lately? Well I’m not one to complain Mr. Gray but what the bloody hell have you landed me with? Just look at the buggers would ya, I mean to say look at the first picture, is that truly a chicken? As for the rest of them, well I know now what happened to the dinosaurs, they’re not extinct no, they are in my back yard – raptors in miniature.

So that’s about it my friends, another instalment in the trails and tribulations of this rotund Welsh Hobbit, till next time take care.

John

Just checked me e-mails as finishing this off and from me matey Damn, and I quote "On a cider note, don't mess with the old method. Munch up apples, squeeze to get juice, add yeast, wait, drink." don't you just hate that when it happens?

By the sea...

2011-08-28T23:29:00.000+01:00

This blog entry is my submission for the Red Tuna Shirt Club and Outdoor Blogger Network Writing Contest.

Bloody hell fire now’s here’s a predicament for sure. The OBN in their wisdom (?) have coming up with a little writing prompt/competition in cahoots with the Red Tuna shirt club. You may well guess the prize, that’s right T shirts. Now you all know what a skin flint this rotund Welsh hobbit is and being as my clothing selection at home is looking a tad thread bare to say the least I thinks to myself that this is a fine chance to be able to wear more than one T shirt a week and not be bare chested when the time comes to wash me shirt in the local drains down at the local water purification and sparkle adding plant. (Sewage works to you folks). I mean to say, I damn near catch me death of a cold in the winter you know come wash day! But here be the rub, regular readers (at the last count 4 me thinks) know that I cannot write for toffee and that my fishing ability is even worse, but in for a penny as they say (don’t ask me who) here is my punitive entry;-

As most people who truly know me realise I am not a great fisherman, in fact I wouldn’t class myself as a fisherman in the true sense of the word as I only fish now a-days on rare and odd occasions. I know extremely few set ups or techniques relying upon float fishing for coarse fishing (that’ll be fresh water fishing for you folks over the pond), and either spinning or a bit of ledgering for the times that I get to venture onto the North Wales coastline. All the techniques that I use were learnt, in the loosest possible of terms, as a child and I’ve tended to stick with these to this day. But that’s not to say that I don’t catch fish when I have a mind too, either for pleasure or for the table. I may be simple and use simple means but you know sometime simple deeds are the very best things that can happen.

The question put forth for this writing prompt was where would you fish given the chance, who would you tag along with and what would you fish for? I dare say that many of the entrants may look to exotic location, celebrity companions and amazing rod bending leviathans, but not me my friends, not me. For me there is no better place to fish than a hard to get to spot at the base of some cliffs just West of Moelfre, on the isle Anglesey just an hour and a half away from my doorstep. It’s hard to get to because there’s no discernable route down the cliffs and it’s a case of pick a handhold and put your trust into whoever you pray to (that’ll be the god of ‘don’t look down then’ for me). Once down upon the small area of level granite rock formation you realise that there is only room for two folk to fish here and then so carefully. So why the hard to get to place I hear you ask? For me it’s a question of solitude and of being somewhere that is seldom touched by mankind and the detritus he tends to leave in his wake. But it’s not just that, here you truly feel at one with nature and with the sea. From the raucous chatter of nesting gulls that your passage may have annoyed in the spring to the thunder of water underneath the rocks that you perch upon as it wages it’s timeless, wearing, war of erosion upon the hard Welsh coastline. Here it always seems that the sea spray is in your face and that the colour of the powerful swells before you could not be more beautiful. The best, and to be honest most unsafe apart from a winters storm, time to be here is very early autumn as the sun starts to kiss the horizon, melting in the sea and painting it with fiery wonder. The tide has turned and the fish are now following it towards you along with a sea that in a few hours will cover your small perch.

I mention solitude, but sometimes solitude can be found with the very best of friends, two people who are comfortable enough with each other that there is no need to fill the silence between them with idle chatter. This may seem strange to some folk but the friend whom I think would be the perfect companion upon this ledge would not be somebody who I have met in the flesh. I have extremely few true friends and I think that if you are honest with yourselves you would admit to the same. I know many people who I call mate, friend, pal buddy and the like but true friends? I’ll offer here a piece of advice given to me once by my father, Old String-vest (don’t ask ‘cause that is a long story); “In this life you’ll count the number of true friends upon the fingers of one hand”. This is good news for me because I can only count to five! So back on point, the ‘friend’ that I would like to share a few hours fishing here would be Casey Harn, a fellow blogger from the other side of the world. I’ve ‘known’ Casey now for sometime through blogging and thru e-mails and I think that I’m right in saying that there is a deep yet hard to pin point connection between us. I cannot say why it’s just is that way, brothers in another life maybe, but to spend time in the ‘real world’ fishing with Casey would please me no end.

There is only one way to fish this place and essential equipment includes a portable barbeque, some lemon and dill, tin foil a very lightly set up spinning rod and a bloody heavy set up ledger rod with a decent wire trace on the business end. There are two fish that are the targets here, the first is on the light spinning rods and these are the mackerel that’ll be pushing the whitebait to their doom against the wall of the rocks. At times when the mackerel are driving their prey the surface of the sea literally boils with tiny bait fish leaping for their lives. Into this caldron the single spinners are cast on 2 to 3lb line. The object is to catch but not just haul the fish out once the lure has been snapped up, oh no my friends far better is the thrill of having to play these 3 to 4lb banded torpedoes upon the lightest of tackle. The first couple are not dispatched when finally landed. No they are placed alive in the solitary rock pool that shares our spec. If we’re fortunate there are more caught and these are dispatched and cut into what I term flappers, that’s to say that they are cut so that the head remains attached to two flanks of flesh and when presented on the hook the movement this induces is a great temptation for the bigger predators that follow the mackerel shoals in.

So now tis time for the heavy rods, casting the fresh flappers out as far as we can, we now get to play the waiting game, but not for to long as the light is fading and the water is ever rising. With rods safely upon tripods we now dispatch the earlier caught fish, gut them filling the cavity with the lemon and dill (and black pepper if I ever remember to take some), wrapped in the foil they’re placed on the fires embers and a couple of ring pulls can be heard releasing the cider’s pressure from within the can. Drinking whilst in such a perilous place? Only the one can each, just to keep the deepening chill at bay for a while and help wash down that last bit of fish oil from those fish that were good enough to give their bodies up to feed us. As we feast, eyes watching the glow lights on the rod tips for sign of something big we share the odd word of our different yet so similar lives, dreams and expectations.

Maybe the quite will be shattered by a line being pulled taught as a cobalt blue monster makes his bid for freedom or maybe not as the baits fail in their task. Whatever the case as the morning sun finally lets enough light to illuminate the rock shelf, chasing the ebbing tide away, not a sign is to be seen of the two kindred spirits. A gull flashes down as a sparkle catches his ever roving eye, disgusted he turns away before landing as the crabs have already picked clean the head of the conger eel that now floats in the pool once more abandoned by the sea.

In a caravan a few miles away, two contented souls still dream of the ones that got away, yet to awaken and face the hangover that the whiskey supped in the nearby pub will unavoidably have left them with……. Simple indeed.

I hope that you’ve enjoyed a glimpse into one of my hopes, not enough for a new shirt I fear, but I’d rather that one day I’d get to fish with Casey than win the shirt. After all it’s still two weeks before I have to peel this one off and take a trip to the sewerage works….

Take care all of you, your friend,

John

Not so pucker today...

2011-08-24T14:48:00.001+01:00

I've been feeling a tad frayed around the edges for the last couple of days, hard to but me finger on it whether I'm feeling a tad morose or just bloody knackered or perhaps a combination of both. Upshot being that I came home early from the grind yesterday, no doubt there will be much wailing and the gnashing of managerial teeth. "What? that peasant Wooldridge has absconded? prepare the rack, nail pullers and cat o nine, we'll teach him that sickness is not an option". Well maybe not that bad but you get the gist, damn thing is I'm off for twelve days starting this weekend, if I could have just hung out a tad longer.....

So before the dreaded lurgi caught me in it's cloying grasp what news be there from Hobbits-ville, N.Wales? Well to be honest not a great deal, there are the usual one thousand and one things to do around here but I seem to have lost the drive at the moment, twill come back no doubt. Funny thing, I wasn't expecting to be on the keyboard much over the next couple of weeks yet here I am tapping away, demon like, at it.

OK so I haven't being totally incapacitated, I've bottled up the elder flower wine and have started a mulch of plum wine. The thing being, I was going to call it a day after the elder flower, I didn't want to make to much wine stuff as I'm new to this brewing malarkey and it could all go so horribly wrong. Then I gets the call, well actually it was a text, off me mate 'Chunky Monkey'; "me plum tree's loaded, come and get me ripe plums". As you can well imagine I did hesitate for a moment, rereading the message hoping that I hadn't got hold of the wrong end of the stick so to speak. Half hour later we're brewing up in his work shop chewing the cud for a while as friends do. Thoughts eventually turned to more important topics. "Well are you going to show me your plums?", funny how Chunky started fighting for breath as his scolding hot coffee went down the wrong pipe at this request. "In me bloody garden" he finally gasped. So a quick detour and there was a single dwarf plum tree that was laden so much that the fruit looked more like grape bunches, funny that, being as what I was thinking of using them for! "What type are they?" I enquired, "plums" came the reply, I really should have known better than the ask a fellow grease monkey such detailed information. "Help yourself, see thee back at the workshop, your turn to brew up" and he was off. Running his own business makes him a tad more committed than when we worked together in the grind that's for sure, also a damn sight happier to boot.

As I approached the laden tree it didn't escape my attention that I was far from alone in the stealing of its fruit. Wasps, bloody hundreds of the little buggers, no wonder his Chunkiness wanted me to pick the fruit the rotund little git! The thing is me and biting, stinging and generally acid hurling insects have this agreement: I come along blissfully unaware of the pain to come. They, without exclusion will bite, sting and generally make me do that bloody stupid arm flapping, Anglo Saxon accompanied dance whilst trying to rid one or more from me underpants. The thought did cross my mind (didn't take long to span that empty space then) to beat a hasty retreat and tell Chunky that his plums were unfit for consumption, which may have come as a blessed relief for his wife! ahem to continue.... But being of somewhat unsound mind, that is my nature, and with the thought 'bugger it' filling the void between me ears as well as the buzzing of the stripped stingers I approach the tree; have you ever watched wasps feeding upon ripe fruit? I swear to you that the little buggers were pissed! No not pissed as in that angry way, no I mean as pissed as farts or pissed as a newt as the saying goes, the little blighters were three sheets to the wind - on my plums! Taking my life in my hands, OK maybe a tad dramatic there, I started picking Chunky's plums, but only the ripe ones. As I plucked carefully away (several had wasps chewing merrily away upon them) I began to feel like King Kong, you know the bit : on the Empire state building with little bi-planes buzzing around me furry head. So intoxicated were they that they failed to notice the stealthy presence of 'John the great fruit hunter', and all I had to do was carefully sidestep their wayward flight paths and avoid curling me mits around a plum crawling with drunken insects. A slow but strangely rewarding time then with the result being a heap of plums in the back of the fun cruiser and me unscathed, well apart from when one of the little buggers actually head butted me, time did stand still then for a moment I can tell you!

After saying me farewells to Chunky I arrived home to find that, when consulting my plum wine notes, that I had rather a surplus - about fifteen pounds of surplus of rather delicious plums. Don't ask because I don't know why I picked so many. I hate waste as much as the next person, maybe it was those mesmerising drunken wasps. After making enough base for a couple of demi johns of plum wine and scoffing a fair plums few to boot, thoughts turned to what to do with the rest, aha jam thought I. Slight problem here, jam maker I am not (though it's an idea for the future) but I have a neighbour who is the very meaning of the baking housewife. After a quick visit to Val's and yet more coffee she took my plums in hand err I mean my plums were transferred to a better place - hell you know what I mean. I also took over several used jam jars that she'd asked about earlier and returned to sugar that I had also borrowed some time ago. Upshot is Val is going to make me an apple pie (no, not from the plums you fools) and I'm to supply her and her husband Phil (nice bloke) with sloes gin when the time is right - result.

So there you have the saga of the plums my friends. Speaking of harvesting , do any of you think that everything is a little early this year? Seems to me that wild crops are huge and very early, or is that just me becoming more aware of nature as I continue this journey of mine back to nature ? Speaking of journeys of sorts, the Warthog's leg now seems fully recovered and we're still pacing the roads in and around Hobbits-ville treading in ever increasing circles. We're now getting further into the country and the hedgerows do seem laden with fruit and nuts, me thinks that my waistline my well be on the increase this year, regardless of the extra mileage we're putting in! Here's just a taste of what's on offer, I failed once more to take decent photos of fur n feather but you'll have to take my word that the rabbits are plentiful and bonny with it....

There's little more to say other than I've taken delivery of wooden child's playhouse. Now don't start with yer wild guessing and mis-interpretations - it's for me chickens. Yep so far so good, all six chicks seem in fine fettle and are growing at a fair rate of knots - so with Clare's blessings a bigger run is on the cards together with a bigger coup, so it'll soon be time to say goodbye 'Poultry Towers' and hello to......wait for it.....'Fluttering Heights'... ta daaa. Oh go on smile a little, it's the best my weakened state will allow, some pictures of the little buggers then;-

Pingu - still looks like a bleedin' penguin...

I guess that's all for now, oh I'd just like to share a couple of things by a chap called 'Blaster Bates', listened to many times over in my childhood., it may well give you some idea why I am like I am, just click on the pictures and enjoy...or not as may be the case..

So long for now my friends, as soon as the dreaded lurgi has released me from it's cloying grasp I'll be starting on the one thousand and one tasks ahead of me, so visits to the keyboard may be a tad infrequent but I'll do me best. In the mean time, take damn good care of yourselves my friends.

John

For Harry...

2011-08-18T14:18:00.000+01:00

Way back in April I posted a short, and for me, a rare serious piece concerning a then relatively new blogging friend, Rachel. The response to this post was heart warming to say the least and I believe that it had the desired affect of bringing some little comfort to her and her family after the bombshell that had hit them concerning Little Harry.

Since that post to say that Harry and his family has ‘been through the mill’, would be the biggest understatement since King Harold said “those bloody Normans are going to have somebody’s eye out today..” Excuse my style of writing (if that’s what it may be called) but you all know that even in the most serious of times a little humour I may let slip.

I’ll use Rachel’s words to for the next bit;-

“has got a big ask to you all…..not everyone knows, but beautiful little Harry, who I delivered with a little help from my sister, Lisa, is fighting for his darling little life against cancer so please, please, PLEASE support my wonderful daughter, Chloe, who has organised a fundraiser to raise money for the wonderful Macmillan Team who are helping us all.”

The link is here my friends;-

For Harry.

I’ll also try to pin it upon me side bar (that may well take me some time and head scratching).

I’ll leave the rest to you my blogging friends, whether you wish to help by donating or just by spreading the word. For me, I’m not a charitable person but sometimes, just sometimes, life hits a nerve with me and the impulse to help is overwhelming. So come on ya crusty ol’ buggers, do something to feel good about, and spread the word.

Your friend,

John

Warthog surprise....

2011-08-14T21:29:00.000+01:00

Well what a pleasant weekend it has been, what with a favourable rugby result, an ongoing battle of strategy and bloodshed, a concoction to make the three witches’ of the ‘Scottish’ play smile with glee and a surprise regarding the Warthog.

Should I enlighten you, my dear reader more, or should I leave it at that and refill my emptying glass of cider and settle down for the evening, content to bask within the pleasant feelings weekends like this bring about? I mean tis a rare event due to my draconian shift pattern that I get to receive a full weekend away from the grind and time with Clare (twice every ten bleedin’ weeks) and then to have a an enjoyable one such as this well perhaps I just ought to keep it to myself…..

Oh go on then ya buggers just a little insight then……

Ok the few readers that have managed to put up with my ramblings for a while will know that I’m a fan of Welsh rugby union. I shall not attempt to explain the game nor my infatuation with it to my American friends as it’s a proper sport and not one frequented with lashings of refreshment breaks and the use of, from what I can gather, four hundred different players during one match nor shall I explain it to followers of football (soccer to some) for that is far beneath a true follower of a proper sport. Each to his own I hasten to add but the holy game of international rugby is the one for me. And what be my reason for much smugness and joy this weekend? Well much needed 19 too 9 win over the old enemy, England with whom the national press over here have a love affair with and who ever fuel the belief that England are the only team of note with the world cup looming upon the horizon – well this result may just have but the smallest of spanners in the works for England and their stick the ball up the shirt and run with attitude on Saturday. So that’s happy reason one…

Try time...Mr. Hook puts England to bed...

Happy reason two; I have now extended my ‘home brewing’ and doubled the demy johns bubbling merrily away in the kitchen (that’ll be four then). So apart from the two gallons of elder flower wine there I’ve happened to have er acquired a couple of litres of concentrated apple juice and from this I’m attempting to produce something resembling a wine of sorts. So mixed at about 4.5 parts water too 1 part apple concentrate and with added yeast I’ve two gallons merrily brewing for the next two to three weeks so it should be ready when I’m off from the grind for a twelve day break – happy days indeed.

I guess that the vast majority of you will have paid scant regard to the above paragraphs as you couldn't give two hoots about my comings and goings but have‘power read’ to this point because it’s the bit concerning Willow aka the Warthog. Well let’s be setting the scene then for you hardy lurcher loving folk. You all have heard me lament often about the grind and it’s rota that prevents Clare and myself enjoying weekends together so when they do occur we try to make the most of them. This weekend we were fortunate enough to have coincided with the Welsh country fair at Bala. So loaded up with water, boiled sweets, poo bags for Willow, Willow her self and the usual paraphernalia (now that’s a big word for this here Hobbit) off we headed in the fun cruiser.

The show, though not as large in scale as the Cheshire show and the like, proved to be well worth the visit being entertaining being perhaps that little more friendly and country if you like. There was plenty to enjoy from lumberjack demonstrations to falconry, green wood turning to gun dog retrieval displays, shooting to fishing in fact all manner of interesting ‘get out there’ stuff.

The place was littered with all manner of working dogs passing through the throngs; retrievers, sheepdogs, and terriers but the predominant breed was lurchers – bloody well scores of them. We several friendly folk all who were interested in Willow and her history and from these an interesting chat with the group pictured below occurred regarding the possibility of matching here with one of their Beddlington cross whippets, Smokey.

Smokey, a boyfriend?

Myself, Willow,Smokey and Ben

Ben, Woody, Fred and Myself with 'the pack'

It was Woody who suggested we enter the Warthog into the show rings that were taking place. So with some misgivings yours truly and the Warthog found ourselves parading in the 12 months and under, below 23 inches high, rough haired lurcher class….

So here’s me now in the line up tickling Willow’s ears and telling her that we’ll soon be at the hog roast tent when bugger me the judge presses a rosette into my sweaty palm with the words ‘well done, lovely bitch’. For a second I didn’t quite fathom what had happened but then looking at the word 1^st on it dawned on me! The little tyke had only gone and won it, well bloody hell fire I thought. I glanced over at Clare and our new friends and the smiles all round were just magical. Ten minutes later we’re in the ring again against all the 12 month and under class winners – she only bloody well got reserve, who would have believed it!!!

Didn't she do well....

Plum knackered.

So you can see why the weekend has been a good one, oh and the battle of bloodshed and strategy? Well I am now locked in a battle of chess with my good blogging friend ‘Damn’; we e-mail each other the moves and snippets of conversation and taunts. Truth be told I think that regarding the chess I slightly up against it but I think I’m holding my own come the taunting….Well me thinks I've just time for a couple more ciders before the threat of the early start to the grind draws be to bed.

Till the next time take good care my friends,

John

Up and about....

2011-08-10T14:38:00.000+01:00

OK so knowing that this is totally out of character for me but here’s another post within 48 hours; honestly you folks just don’t deserve me…..

And yep it’s them chucks again! I arose from the safety of my wonderfully comfortable bed this morning (yes I did say 'morning', even after a night at the grind) feeling like something dredged from a primeval pit and resembling something more like a drooling and lumbering sloth instead of cutting the usual well groomed and radiant figure that folk associate with me ahem. Me thinks it was the worry of the rather inclement weather and it’s affects upon the new arrivals that stirred some deeply hidden (very deeply) feeling of caring from somewhere inside of me. Ok so it wasn’t lashing down as the forecast had promised as I drove home this morning but it still didn’t stop me checking up on Pingu and the rest of the chicks.

Well I have to say that I was surprised and not a little bit amazed at how fast they have found their feet (talons?). As I approached the enclosure there the little buggers were, out of the coup being chaperoned by the ever diligent Penny, running around pecking at everything that resembles food – "if it moves eat it, if it doesn’t move eat it and if unsure…..eat it anyway!"

So out of the goodness of me heart (I’m really going to have a good long talk with myself about this softening of character the little buggers have wrought) I thought that I’d share a few more snap shots of our growing flock.

Ahhh a chick called Pingu

Till the next time, take good care everyone,

Your friend,

John

Bloody chickens!!!!!!

2011-08-09T14:08:00.000+01:00

Well who’d have thought that chickens can cause so much grumpiness? All I’ve heard about them is how relaxing they are; oh what fun they are and how they make you smile. Well if any of you had uttered words like than into my lug holes last night no doubt you would have been offended and taken aback somewhat at the tart and high in Anglo Saxon reply!

Now regular readers (up to 4 now I’ve been reliable informed) will be aware that fifty per cent of my recently obtained flock of Bantams (that’ll be Penny the dumpy one then) had come over all broody. After seeking advice from my chicken guru friend, John the answerable for this git, he provided me with 6 fertilized eggs of various shapes and sizes with the confident words “you’ll hopefully get three out of the six hatching”. Mmmm I’ll remember those words for a long time me thinks. Little Penny had been doing sterling work of sitting upon her adopted clutch, turning them regularly, pecking the hell out my fingers as I encouraged her to the feed and water and generally being a good egg. By my calculations if we were going to have any hatchlings they would have been tonight or Wednesday morning which left me today to sort out some temporary accommodation if it was to be required.

So image my face last night when, after a gruelling 12 hour shift in the ~~shit hole~~ I mean the grind I come home to something a little ahead of schedule. I walk into the house to greeted by the smell of tea just about to dished (funny enough it was chicken!), as I poured myself a glass of erm ‘apple fruit juice’ Clare mentioned that she didn’t think Penny had been down for a drink and to relieve her bowels so could I do the honours while she finished getting tea onto the table. So, glass in hand, I wandered to the coup where there was no sign in the run of either bantams. Opening up the coup I was faced with what looked like Cruella trying to get in Penny’s nest box. After shooing her away I lifted Penny to bring her to the water and feed when from under her wing drops and fluffy little thing indignantly peeping at me, a quick count showed that three eggs had hatched. Never was to good at the adding up thingy stuff at school me. Calling Clare and watching Penny shuffle back on the nest it seemed that Cruella did indeed have an unhealthy interest in what was going on, of course it was me probably over reacting but as soon as Clare arrived I knew that a peaceful evening for me was now doomed.

Three bloody hours later the extension to Poultry towers was repositioned and modified as a second, separate run. By now the chickens were quiet and roosting/nesting so I decided to organise a mini coup for Penny and her new brood this morning. I must say at this point that dragging Willow around the dark and dismal streets of Buckley whilst all me muscles protested and my mind wash awash with what I need to do the ensure tomorrow went well and to Clare’s high standards did not make for a happy bunny, curse the chickens and John for his eggs, curse them all.

So this morning I’m up early, really early (remember folks I’ve got a twelve hour night shift to enjoy tonight) hoping to fabricate a coup for the new enclosure. So gathering me wits I did some measuring and set forth trying to find enough timber from my meagre store – it wasn’t going well. Glancing at the clock I realised that the supply store would be open so I changed tack and headed off into the morning sun intent on chick crumb and another water container. Then god smiled on me, patted me on the head and said “good boy John”, for there in a forgotten corner was a small ‘brood box’ on special, well still not cheap but hey hoe that box was going to save me so much grief.

Chicken village expands

Looks like a Penguin chick to me!

So here we are now at the present moment: chicken run completed, new coup installed (I wonder if I should tell Clare that I made it?), chick crumb and water installed and one broody mother and her six, yes that’s right all six hatched, gorgeous fluffy chicks are in residence. This leaves me extremely knackered, but very content to be honest, and thinking of grabbing a nap before work tonight.

So all that’s left to say is a heart felt thank you to John Grey for all his help and advice, the man is a rock and a joy to know. It’s people like John who make this world bearable and who restore a man’s faith in human nature.

So I’ll leave you with my best wishes and until the next time from Chicken Village, take good care of your selves,

Your friend, John

It's a dogs life...

2011-08-04T22:02:00.001+01:00

Bleedin’ hell it’s been a hot and humid afternoon today, quite a change from the morning’s rain. Digging the steps out in the redesigned front garden (will do a start to finish ish post when done) had me sweating me balls off (and that’s me being polite about it). So why is the Fish posting again so swiftly I hear you cry? Truth is I’m not sure me self, Clare has nipped out to see her best friend ‘Big Helen’, the Warthog has decided that sleep is the best option after driving me mental with her antics today and there is bugger all on the box. So Smirnoff Ice in hand I thought I’d tinker awhile upon the keyboard and see what happens. And you lot thought I was just an uncouth Hobbit who drank only Cider (that’ll be the next glass then)

My aged parents popped around for a visit this morning, yep they’re still going strong with me dad full of the woes of the world and mother chirping on about my golden child of an older brother (child being the operative word). Why is it when your parents come around you always feel that all your house's short comings are under scrutiny? Dad never drinks tea or coffee here as the cat used to wander upon the kitchen worktops (it’s what they do for god’s sake!) even though she’s been gone a few years now he won’t change. So I sit there listening whilst big brother is talked about (not the awful T.V. thingy), how the government should have been labour and haven’t I finished the front garden yet? Don’t get me wrong I do love my parents with every fibre of my being, but bloody hell they could try the patience of a saint – and I certainly cannot be called one of them. Damn thing was after pawing them to bits and receiving all the fuss she could handle Willow had done her famous, quieter than a mouse in velvet slippers, disappearing act. A familiar chill crawled up my spine when I realised that she wasn’t resting at my feet all sweetness n light. I excused myself to the other room…. And sure enough there she was now fully engrossed in taking the heel out of mother’s best shopping shoes – bugger. Ah well exit a slightly miffed brace of parents, they smiled it off but both me and the Warthog knew they were not well pleased, not with Willow though… oh no, no, no… nope entirely my fault for not having any control of the hound from hell.

So in slightly hard done mood I evicted the chickens from their abode whilst I gave it a good cleaning. Little C had provided me with yet another egg which means omelette tomorrow for me breakfast before shooting off to annoy Mr. Gray with some more irrelevant chicken questions. Little Penny is still sitting tight on her foster eggs but at least she will come out to feed, drink and deposit a rather large present of poo now without being coaxed. Even so I still try to get her off the nest and out n about for a few minutes each day as long as the garden has dried enough not to soak her feathered feet. Hopefully we may have some chicks to report on next Tuesday or Wednesday by my reckoning, fingers crossed.

This evening I’ve restarted my attempt upon world domination, yes folks I’m back selling upon E-bay so hopefully our present financial woes may well be eased a tad. You may scoff but to be honest in the past I’ve ~~conned~~ erm earned some decent money from the dreaded ‘bay’ and if it helps me in my ambition to one day leave shift work behind me then so be it.

And finally any of my posts would be incomplete without a couple of pictures of you know who…. Tis time to try and introduce her to the hens when they’re in the back yard out of the coup and run. So chickens released (or in Penny’s case crow-barred off the nest) Willow was allowed into the access bit along side of the bungalow with only a low gate (and me drinking tea right next to it) separating her from a mauling from the two ladies. She showed interest for a few minutes but then that turned into her favourite pastime at the moment – chewing inanimate objects, namely the gate.

All in all a small success but I still don’t trust her with the ladies yet, maybe never the little tyke. Hope you’ve enjoyed my basic ramblings about.. well about sod all really. Time for that cider me thinks.....

Till the next time you all take care,

John

Willow - the first few months...

2011-08-03T21:26:00.000+01:00

As previously posted, with the Warthog trying to remove her rear left leg just below the hock in a blatant attempt at becoming the centre of our households attention (probably felt left out with the arrival of the chickens!) walking the trails has been cancelled for the last week or so. As I've lamented before, a rotund hobbit like chappy walking alone in the woods seems to make some folk a tad uncomfortable, but dragging a dog along the same walker becomes instantly a trust worthy character to be engaged in conversation with out a second thought. I really find this difficult to understand, after all I'm still the same good ol' axe wielding mad man whether or not young Willow is tearing along at my side!

So walking has taken second fiddle to even more DIY and gardening (you can imagine the state of that holy shrine, the Garage, at the moment). Which in turn means that I have no tall tales to replenish you with or any of my sub standard attempts at photography to give you hope that you're at least capable of taken better pictures than at least one person.

But one thing that the rear leg incident, as it has now become known, has made me realise is how much the little tyke has wormed her way into the very fabric of our lives. She only arrived in the beginning of the year, a scrawny and very malnourished scruff bag with pleading eyes and, a later to be found, tenacity that is totally out of proportion for such a small dog.

So as a way of hopefully showing how she's come on, with the tenacity still there but now coupled with a clear sense of belonging here and with muscles like iron in her wiry frame here are some photos from the last few months of the most un-photogenic hound you'll ever come across.

Soon we'll both be hitting them trials as hard as ever and hopefully bringing you more tall tales, bad pictures and hopefully all the emotions that go with being 'out there'.

Till then take care my friends,

John

Don't ask.....

2011-07-26T10:50:00.000+01:00

I take it that the majority of you, my learned readers, have indeed at some point in your existence have had occasion and reason to grind upon your molars and lay curses upon the saying “the best laid plans of mice and men…” taken from the Burns’ poem ‘To a mouse..’. Well for this little Welsh Hobbit the week gone by has indeed dampened his enthusiasm for the making of plans, no matter how trivial seeming, for a goodly while to come me thinks.

Today is the start of six, yes six, whole days of freedom from ‘the grind’, I even booked half a shift off last night’s shift to enjoy the six days without feeling like some bleedin’ sore headed ogre for the first couple of days off (the after effects of me cider is bad enough!). The prospect of a couple of long meandering walks exploring uncharted ground with that scruff of a Warthog alongside of me, well ok disappearing into the distance, consumed my thoughts and I eagerly waited for the time ahead. Now I know that wishing your life away is such a waste but the laborious ticking of the clock could not trundle along fast enough to the start of this week until that is….

Oh now don’t you lot start with the sympathetic crooning for her, she’s still a bloody nuisance injured or not. So here’s the tale; last Wednesday evening after an absolute stinker in work (oh ~~curse~~ bless my shift leaders and their managers with their communication skills of a block of concrete), myself and the Warthog headed for a jaunt to what has become a regular location for us of late, Nercwys Forest. But being regular does not mean boring though for we try a different route each time and as you all know there is always something different and even intoxicating about being surrounded by Mother Nature and all her achievements, sometimes the jaw drop caused by a spectacular sunset …

Or the fascinations of a small find which I had no knowledge of before; indeed after returning home I had to look up the creatures’ pictured below and it turns out that they are ‘Common Sexton’ beetles or more, ahem, romantically ‘Grave digger’ beetles and were in the process of excavating a hollow in which to bury poor Moley who would then act a food reserve for the beetles eggs/larva once deposited on him, gruesome but quite enthralling don’t you think?

So the walk itself was a blast, what with grand vistas and the joy of the small drama unfurled before us. Little was I to know of the drama that would be awaiting Clare and myself once the wanders returned home. Once through the front door (no it is not round nor is it green, mores the pity), Willow headed for the water bowl and then carried on with her customary after walk collapse upon the sofa whilst I headed for the shower to wash away the grime and aches of the day, it does seem to me that as the years catch up on me the aches don’t seem to get any less nor does the amount of crap from the grind, whether it be machine lubrication or managers bullshit. Anyway back to the plot, refreshed from the shower I contemplated opening up another home produced cider, risky I know but oh the rewards far out weigh the next day’s frayed around the edges and slightly out of focus feeling. Clare – “before you settle just take a look at Willow’s rear left, she seems mighty interested in it” (alright Clare didn’t exactly say ‘mighty’ but come on guys poetic licence?). “Probably a scratch or a thorn stuck in her Velcro like fur” thought I. Oh foolish mortal that I am, I was not expecting what came to light as I held her leg to examine it; for there under her fur was a hole in her skin that stretched right across her legs’ width and tendons and bone could clearly be seen. Immediately I was full of concern and guilt, concern for the health of the little mite and guilt that I had no idea that she was so severely injured. In my defence there had not been the slightest drop of blood nor had the tough little bugger given any sign whilst on the trial, neither yelp nor limp had occurred, although she now made a meal of it holding her leg high as she limped along on the other three with the most reproachful look at me that she could muster!

We phoned the vet’s immediately explaining the situation to a very sleepy sounding Mr. Evans. Half an hour later we’re holding Willow, Clare on the leg, myself soothing and holding her head (Willow’s you fools) whilst we gratefully watched Mr. Evans carry out his examination. He was surprised at the lack of bleeding for the size of the wound but also concerned about the chances of infection being as both tendon and bone had been scraped. The wound he washed out fully and applied with some anti bacterial cream or similar type potion. It was only when he commenced the first of four stitches (with a bent needle that could have landed Moby Dick I felt!) that the blood appeared, oh boy like a larva flow from a fresh Icelandic eruption. It’s here that I have to admit to a slight failing within my character, I’m not good with blood. Yes you may titter at this supposedly gruff out doors type but blood can sometimes have a weird affect upon me and my constitution. Clare glanced over at me as I stared to sway, “go and sit down, your grey”, not feeling particularly macho at this point I meekly obeyed and gratefully thudded down in a waiting room chair, only to here the sniggering and tittering from Mr. Evans and Clare at my expense – bugger.

It’s been four full days since these events and Willow is healing nicely, she’s putting full weight upon her leg now (enough to snatch a biscuit from beside my cup of tea the little….), the prospect of infection now seems thankfully very slim and she’s doing our heads in being as we cannot walk her yet and she’s like a coiled spring not knowing what to annoy us with next. So we’re on baby sitting duties until the stitches are removed and the threat of infection has gone completely, should be a peaceful week then……

Ah just one more thing speaking of sitting duties, remember me sort of mentioning a broody hen recently? Well I spoke to my chicken guru John, and the upshot was we had three choices; chicken dinner (only joking, well…), trying to break her out of the broody stage by keeping her off the nest all day in separate accommodation, or giving her some fertilised eggs to mother, guess which way we went?

John kindly provided six fertilised eggs at my favourite price but the thing is we have no idea what to expect if any of them hatch, two were definitely from another Bantam (Silky me thinks), but as for the other four? Well I have no idea what may emerge, We'll just be glad though if any hatch and that they are healthy hens especially since Cruella seems to have gone on egg strike as a mark of solidarity while Penelope sits on her precious, as they say, “watch this space”.

Till next time, take good care of you and yours,

Your friend,

John

Bloody hell stop the presses, just nipped down stairs for a brew and to check upon the Warthog, last seen blissfully sleeping in the morning sun upon our bed: Yep Willow still on the bed sound asleep, but wait why's there a battery on the floor? and what's that sharp plastic embedded in me foot? and oh shit that's the remains of the bedside clock! why the little.... bollocks I'm in for it now when Clare gets home ah well such be life, now where's me big mug - might be me last brew.....

Tried n survived.....

2011-07-18T13:51:00.000+01:00

Afternoon all,

Tis I the amazing Murphyfish fresh from another glorification of stupid mangers and base stupidity that be 'the grind'.But tis not this that the title of survival refers to, oh most certainly not good reader. tis indeed survival of an entirely different and more pleasurable matter.

Cast your minds back many, many moons ago to this dim and distant post. tis not the painful memories that it brings about over my beloved bog monster that I refer too either, although it's always nice to have them prod me now and then., indeed not but it's the account of my first effort of producing one of my very own 'five a day' fruit supplements that our government seem so keen on - yep Cider (me thinks that's not exactly what they had in mind).

So yesterday brother in-law Wayne pops around for his weekly, see what he can scrounge, visit and unable to prise anything of value fro my clammy fingers resorts into persuadable dialogue hoping to force me into opening one of the bottles from last years efforts. It wasn't difficult to be honest, work has been more than the usual grind lately so a little fortification seemed a good idea.

Thing is up until now I haven't had the courage to try one of me own brews.... I mean it could taste foul, it may be the best bowel emptier known to science, folk may well snigger, nay titter at my pathetic efforts.... but with Wayne's mithering and my bullhead squarely in place a bottle was brought forth from the inner sanctum known to ye mortals as the garage and....

Well bloody hell fire what a revelation, from popping, yes and I do mean popping with an audibly loud pop, the ceramic top to the first tentative gulp to the last draining of the remaining drips I can most definitely say that my own home brewed cider is absolutely spot on. Unbelievably I know but honestly true, tis as dry as hell but with no chemical taste what so ever just a suitably applely cider taste that tickles the taste buds and demands it to be savoured. Yep I can with all honesty say that it's not a bad brew at all and it has a grand kick with both our faces colouring up nicely, trouble is now me thinks that my small amount produced last year will not last the week - bugger.

One thing then I'm going to ramp up production this Autumn with a target of at least 10 demi jons to be filled with this amber nectar so if any one has any of the 'grolsch' type bottles with the wired ceramic tops going spare I'm sure that we could come to some sort of arrangement - I'm in need of loads of the buggers so let me know if would be so kind.

Right off to try and sort out a seriously broody bantam and then a glass or three of cider me thinks...

Till the next time take care my friends,

John

I'm still here......honest

2011-07-13T22:15:00.000+01:00

A thousand grovelling apologies dear readers (must be at least 5 of you by now!) for my totally inadequacy in providing regular posts upon this here sad excuse for a blog. Truth be told that I’ve been a tad busy over the last couple weeks, well to be absolutely honest I haven’t been a tad busy at all, oh no, no, thrice no. To tell the real truth I’ve been that busy I’ve had neither the time to draw breath or fart for that matter. In-between the wonderful 12 hour shifts at the holiday camp that is work (that’ll be me being sarcastic for those who don’t read my blog regularly), trying to sort of project manage the Roy Rogers of all builders ~~defacing~~, ahem, redesigning our front garden walls, myself adding an extension to Poultry Towers ready for imminent new arrivals (oh yes more chucks are heading this way thanks to Mr. Gray), trying to plan the redesigned front garden from grass desert into an oasis of flowers using traditional old cottage garden breeds, wild flowers, herbs and a water feature (haven’t mentioned that bit to Clare yet, oops), general maintenance on the car and house, and still walking the trails with the Warthog life has been a tad hectic. Oh and not forgetting more home brewing, garage work and general thumb up me arse activities which all seem to take hours more than first thought. Oh and another thing that has taken some time is me trying to formulate a plan in which I can…. Erm…. how can I put this with out coming across as some deluded psycho?.... Erm basically shoot a neighbour of mine and get away with it (yep I think that came across OK). I really do need to be cloned or invest in a time machine lately, although it’s debatable whether the world could handle another Welsh Hobbit like me.

I've still to e-mail several folk all of which or long overdue a word from me, so sorrys go to Casey, Damn, Laurie, Leigh and a host of others but I will get there, honest (might be in a week or so but it will happen).

So that’s about it, a blathering list of half cocked excuses as to the reason for my neglect of my friends in blog land. Hopefully normal service will soon be resumed and I’ll also have time to catch up with my favourite reads out there. Oh and being as I always try to put in one photograph to accompany my tangential ramblings here be one of the newly extended Poultry Towers, not 100% complete be nearly done and it gives the chucks another 12 square feet in which to spread and includes a dust bath and perching branch, hey all mod cons or what?

So until the next time (sooner and with the usual blathering) take good care my friends.

John

Test run

2011-07-05T16:26:00.000+01:00

Mmmmm hopes this worksies hobbits....

Seems as though the Elder Flower wine has kicked off OK, happy days me thinks. Although being a 'Tom the cabin boy' at this I'm not sure 'bout that colour! Comments, advice most welcome...

More on the process at a later date, till then take care me hearties...

John

A thank you for a bitter sweet gift.

2011-06-25T22:59:00.000+01:00

A couple of friends, Helen & Lee unexpectedly came by today to drop off a belated gift for our wedding anniversary. It was hand made be Lee and was a surprise totally out of the blue. But why bitter sweet I hear ye ask? (yes I am telepathic, so be very careful what you think when reading me blog..). Well firstly let me show you the gift;-

Yep that's right, a hand painted picture of our beloved Lucy. Even though myself and Clare have never truly got over losing her at the end of last year the six months since her passing had dimmed the sense of lose which only would creep up on us when something simple would spark a memory of her. So yes it was a bitter gift in a way, bringing tears to both our eyes.

But the sweetness and thoughtfulness of this gift far out weighed any other feelings. To receive such a present was absolutely breath taking for the both of us. It is a rare occasion when I am lost for words, and an even rarer event for it to happen to Clare ;o), but this gift did just that. So a heartfelt thank you to Helen and Lee for perhaps one of the nicest and most thoughtful gifts that we have ever received.

For interest Lee stole the picture from my blog here, and I think you'll agree that it's an exceptional conversion from blog picture to canvas.

Till the next time, take care all,

John

A rare event....and a betrayal...

2011-06-23T00:54:00.000+01:00

The rarity;-

An extremely rare photograph of the Warthog standing still in the woods on yesterday’s ‘before the Grind’s nightshift’ walk to clear my mind and plan for my upcoming weekend off from that hell hole of work and time with my beloved Clare (I sense more chores a coming!);-

Of course it took less than milliseconds for her to stop posing and resume her usual antics;-

The betrayal;-

Whilst on the walk the small lake that I may well have mentioned upon occasion hove into view.

A plan formed within the usually empty void between my lugholes. A cunning plan which unfortunately involves returning here minus one cavorting hound! I have an all to rare window of opportunity of free time this coming Monday so I’m planning to visit this wildlife haven upon my lonesome to sit awhile and let nature wash over me, which might be a bit literal if I get another cloud burst like today!

Problem being that the place has signs upon it forbidding entry and it’s in a livestock field, hence no Warthog. Should the signs worry me? Not really for if rumbled I should be able to blather my way out of a predicament which would certainly not be the case if I had a ‘pot dog’ alongside of me. I guess you could say that I’m being a tad hypocritical here as I’m willing to ignore the fact that I’ll be trespassing on Monday whilst if I caught anyone on my humble property devoid of permission all hell would break loose. But I’m not going to be after game with a gun, only with a camera (if I’m very bloody lucky!) and it’s not as if I’m going to cause damage or disturbance to the flora and fauna her, just going to immerse myself for a couple of hours in whatever nature may have to offer me. And anyway to be honest nobody owns land, we are just looking after it for a while…

Till the next time take good care everyone,

John

The primitive in me...

2011-06-19T23:08:00.001+01:00

You know sometimes people ask me why I walk; usually it’s folk that I work with, friends or general acquaintances. These folk seem to have one thing in common and that is they have appeared to have lost their connection with Mother Nature. Now don’t mis-understand me here I’m one of the least qualified to lecture folk about how to lead their lives and lets not be forgetting it has taken me years of trying to live in, and be successful at the ‘rat race’ before realising that it is truly in unimportant and there are far more rewarding things to be done with my life.

I have to admit that these days I do not think all that often about the reasons why I walk or just enjoy being outdoors because I guess it’s becoming second nature to me. But sometimes when I’m on the trial certain thoughts come to me, usually triggered by something seen, smelt or heard in the deepest part of the woods when all feelings of being part of the most destructive species this world has known fade from my senses.

It can the simplest of things that trigger the warm glow of belonging to nature that fill with a sense of utter contentment and inner warmth, rather like a dung beetle being first on the scene of a mound of fresh cow shit I guess. Take the other day, I’m dawdling along some scarce walked trail through the woods, the Warthog now doing her customary blasting through the surrounding cover (anywhere but the path it seems), when a though hit me. I guess it was brought on by a visit to my dad’s and realising once more that my parents are not immortal, so I had headed to the trails in a slightly sombre mood. But one thing I then thought, as I meandered deeper into the undergrowth, everything has a time limit no matter how hard we wish it wasn't so sometimes. But then as my vision was caressed by the freshness of the rain soaked fauna in the dappled sunlight I thought ‘yes everything does eventually pass, but then from this rebirth happens’. You only have to sit a look around you when in the woods to see long dead trees, whether brought down by man or by nature’s storms but over time these are absorbed back into the cycle and give life back from their death.

It made me smile inwardly at my earlier sombre mood and think to myself ‘take the day for what it is’. Sadness will indeed touch me with the passing of time but it won’t stop me smiling at the joys, messages and tales a walk with nature brings me. I now realise why I walk, it’s the primitive deep within me; fill my belly with simple food n ale, let me sleep when I’m truly knackered, let me feel the love of family n friends, let me hold and be held by my Clare and let me taste, see n feel all that nature throws my way and I’m a happy man. Primitive n simple? Oh damn right but there is no harm, I feel, in asking for the simplest of things from life;- it’ll do for me that’s for sure.

I guess this post has been a tad meandering but hey, it is what it is and if you like it then all the better, and if you don’t? Well there is always the cancel button but I’m not going to worry about it one way or the other ;o)

Till the next time, take good care my friends,

John

Time out... for a change....

2011-06-14T12:15:00.000+01:00

To be perfectly honest I was not going to write anything today, what with ‘the grind’ looming tonight and a million and one things to be done (does the bleedin’ list ever get shorter?), taking the time out to write a little blog post seems a luxury these days. So I thought I’ll just log on and check upon a couple of blogs and see if I had anymore junk e-mails offering to sell me Viagra or five million ways to quadruple me money (oh that’ll be twenty pence then!) whilst slurping upon a large mug of tea to brace myself for the traumas of the day and fortify me self for the dreaded night shift.

But then I stumbled upon my good friend Casey’s latest short post and it reminded me that sometimes just stopping and kicking back awhile is something that we all need to do upon occasion. So ‘balls to it’ thought I, I’ll write a little and then run around in a headless chicken type manner achieving absolutely bugger all before work calls me to its inevitable cloying grasp. So what to write? Oh I guess it’ll just have to be more of the same rambling about meandering as usual, what were you expecting, earth changing, deep and meaningful diction from this lowly scribe? A shame on you for not knowing me any better you fickle folk.

Me last post about meandering along the trails reflected about the change of mood that walking the wooded trails through the dimming evening light brings to me, where primeval fears bubble to the surface and our limited human senses become all to obvious. Every noise is magnified into a stalking creature and the shadows hide all manner of dark and foreboding hints. But these very same woods in the daytime welcome me with the chatter of birds and sights that fill me with awe, not always upon a grand scale but sometimes the smallest of vistas can still take me breath away.

Take my last couple of walks up at Nercwys Forest over the last few days. We’ve had showers and some heavier rain over the last week but each time I’ve dragged Willow to the fun cruiser the rain has magically eased and with enough blue in the sky to patch a sailor's trousers we set off.

The first thing to hit me as a reach the tree line is the smell. You know me and my lack of descriptive skills but the smell that greets you in the woods as the last of the rain drops splatter the ground fills me with can only be described as a high. Far better than anything when I used to dabble in the odd bit of weed or the odd mushroom (many, many years ago!), it feels like everything is fresher, some how more alive. Then there is the chatter of wildlife, no territorial bird ranting, just what sounds like birds singing for pleasure – almost as if the high of the freshly soaked woods is infectious. Then there is the light, with patches of sun beams now peering through the tree canopy, catching the jewel like glow of rain drops still clinging to branches. This light seems fresher and somehow purer than the usual early summer’s sunshine.

It’s as if the whole effect is one of renewal and rebirth even the trials have had all sign of footfall and tracks washed away and where the water has been heavy enough to gain a flow they could be mistaken for river deltas, but in miniature of course.

The joy of the walks even passed onto my thick companion, the Warthog! I thought that she was fast before but the speed that she blazed through the trees was jaw dropingly fast and all I could do was chuckle at her antics.

All that remains then is to share a few pictures with you, I hope that they convey a little of the joy felt upon these sodden trails. Oh and the feeling of mud squeezing through your toes as I walked barefoot for a time is one not to be missed, although me thinks Clare’s frown at the general mud splattered state of us as we tumbled through the front door did make me think twice (only for a moment) about repeating this trick. But her smile as she placed a plate of new potatoes and lamb chops and a glass of cider before me let me know that above all I was home and all was well. Oh the pictures…..

It’s when walking through the woods at this time that I feel a deep connection, far deeper than that which is normally with me and all thoughts of the rat race and any troubles that I may have evaporate with the gentle vapours of the rain in the pools of broken sunshine. I understand once more what draws me to nature and why my back sports the image of the Green Man, for this is where I come from and inevitably where I’ll return when I die, my body nourishing this planet which gives me so much joy and my atoms being passed onto to build something else. Rebirth or whatever you like to call it, it’s all part of the cycle of life on this planet. But that’s for the future, there are chores to be done, work to suffer, love to be cherished, joy (and pain) to feel before I’m done with this world. But on days walking when the woods are refreshed all this may be forgotten for awhile.

Till next time, take good care my friends,

John.

Oh and I will be playing catch up on more of your blogs shortly as well as sending out some belated e-mails. But for now the chickens and me are going to have an hour in the sun whilst a drink I tad more tea, so sod the chores today – I’ll catch up in the week, honest ;o).

Thought for the day;-

Kinky is using a feather,
Perverted is using the whole chicken.

THE CHICKENS ARE LOOSE!!!

2011-06-10T10:12:00.000+01:00

The shortest of posts my friends; just enough to let you know that, with clipped wings, Cruella Deville and Penelope Pitstop (sorry Rach, but Rach the chicken? Didn’t fit your personality ;o) ) are free and about. Look out world; - the chickens are coming!!!

Cruella

Penny

Run for your lives....

Till next time take of yourselves and your loved ones, your grumpy friend,

John

More evening trail pictures....

2011-06-06T10:49:00.000+01:00

Hello all,

Being as time is a limited resource for yours truly at the moment I thought that I’d just share with you a few more images of Willow the Warthog’s and mine, evenings' meandering. Hope that these will quench your thirst for my wondrous blog and keep your attention rapt until I have time to craft a ensnaring web of words once again. OK enough of the male bovine excrement, just thought you’d like the pictures and to know that we haven’t been caught by the Banshee…… yet!

Hope that you enjoyed my basic efforts and that they cheered your day, till next time take care my friends,

John

Oh I do believe that if you click on them they get bigger! Bloody marvellous this technology stuff, absolutely bloody marvellous..........

As the light fades from the trail....

2011-06-02T15:25:00.000+01:00

As you may have gathered from previous posts (or the lack of them!) I have been a tad occupied of late. What with the grind, work being carried out to the Wooldridge estate grounds and now the room de bathing, the completion of Poultry Towers, and a host of other day to day chores I’ve had time to neither fart, burp or complain (ok so the last bit’s stretching it a tad). But this does not mean that I’ve been neglecting the Warthog and her exercise regime, hell no if anything we’ve covered more miles in the last couple of weeks than Hannibal and his pachyderms did on their journey of conquest. Thing is though the recent workload your beloved scribe here has been brutally forced to undertake has meant that the walking has been given a slightly different perspective. Normally I walk in the morning (although not early enough) or the afternoon if the sun is not blazing down too hot, that’ll be most afternoons then here in ‘sunny’ Wales. But due to circumstances beyond my control the Warthog and yours truly have been unable to hit the trails till the evenings, and I have to ask myself why haven’t we done more of this type of meandering before?

It’s difficult for me, being the person I am, to put into words the whole damn thing that makes evening walking that tad more special, there are far better wordsmiths blogging away that this tongue tied bugger from Wales I can tell you that could sum up the atmosphere with some well chosen lines, but I’ll have ago anyway.

The whole ambiance of being out and about in the evening is so different to walking at other times, even the air smells differently. Whether it’s because in the build up moisture or that plants change their systems as the light fails but I’m telling you the bloody air smells differently, and it smells wonderful every evening that we’ve been out over the last few weeks, whether it was raining, windy or clear. Although having said this, there was one night last week when the air smelt, erm… rotten is the best way to describe it, every where we trod there was a dank smell of decay following us. This brings me to my next observation, and that is there is a difference to your comfort levels as the light just starts to fail, certainly under the close canopy of the older woods the light swiftly dims and to be honest it’s a relief to hit more open aspects of the trials.

It’s funny how we humans claim to be highly evolved and have an understanding of the world around us thanks to intellect, science, higher intelligence etc. Bollocks, every hair on my neck stood up at times passing through the darkest parts of the forest as the sun dipped to the horizon, every nerve screamed with primitive fears, my eyes saw threat in every darkened hollow and my hearing detected noises that stretched the imagination. Scared at times? Bloody right I was but I tell you what, it’s a great ‘I’m alive feeling too!’ It also doesn’t help matters when the Warthog becomes skittish and instead of quartering the trails ahead at her usual twenty yards she loiters behind saying ‘go on you’re big an ugly enough to go first’ to be fare though she’s becoming quite the trail companion and I’m beginning to trust her instinct more and more.

I touched on the sounds, not all are threatening the arrival of a banshee, indeed the woods take on a mass of sound that if you just stand in an open (and preferably well lit) glade the sound washes over you like a tsunami of noise. From the territorial calls of many birds claiming their space before turning in for the night to the wind driven chatter of trees as they discuss the hobbit and his scruffy dog below them, from the clap, clap, clap of wood pigeons bolting from trees as their roost is disturbed to the bark of a fox (hairs up at this point) the woods are awash with calls and noises not heard in the day.

Then there is the light, yes it’s fading but also as you pass through glades and emerge from tree cover at times it seems so much clearer with small details defined as crisp as you like (really wish I was a better photographer at this point). But also it does sometimes drag your primitive fears to the surface when up the trail a shadow pauses before moving on and for the life of me no matter how hard I squint I cannot make out what I’ve just seen.

I suppose I’d better leave you with a few pictures from when the light is good ‘till it starts to desert me. Maybe they’ll help, with my simple words above, describe the rush of emotions and feelings felt whilst walking through the woods as the light fails;-

A small Wasp nest unearthed

Home at last....

One last thing, would I put myself through the roller coaster of emotion when the light is going and there is still a few miles to go to the fun cruiser? Damn right I will, hell it confirms one thing – I’m alive.

I hope that I’ve conveyed a little of the joy I felt during these walks, till next time take care my friends.

John

The Eagle, I mean chickens have landed...

2011-05-31T14:41:00.000+01:00

Good afternoon readers (er reader?), another rota of the ‘grind’ finished and once more I return to the land of the living, although still feeling a tad like a cast member from ‘Dawn of the Dead’ to be honest! Now do not be expecting any bumbling apologies for my lack of blogging because it is not going to happen – time, the ‘grind’ and a wife’s chore list waits for no man so you’re just going to have to make to with less frequent ramblings at the moment and be bloody grateful for just the odd snippet whence time allows.

So apart from the mundane cycle of life what news has dragged the Fish away from his perpetual and never ending to do list back to his keyboard? Well today is the first day after the bleedin’ last day of the ‘grind’ which traditionally means that the Grumpster is usually in residence and bugger all is achieved. A ha but there’s that word ‘usually’, for today the Grumpster is strangely absent and ‘Mr. All is well with the world’ is in resistance, happy days. The last block of days off were filled with decorating the bathroom (well doing the bits that Clare trusted me to do), completed the chicken coup, drinking the odd bottle of cider (naturally), and having the Warthog’s walks confined to the evenings.

And why the mad, headlong, rush for the completion of the chicken coup? Ahh tis because today I had myself a wee trip to see John Grey and pick up me two chucks, happy days indeed.

So please excuse my tardy posting of late (damn it, was not going to apologise!), I hope to enter a longer post in my days off this week as, even if I do say so me self, I do have some rather splendid pictures of the evenings’ meanderings to share and a few thoughts upon the difference of walking at dusk instead of the early morning or midday as is my usual habit. Oh go on just the one picture to tease then….

Until later, take good care my friends,

John

An excuuse me note....

2011-05-18T14:09:00.000+01:00

OK so I’ve a tad remiss in my duties as yer friendly, ever so slightly rotund, pirate like blogger from the paradise that is North Wales lately (well there’s an opening line). But unfortunately to have something to write about for your entertainment and gratification one must actually lead a life away from the keyboard and glare of the monitor otherwise the post would read something like; - powered up computer, pressure must be low as it took an age to boot up, checked email only the usual junk mails trying to sell me Viagra and asking if I require a loan (a loan? Hell-fire, I need a bloody miracle for my present finances to return to anything like healthy!), played online chess, checked Face book (why?) and powered off computer (must remember to check the steam pressure again). Not exactly the most riveting of lives to tell you about I think you’ll agree.

Sooo what has Captain Murphyfish (it’s my blog and if I want a promotion I’ll bloody well have one) been up to of late then? Well besides the never ending monotony of the grind, can’t live with it, can’t afford to live without it (have I mentioned my finances or rather lack of them?), tis been a whirl wind of activity of late. Firstly there has been the planting of seeds and a tad of gardening, utilising that garden frame that I cobbled together, fully and even if I say so myself what a grand piece of kit it has turned out to be.

Then there is the little question of château Wooldridge now resembling a builders yard, what with new paths and walls being laid I have to admit that my back has been in bits lately. But all will turn out well (I hope) with a cottage garden to attract wildlife (and a few veg) being the ultimate aim for the front garden, re bomb site. Work, though, has ground to a slight halt of late er have I mentioned my finances?

A further project has been completed with the addition of wooden trellis (reclaimed from atop of a fence that was been thrown) to break up the expanse of the garage wall. Wisteria, a climbing rose and a grape vine are the intended planting here (haven’t mention the vine to Clare so shhhhhh).

Of course there has been plenty of walking.

Finally there is the last thing that has been occupying my time. Now it may appear that I’m off on a tangent here but bear with me (that’s if you've read this far). A week last Monday I paid a visit to a fellow blogger, yep that’s right, John the recluse and anti social git actually visited another human being! The person in question was a certain Mr. J. Grey whom I have mentioned before in earlier scribing. John writes his blog with a wry sense of humour and an outlook which is both heart warming and yet entertaining. So with anticipation and also a little trepidation about meeting someone for the first time I set of (with the Warthog of course) for the village of Trelawnyd. Any doubts about meeting somebody for the first time were soon dispelled as John proved as welcoming and as entertaining as his blog. Now I won’t expand upon the meeting and conversation just enough to say that time flew and I felt that I’d known John far longer than the brief time the visit lasted. Now how did this take up time I hear you ask? Well John has more than a couple of chickens and foul and eventually the conversation came around to whether or not my back yard could sustain a few Bantams. Mmmm the upshot and time taker is now known as project three (ish). John’s generosity went far further than advice and he has kindly offered me two bantams, so guess what I’ve been building this week?

Ok so it’s not quite finished and I’m thinking of giving a full post over to its construction once done, but give me another couple of days after the next round of the grind and me thinks that the henhouse will be ready for its first tenants – way hay! The only thing with such a project was the state that it left the inner sanctum in:-

But this morning’s showers gave me the time to have a tidy up.

Oh and finally I have had a little time to do some pirating as well, firstly all materials used for the coup and run so far have cost … nothing (don’t ask ‘cause I hate lying), a couple of bargains have been found upon the car boots for stupidly cheap prices including a set of carving chisels and the lathes chucks and also I've come into possession of eleven demy johns for my favorite fee, life is certainly bumbling along quite nicely me thinks. Oh and finally, finally I've been having a sort out of my wares to place upon the dreaded E bay (did I mention my lack of finances lately?).

So that’s about it folks, excuses made and I’ll try to be a little more regular in future, oh and I’ve got three staffs in progress one of which is for Mr. Grey as a thank you for the chucks.

Till the next time, take care,

John