tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8830832273099622982024-02-07T06:37:38.315+00:00Musings of Murphyfishmurphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.comBlogger162125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-78234644777269861922012-10-25T19:27:00.001+01:002012-10-25T19:29:43.044+01:00A SMALL CHEAT....<span style="font-size: large;">Posted this on another blog what seems forever ago, thought that some who maybe had not seen it before may enjoy it, yes cheating I know but my fingers and mind are tired tonight :-)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Something under the sea</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> So here’s a story from my younger years (much younger), the events happened when I was about eight years old so perhaps my memory has become distorted over the passing of many long years since but this is how I remember the events which took place at the time (I’m lucky the remember where I left my mug of tea these days!): -
I don’t come from a ' great outdoors ' background, more your typical working class family where my mother ran the home and my father worked all the hours god sent at the local cement factory to provide for my sister, brother and yours truly. His one pleasure, when not working in dust, was the training and racing of greyhounds and through these we travelled all over the North of England. The one family holiday was the annual fortnight in a caravan on the isle of Anglesey (Ynys Mon in welsh) in North Wales in a site over looking Traeth Bychan (little beach). Whilst here my brother and I were usually left to our own devices, my brother being four years older usually taking the lead in our adventures. These usually consisted of fishing, rock pool exploration, piracy and general not letting our parents discover the various troubles that we seemed to amass (well they’d only have worried wouldn't they?).
It was on one of the fishing adventures that this story takes place. We had in our possession a small, plywood built, dinghy I recall being of a type called a Goblin. The boat had been rescued by father on the previous year’s holiday during some unseasonable storms. Over the winter he carefully repaired the damaged side, manufactured a new mast and had my Nan run up a set of sails. So now armed with the ability not just to fish from the rocks my brother and I set forth that summer to plumb the depths of the bay off Traeth Bychan. We'd had a couple of half successful outings that summer holiday with a fare number of flatties (plaice), a couple of codling and three unattended lobster pots (minus any lobster though) as well as the usual beach debris of various shells, skimming pebbles obviously made somewhere like Germany because they were the perfect shape and weight for our small hands, and a couple of shark or ray eggs, which I was told were mermaids purses which, to an impressionable eight year old was just pure magic. The holiday was drawing to its inevitable end when I overheard a couple of holiday anglers talking about conger eel. Well my eyes must have been as big as saucers as I stood rooted to the spot listening to tales of this underwater serpent with its evil dark purple color, the mighty muscles which made it such a fight to land and its jaws filled with row upon row of flesh shredding teeth. A fish to be respected they said, a fish that would test any fisherman’s metal. Mmmmm well now its funny how an idea takes hold of a young mind, now to catch a fish like that would let me, mmm let me, oh I didn't know what it would let me do but I did know that I had to catch this monster. I must have spoken out aloud or maybe it was just the feral gleam that was shining in my eyes but the two fishermen had stopped talking and were looking straight at me "you fish" I was asked, I don't think that I spoke, just nodded dumbly in answer, "well then try for this monster at dusk" the other said smiling, "if you do fish that is" the first man added then they turned back to stowing their boat with the little urchin clearly forgotten.
But the seed had been sown, off I flew to find Peter, oh yes that's my brothers name, to fill his head with this wonderful notion of beaching a real sea monster. Problem was that Peter was quite a stubborn child in that if he had not thought of a plan then obviously the plan was not worth a pinch of salt because he was the eldest so he was the brightest (yeah right o). I’d learnt that a little gentle persuasion was sometimes needed for him to come around to one of my ideas, even one as brilliant and as adventurous as this. So after cleaning the sand off our clothes, wiping his bloody nose, telling on him for the bite marks in my leg (and arm, the jesse) and having to wash the dishes for fighting again oh and getting a clip off Pops for telling tales, bite marks or not! There was still an impasse, not his idea! I had one last ace to play him with "scared" I said with no little venom (well I’d washed most of the dishes) as I pushed him into some gorse. So the next day after doing dishes again, this time on my own (bless his patchwork legs) we coerced Pops into taking the Goblin to the beach. "It’s a little late" he said "tides’ in just as the lights failing, make sure you’re beached and stowed before then and I’ll be waiting for you on this side of the bay". The thing about Traeth Bychan is that at full tide the sea comes right into the base of the cliffs leaving just a small area of beach at each end of the bay, one with the launching slipway where our camp site adjoined and the other leading to a little more exclusive site (they had wooden holiday homes and proper toilets, not a communal block) not that this has any effect on the tale, just thought that I’d bulk the story up a bit by describing the area a little. We were off, Ahab and Starbuck in search of their monster (little did we know then what waited for us), our harpoons sharpened, OK just a rusty gaff that had obviously not been wanted by the bloke we'd past walking up the beach to get his boat trailer (told you before - piracy) our bait bucket full of fresh lug worm and a couple whole of mackerel, we even had a couple of new weights and wire traces with shiny new hooks for the bottom end, bought by Pops, probably because of the guilt off giving me that undeserved slap, well I did blub loads. But what on earth could have possibly been better than this? Two adventurers skimming across the world’s deepest ocean at a phenomenal rate of knots powered by their 1.5hp Seagull outboard.
About ten minutes later the intrepid fishermen had reached their destination of the furthest reaches of the known oceans, the other side of the bay. We dropped anchor and started tackling up. Now I did say that this happened an eon ago and is based on a younger memory but I tell you now that I've never since seen a patch of water as flat as the bay at Traeth this night. The saying as calm as a mill pond comes to mind but once the small wake made by that little dinghy had died away the sea’s surface was like a sheet of deep turquoise glass with only the gentlest of sounds as the tiny waves slipped onto the beach. It was like the quiet in the film Moby Dick before that knurled, crooked jawed, white leviathan breached from the depths taking Ahab and his crew to Davy Jones’s locker (not that you get many sperm whales off Ynys Mon that is). The moment was not lost upon the two adventure’s as the noiseless air covered them like a blanket, “the mackerel are mine, you can have the lug" spat out Peter, obviously he hadn't got over his nose been bled the day before. Without Pops on hand to settle the possible argument, and the fact that I was yet to learn to swim (to my shame this wasn't to happen for a couple of decades ) I took the obvious course of action, "that’s fine, everybody knows lug's a killer bait for eel" I said greedily reaching for the bucket.
We lowered our offerings to the sea gods, Peter's bait with one of the two shiny new weights that we had in our spartan selection, and a spark plug holding my flapping piece of mackerel to the sandy bottom (told you I was smart). we were prepared for the inevitable hours of waiting it was going to take to trap our monster and wrestle it from the depths, when after a couple of minutes Pete’s rod gave a tell tale twitch. Wide eyed and frozen we stared at the fiberglass beast tamer hardly daring to breath, again it twitched this time bouncing slightly in the rowlock where it rested, spurred by this latest movement Pete lunged at the rod striking so hard we both ended up on our back sides, "its on, its on" he yelled winding in like demon and sure enough a few minutes later our first monster lay flapping in the bottom of the goblin, "can you eat dogfish?" I asked innocently, "You will in a minute smarty bum" came back the retort. And that’s the way the afternoon drifted by, with each and every twitch of the rods, visions of bauble eyed monsters leapt to my thoughts, of bloody fanged creatures tearing at the side of the boat and wasn't it time that we had a butty and opened the flask of coffee yet? I reached over to nudge Pete on the back to pass the butty box, fare dues he jumped out of his skin; the tension obviously was eating at him as well. "Scared" I mumbled into my spam butty, "You were right about the lug" he quipped (2 dogfish and 3 flatties to my 1 doggy, sometimes being smart is a curse) at this we both started laughing and giggling our feud now forgotten. "Monsters" we yelled "sea dragons" we cried, we were nearly choking our selves with mirth (and relief). "Alright, flatties it is then, give us some strips of them mackerel here and we'll try the baits together", OK he may have had some good ideas after all I’ll admit grudgingly. The afternoon drifted to evening with several flatties in the bilges, no score keeping, and two content explorers stinking of bait and fish guts, full of spam butties and coffee and feeling like brothers again.
And with the evening light slowly fading something else came into Traeth, it was not the cold that had started nipping at our faces nor the few gulls that watched with dark, greedy eyes from the flat surface surrounding us, hoping for some more fish entrails, it was not even the whisper of the slightest of breezes which had stirred around the bay ,or even the beginning of twilight shadows dancing on the steep cliff faces that evening for all these things were on the sea’s surface or in the air and what came into Traeth was not above the sea. "I’m cold" I whined "and the suns going down", it was time to go, we started to stow our tackle Pete putting it away whilst I pulled up the little anchor on its sodden, slimy rope (yep, second again) I glanced across the bay at Smart’s harbor hoping perhaps to spot Pops waiting on the walls for us to head in, Pete glanced over as well "one day that yacht will be mine" he said pointing at the only boat to big to berth within the harbor breakwater, it was about a twenty eight foot pleasure yacht but to us in our little Goblin it was the Queen Mary. "we could live on that forever and sail to Australia on that" he mused, he was right, with that yacht we'd be the lords of the seven seas, with our scurvy crew to do our bidding ha ha, we sat and stared each dreaming and coming up with new ways we would use our Queen Mary. I must have still been drifting with these dreams when a sharp nudge and a breathless whisper from my brother brought my mind swiftly back into focus; “what’s that in front of the harbor?” he hissed through gritted teeth. I followed the line of his shaking arm; my eyes must have been on stalks as I strained to understand what we were looking at.
Across the other side of the bay, what only could be described as a mound of water was moving at an angle towards the anchored yacht. From where we sat mesmerized it was impossible to tell how large this disturbance was or even how fast it was traveling? To our young eyes though it seem both huge and fast as it made it’s way deliberately towards the yacht. There was something wrong with the movement that held us spellbound like a brace of rabbits caught in the glare of headlights. It wasn’t that something disturbed the surface or that something moved in the bay, we’d both seen large grey seals moving through the water as well as huge shoals of mackerel chasing whitebait against the rocks in our adventures but nothing that we’d witnessed before bore any resemblance to this. Also the sound, there was none to be heard from our vantage point although maybe we were to far away for all but the loudest of splashes to be heard. The mound, for want of a better description carried on until we were sure that whatever it was below the surface must surely ram the sitting duck of the yacht, but no, as the mound came to the side of the vessel near its stern the whole boat just lifted over it as if riding a large wave and gently settled into a slowing rocking motion. From across the bay we could hear the gentle noise of what must have been a small bell on board sounding out and bearing witness that the yacht was indeed moving back and too. Then there was nothing, no wave, no sound apart from the wavelets on the beach now nearing the rocks as the tide carried on rising regardless of anything else even the watching gulls were subdued. We looked at each both unwilling to admit our fear. “Maybe it was a dolphin?” Pete ventured, “Yeah must have been a dolphin”, I agreed “er lets make for the sailing club”. Pete turned to the ever reliable Seagull motor, wrapped the starting chord around the drum and pulled heavily, nothing! “Bugger” he said under his breath then glanced up hoping that I hadn't heard to hold him hostage to Pops. “Try again, and hurry up” I blustered hoping that he didn't hear how nervous I was feeling. Again he wraps the chord, more deliberately this time and his pull is hard and sure, splutter, turn, choke then nothing, again and again he tries with no burst of the noisy 2 stroke ever showing signs of happening. “Come on stop messing around” I was nearly crying by now “it won’t bloody start, will it” he yelled turning towards me his eyes wild with frustration. It was then; just over his shoulder I saw it. The water between us and the beach was rising slowly up into a mound of blackness.
Its funny how certain things stick in your memory over the years, it wasn’t the height or size of that body of water (although now if I had to but a size on it, it wasn’t hardly as high as the stern of the dinghy and only a couple of yards round) but the fact there was no wake like that of a boat moving across the surface, no ripples across it and no turbulence behind it, just a mound of water moving towards us. I grabbed the oars and started flailing like a demented humming bird at the water not making much if any headway for my efforts. Pete jerked around to see what it was that I was now screaming at and promptly dropped the starter chord into the bottom of the dinghy. The panic was enhanced by the deepening dusk as well the cloud of seagulls now wheeling over our heads, perhaps they sensed something tastier than fish guts? Both of us now were screaming at each other, at the ever nearer mound, at the useless motor, at everything. But then for the briefest of moments everything stopped, both of us froze for the smallest fraction of a second looking at nothing else but the terror etched deep within each others eyes. And that’s all it took, that one moment when to those young lads everything was lost, no tomorrow, no fighting, no laughing, nothing left but the terror of the unknown, that’s all it took. “Row properly you ponce” Pete ordered his calm voice belying his youthful fear, grabbing both oars as one I heaved with every last ounce of strength I had, once, twice again and again the little Goblin started cutting through the glass surface with each measured stroke I could feel the sea slipping past us. There was no panic left, just the oars, looking past Pete the light now made the oncoming mound look inky black as it continued to surge towards us less than twenty yards away. “ONE OAR” my brother yelled, easing off on the port oar I dug the other two handed into darkening water, swiftly the little Goblin spun around and I lost sight of the terror behind for a moment, “BOTH OARS” Pete was now screaming, the rusty gaff held aloft in his shaking hands, straining with all that I had I glance up the mound that was now angled towards us, whatever it was it wasn't just some random wave cause by freak currents, it had changed direction to intercept us! It was upon us, eyes now tightly closed I dug the oars one last time, Pete’s screams (or were they mine) filling my senses. The little dinghy lifted up and over the dome of water, as I felt it tipping back downwards my oars tore at the water and then with a jolt that numbed my whole arm the starboard oar felt like it had smashed into rocks, and then it was gone from my grasp.
I opened my eyes to see Pete belly down in the bottom of the dinghy covered in tangle of bread crusts, discarded bait, tackle and gutted fish, I chanced a glace to the water’s surface, on our right side the lost oar bobbed on the surface a few feet away, the gulls were alighting on the water again, of the mound there was not the slightest of signs to show that it had ever been there, only the slightest rippling caused by the now freshening offshore breeze. Pete had pulled himself from the dregs of the bottom of the dinghy, starter chord in his hand, a grin on his face but with tears flowing down his white cheeks. “Don’t cry little brother” he said turning to the outboard, reaching down he turned the fuel tap 90 degrees, “that’s why it would start” he mumbled to himself. He wrapped the chord slowly around and with one swift pull the ever reliable motor spluttered into life. I wasn’t even aware of my own tears as he turned our little pirate boat back towards the sanctuary of the yacht club on the further beach across the bay, the lost oar receding into the gloom as neither of us dared to reach out of the dinghy for it.
Making our way across the now black water seemed to be taking an endless eon of time compared to the fleeting outward voyage of discovery we had started off on a few hours ago. With both of us now too scared and tired to speak we watched the approaching beach with a growing sense of relief. Instead of easing off on the throttle as we came to the beach so that we could perform our practiced act of me jumping into waist deep water and holding the boat whilst Pete would retrieve the trailer to slide under it, Pete drove the boat out of the surf and onto the pebbled ground of safety not caring of the damage done to the carefully painted keel. We both leapt out over the bow not daring for one moment to allow any part of us touch the now demonized water. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, haven’t I shown you pair have to look after anything?” Father’s voiced boomed from the yacht club door, falling over ourselves in our haste to reach him, both yelling and sobbing at the same time trying to describe the events that had overtook us that evening, we must looked like two bedraggled waifs cast ashore by the vengeful sea.
Later, in the warmth and safety of the gas lit caravan mum and dad listened patently whilst we gathered our thoughts and tried to recount our adventure (minus my brothers Anglo Saxon language!), in-between mouthfuls of crusty bread and oxtail soup. The events that had surrounded us that evening seemed somehow unreal but the image of that mound of water was burnt into our memories even to this day. Even with hindsight and more years experience of being outdoors than I care to admit, I have still never come up with a completely satisfactory explanation for the events on the warm summer’s evening. There have been one or two suggestions;- a freak wave, a dolphin, even a basking shark or as someone suggested the ghosts of HMS Thetis, a submarine which had the distinction of sinking twice during its short service, the first time the recovered ship was beached at Traeth Bychan. But deep down I’d still like to know what kept me from venturing out on the sea for nearly a decade after, but I don’t think that I’ll ever truly know. Maybe some mysteries are better unsolved; they certainly leave life more interesting.</span>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-26162863618570581072012-10-22T11:29:00.000+01:002012-10-22T11:29:23.428+01:00SHAMELESS?<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Now here’s something for you all to debate out there blog
land. Since starting to write this blog once more I've tweaked the format of
the home page as well as my attitude to writing here. One thing you may have
noticed is the appearance of sponsored adverts on the right hand side of the
page, click on it and cha ching. I have signed up to ad-sense with conflicting thoughts on this matter. On
one hand I don’t feel that it’s in keeping with the spirit of what I'm trying
to do here but on the other hand getting some income from my blog does have a certain
appeal....your thoughts please.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Fish</span></div>
murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-74890590916488938332012-10-20T16:13:00.001+01:002012-10-20T16:13:48.564+01:00Project trike<br />
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<span style="background-color: black; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Some of the more astute
of you may well have noticed some subtle changes to the look of the blog, one
of these being the addition of a new page...... project trike. The idea behind
this is to produce a low cost usable trike. I did consider a motorbike but a
trike appeals to me more at the moment. Whilst helping out at the Chunkster's
<a href="http://www.jonesrs.co.uk/">workshop</a> he happened to mention a potential donor bike that has come into his clammy
ickle claws. After a brief discussion and a gentleman’s agreement the donor
bike is now the base for what should prove to be an interesting project.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgc_L5d0HxdnhhO9atXoFSGFvnLn7VIX0hj0egNjNWAzalBJ_NF5e6pkB7ZBDLIPuWcwoKcZMcFoytThX3o8pFmGhK6NbpaTZ1IkNBsr1z9nVR2K5PQ3YyFhivGZ42aloN5sI5doZ3NPEK/s1600/333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgc_L5d0HxdnhhO9atXoFSGFvnLn7VIX0hj0egNjNWAzalBJ_NF5e6pkB7ZBDLIPuWcwoKcZMcFoytThX3o8pFmGhK6NbpaTZ1IkNBsr1z9nVR2K5PQ3YyFhivGZ42aloN5sI5doZ3NPEK/s320/333.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The donor is a CCM 600
with the Rotax 4 stroke engine, it may not look much at the moment and it’ll be
a steep enjoyable learning curve for me, but with help and therapy from the Chunkster
I'm sure this will be something to smile about when alls said n done. The
project will be reported on in more detail than this brief introduction, but I just
wanted to get the ball rolling so to speak (which is more than the wheel-less
bike does at the moment!)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">All the best from the ‘Fish.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #121212; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-13554239969382794492012-10-19T12:08:00.000+01:002012-10-19T12:08:55.296+01:00Back<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It seems a lifetime ago since I visited these pages. I have been
through my own personal hell and have unknowingly dragged those who
love me through it at the same time. For those who stood by me through this
time when really they should have fled I will be eternally grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I have tried several times to write new blogs and release my
spirit from the claws of what one friend calls “the black dog”, but my heart
was never in it. I stood back and reread many of the posts here upon my
original musings. If you were to do the same you would notice the changes that
came into my writings, how I was trying to be someone I'm not. The praise of
other people had taken over the fun and basically tongues in cheeks accounts of
my mundane wanderings and projects. <o:p></o:p><span style="line-height: 115%;">As to whether or not the furnace has tempered me or weakened me only
time will tell.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I am telling you this so that there is no misunderstanding, tis
true that I have been through a furnace and dark places but I feel that there
is sufficient weight being lifted from my shoulders to contemplate writing once
more but what you’ll get here is no longer a search for praise but a sharing of
a life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Through all the gloom and also what a idiot I have been there are two
true friends who have stood by me and seen past my own self loathing. Heartfelt
thanks to Clare and to Neil....thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Right enough of that and on with my life........</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-83558074152262595902012-02-02T19:06:00.000+00:002012-02-02T19:06:09.544+00:00About time...<span style="font-size: large;">Well a belated happy new year to all you folk in this blogosphere, tis a while since this worthless Welshman last posted so I guess tis high time I started again. As they say (who are 'they' ?) "watch this space....</span>..murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-50010928276301307642011-11-20T20:03:00.000+00:002011-11-20T20:03:22.014+00:00A gloomy walk....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> .... 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!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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 <a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2010/02/calming-little-walk.html">spook game</a>, shame really.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-d5nEGtn_IM4rM_LBgIse4_zPZ7Am22MD8F6t9RTKPfQ3j6lZEYoWkchcpAh89EzGHZOZJMfxD2G6v7ggAScC-XS_tWvl8yemxgPQvJHxBFvN3-Gp2ePxTcvwJSaa4xkDh41UuXq8AmY7/s1600/104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-d5nEGtn_IM4rM_LBgIse4_zPZ7Am22MD8F6t9RTKPfQ3j6lZEYoWkchcpAh89EzGHZOZJMfxD2G6v7ggAScC-XS_tWvl8yemxgPQvJHxBFvN3-Gp2ePxTcvwJSaa4xkDh41UuXq8AmY7/s400/104.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you believe these drops of mist left moisture on these webs?</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> So till the next time take care and maybe then I'll have found my voice.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-25008905158958224112011-11-19T17:47:00.000+00:002011-11-19T17:47:17.183+00:00Fungi Photos<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So with this mind here are a few fungi photo's from the last couple of weeks;-</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Hope you like them, all the best,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
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</span>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-27827175491382909292011-11-14T10:59:00.000+00:002011-11-14T10:59:57.644+00:00Autumn.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Just a few glimpses of the last few weeks around here.....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4l0ClN4q6eUc8v0tLzL7FsiCek7wlLG-Ksi_ewwcuKfGbqyoM4OeEml76UaXgQVdZt_JFL74vRMqjwhhq8ti5lHdFm9HP4in7lYPGB69MftMTI0eYwCk23tdwmh5pxQ8qkLNkPEH-Lo1p/s1600/2011_0605FujiPics0072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4l0ClN4q6eUc8v0tLzL7FsiCek7wlLG-Ksi_ewwcuKfGbqyoM4OeEml76UaXgQVdZt_JFL74vRMqjwhhq8ti5lHdFm9HP4in7lYPGB69MftMTI0eYwCk23tdwmh5pxQ8qkLNkPEH-Lo1p/s320/2011_0605FujiPics0072.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-55020656412669818182011-10-25T21:08:00.000+01:002011-10-25T21:08:19.475+01:00Well there's a surprise..<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. <span> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>The walk was wonderful, not because of heights traversed; indeed the real hills could be seen only in the distance.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moel Arthur</td></tr>
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>So there are not too many pictures this time to tell the tale of the walk just these few;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.<span> </span>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;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>We arrived back at the Fun Cruiser in a buoyant mood, which was really nessary being as it did rain today.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_PNHJ-m3eXzChpSGey-qBUMXw8KjQpqkGPAloZwFtV_yDiUac4A5CjjXB8szHZLQO2ATkc81n4iyN7oTt5JVd5EWmPMpo_SWrrZI1tXltZKAMUbT9rTbrCerKvgGv5ZLj9mhZS-m-TPB/s1600/076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_PNHJ-m3eXzChpSGey-qBUMXw8KjQpqkGPAloZwFtV_yDiUac4A5CjjXB8szHZLQO2ATkc81n4iyN7oTt5JVd5EWmPMpo_SWrrZI1tXltZKAMUbT9rTbrCerKvgGv5ZLj9mhZS-m-TPB/s400/076.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did I not mention I'm Welsh?</td></tr>
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>‘Till next time, take good care my friends,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-53513429924848525652011-10-23T22:43:00.000+01:002011-10-23T22:43:32.533+01:00A favor to ask of you....<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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, <a href="http://tailsfromthefish.blogspot.com/2009/11/something-under-sea.html">Something Under the Sea</a>, a childhood tale of an evening adventure in Anglesey. <span> </span>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....</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Sorry about the clarity of the pictures but the warm air was laden with moisture.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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 <a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2010/02/calming-little-walk.html">‘the spook game</a>’ with me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrN8_XEVqNXQpFKvZto38vyh80GKKNjiXteOwHBHYHahLpikWOKo3w593Ulo7M5TFZ2HfHrdZHronXWLJlEX7kjJl-9Az7Yv-bxSWOnxI5faZcchhBvq2iz5ysI6khVAyd5unenl_iViQt/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrN8_XEVqNXQpFKvZto38vyh80GKKNjiXteOwHBHYHahLpikWOKo3w593Ulo7M5TFZ2HfHrdZHronXWLJlEX7kjJl-9Az7Yv-bxSWOnxI5faZcchhBvq2iz5ysI6khVAyd5unenl_iViQt/s400/020.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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 <a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2011/01/well-would-you-adam-n-eve-it-my-one.html">Lucy</a> would inevitably play her games. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-mgMH61vRbRSJuw39ky94mxthnVgZHPV2_FkWHf-xWRxWEj9M4v6RCqkiZ1ndoYc5vDFWlVQp-fIx3-MMMu3On_kY47Pn1yWR5LeGzX9Og5bR2ekxge5gGXr_iFKDMBJ7d-CxZZ8hoVC/s1600/2010_0204FujiPics0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-mgMH61vRbRSJuw39ky94mxthnVgZHPV2_FkWHf-xWRxWEj9M4v6RCqkiZ1ndoYc5vDFWlVQp-fIx3-MMMu3On_kY47Pn1yWR5LeGzX9Og5bR2ekxge5gGXr_iFKDMBJ7d-CxZZ8hoVC/s400/2010_0204FujiPics0010.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75rQb_GJWeqP2MsVHwjncFYhUQmN99HoKC2O5t5APpibh01lJLpaCn6vY3n7mUGsU0uQZ_H_7ZT0nKibcedyDUMSjIXwY95FiYYsXUgIdi8A-sNSfRcC-by8ueWmMzVjOhXbrk0281Lmx/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75rQb_GJWeqP2MsVHwjncFYhUQmN99HoKC2O5t5APpibh01lJLpaCn6vY3n7mUGsU0uQZ_H_7ZT0nKibcedyDUMSjIXwY95FiYYsXUgIdi8A-sNSfRcC-by8ueWmMzVjOhXbrk0281Lmx/s320/025.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZdMuRO-1jXoOu1fWFeYjYJdtfKSA1SHd-Mojd5QWgBnVmhgvCJJ4-neWHDa9YssNkPjLzV0KaLa4cVLi1LUzNEd76hy75Oo7jVOQPSyMrOk23jzU0fYNiN0yiy1akuH5dGZ4oj_TWr8R/s1600/037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZdMuRO-1jXoOu1fWFeYjYJdtfKSA1SHd-Mojd5QWgBnVmhgvCJJ4-neWHDa9YssNkPjLzV0KaLa4cVLi1LUzNEd76hy75Oo7jVOQPSyMrOk23jzU0fYNiN0yiy1akuH5dGZ4oj_TWr8R/s320/037.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMwi7ehl3fra8NJN1gaDRn83SbDQUWVHc6GcwKE7tFnzmY9cJqEZM8aK8A-qxPtrr6yS2mENFfSAv-7T1ViwoyfOQphA11ux5gdhAvuxozMJKSjWefBy1DyEFeBoPmbV-B7_dMZ5nkwgI/s1600/052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMwi7ehl3fra8NJN1gaDRn83SbDQUWVHc6GcwKE7tFnzmY9cJqEZM8aK8A-qxPtrr6yS2mENFfSAv-7T1ViwoyfOQphA11ux5gdhAvuxozMJKSjWefBy1DyEFeBoPmbV-B7_dMZ5nkwgI/s320/052.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGB4ZMN7C8jLy6S56SDtLVpEEsHj4CKis3YeAZGUii5VOfbh1zreR35kYb8ZDB0jIalI3_8bjnQuTsm-ZaOXiWZICpObfbPQs0cUeYr-uJ0jzSdlKZ6KhOfAZXfx-u_FF96Kg6BeKX-E-8/s1600/055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGB4ZMN7C8jLy6S56SDtLVpEEsHj4CKis3YeAZGUii5VOfbh1zreR35kYb8ZDB0jIalI3_8bjnQuTsm-ZaOXiWZICpObfbPQs0cUeYr-uJ0jzSdlKZ6KhOfAZXfx-u_FF96Kg6BeKX-E-8/s320/055.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Clinging to one was a large fungus, one I do not know but it may be called the ‘beef streak’ fungus.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PbiZFqj9X1TiPJeBiFWrIQ1zuJNffLd0f4hztbj8Zn-Y-gjoGkCcd6c_qgj1yvF54oLlRfCwRe-Y4d_r8S3tN3gkG27EGc7o8sr8JLhxgAdcUg-lXi3-oq5Hipid1BqkIDVzzuootsE1/s1600/057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PbiZFqj9X1TiPJeBiFWrIQ1zuJNffLd0f4hztbj8Zn-Y-gjoGkCcd6c_qgj1yvF54oLlRfCwRe-Y4d_r8S3tN3gkG27EGc7o8sr8JLhxgAdcUg-lXi3-oq5Hipid1BqkIDVzzuootsE1/s400/057.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqKhknSbgiIaxPAqATMMawkInOPRHnOenPsaVZtIC1Aj2lsbAnI6mBGN-5P4DBhJaAsvpgg-aePoQgPw6OVV8jDbzKPUn2K0CAPICXEFmBuYhhe1kznv28iJNOLRoaS56fIiWN-N0KbY5/s1600/059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqKhknSbgiIaxPAqATMMawkInOPRHnOenPsaVZtIC1Aj2lsbAnI6mBGN-5P4DBhJaAsvpgg-aePoQgPw6OVV8jDbzKPUn2K0CAPICXEFmBuYhhe1kznv28iJNOLRoaS56fIiWN-N0KbY5/s400/059.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5UXlITA35j9nC67Q0hrfiLmlw6ArcyvthJhzYizncEWTXCBU3IQVS5e35TM0iWIu9mT58HoF0xgMjgI7MYJfbPxyEFeAI9nes2ByRorylJe_ZUPXQQZvW4Y0-Sr8btBzEEDuvh4LkvJ0u/s1600/110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5UXlITA35j9nC67Q0hrfiLmlw6ArcyvthJhzYizncEWTXCBU3IQVS5e35TM0iWIu9mT58HoF0xgMjgI7MYJfbPxyEFeAI9nes2ByRorylJe_ZUPXQQZvW4Y0-Sr8btBzEEDuvh4LkvJ0u/s400/110.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She is in there honest</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVWQcucXuAJD92wcINVt1JO2umu8WpTbQggJReagggf4fIVI_TcJqnEPCzTfqV-ow5zdlw858sifjbNShle63_bMxm-OTbQXVhgdugwqafYivQvfzLmlylYArG-_BstrfO_BUFUchqeeiG/s1600/099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVWQcucXuAJD92wcINVt1JO2umu8WpTbQggJReagggf4fIVI_TcJqnEPCzTfqV-ow5zdlw858sifjbNShle63_bMxm-OTbQXVhgdugwqafYivQvfzLmlylYArG-_BstrfO_BUFUchqeeiG/s400/099.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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. <span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1_mtecgDbG70F2n9WDLVzqDJTJaQTjj5scO-CeLkZIaLyXImr-DHHG0guDc5q79FaAw54WEG8F40ZbknO_5Yjvo_yROYyrtTykJ-1n8ESqYCm_kUr4vahsDPehzJXogIZKwKehnx65y3s/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1_mtecgDbG70F2n9WDLVzqDJTJaQTjj5scO-CeLkZIaLyXImr-DHHG0guDc5q79FaAw54WEG8F40ZbknO_5Yjvo_yROYyrtTykJ-1n8ESqYCm_kUr4vahsDPehzJXogIZKwKehnx65y3s/s320/001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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. <span> </span>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 <a href="http://tailsfromthefish.blogspot.com/2009/11/something-under-sea.html">here</a> 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)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Fingers crossed, your friend,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-31738035833586001282011-10-17T21:09:00.000+01:002011-10-17T21:09:20.822+01:00Not what I planned.....<div class="MsoNormal"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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 <a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2011/04/last-sad-post.html">post</a> that I’ll try and keep this an uplifting type of blog, at least I cannot fail at that dear reader.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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 <a href="http://www.whatdigitalcamera.com/equipment/reviews/compactcameras/27308/1/fujifilm-finepix-s200exr-review.html">camera</a> 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 <a href="http://www.digicamreview.com/fujifilm_finepix_f70exr_review.htm">camera</a> 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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Supposed to be the sun through trees?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not good are they?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi28KjmyWYcdXUo6_dBpYjefKHsjNMqS2QRs9REWRYr5cwB38rpsp8v6NuuZyi0yi3i8LgoIedi5GWSjQ23Tcf8nBg-oyIrN0iPSXZoQdOou55RTIJ4mPxgoqVKx2j6MRSDtdljd2SqNeko/s1600/078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi28KjmyWYcdXUo6_dBpYjefKHsjNMqS2QRs9REWRYr5cwB38rpsp8v6NuuZyi0yi3i8LgoIedi5GWSjQ23Tcf8nBg-oyIrN0iPSXZoQdOou55RTIJ4mPxgoqVKx2j6MRSDtdljd2SqNeko/s400/078.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vanity, tis a terrible curse....</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDDgtJpfL-srQVDoFqvqo5iHRdFjX8Xk9eeyNwpo5IZgd5EO1h9p0doHLSeL1DjcdCSKpDqq0bJpfFEyAMG9Ag6e8Rwo1NDPJJnlt1BGaHODmLATZnzMSVL7K5LNMUzeVCl1EpBH7-gml/s1600/090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDDgtJpfL-srQVDoFqvqo5iHRdFjX8Xk9eeyNwpo5IZgd5EO1h9p0doHLSeL1DjcdCSKpDqq0bJpfFEyAMG9Ag6e8Rwo1NDPJJnlt1BGaHODmLATZnzMSVL7K5LNMUzeVCl1EpBH7-gml/s400/090.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm suspecting mice....</td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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;</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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;</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzYGzprc2nU2pXK6rEMgULra-sqvlAYHhPQBz0PaasgEGJyYmPCr1Q4X6xO4sFg0SHiSasS3Ny6iz0RQalUclTxY69glDVXLHKkHrz7E491r8yN4BMGZyKgi1FiLDydhE8jYYVrg_o4Nsv/s1600/091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzYGzprc2nU2pXK6rEMgULra-sqvlAYHhPQBz0PaasgEGJyYmPCr1Q4X6xO4sFg0SHiSasS3Ny6iz0RQalUclTxY69glDVXLHKkHrz7E491r8yN4BMGZyKgi1FiLDydhE8jYYVrg_o4Nsv/s400/091.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Told you so......the fungus nibbler...</td></tr>
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Thank you once more for your indulgence, ‘till the next time take good care.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Your friend, John</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-55178145893631674332011-10-15T23:05:00.000+01:002011-10-15T23:05:03.093+01:00How to make Cider - Part 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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 <a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2011/10/how-to-make-cider-part-2.html">part 2</a>. 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 <u>please clean and clean again.<o:p></o:p></u></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Stage 1, Mulching.<o:p></o:p></span></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u><br />
</u></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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 <a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2011/10/how-to-make-cider-part-2.html">part 2</a> 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!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7uvvxsXwLOr7eT3fziplCjIOiSd5YdKVyihD6qMaf9Zc312DrLd22bM2isi6yD-EvpQdoj6STHgLeOPZIvoim8l-z2G-2MOuo8d3h2HUbDBZOnYmNmTJZzMdunf_ghBso2qR37lBfKRC/s1600/104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7uvvxsXwLOr7eT3fziplCjIOiSd5YdKVyihD6qMaf9Zc312DrLd22bM2isi6yD-EvpQdoj6STHgLeOPZIvoim8l-z2G-2MOuo8d3h2HUbDBZOnYmNmTJZzMdunf_ghBso2qR37lBfKRC/s400/104.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Stage 2, Pressing.<o:p></o:p></span></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u><br />
</u></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>The press itself is simplicity itself consisting of few parts, which briefly are the ‘pan’ complete with threaded shaft;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQL7NMU_Bvj0Cm4KenvL-GrvPXTsXKqFj0b4mMOBgI9CbIOpnfREk7zge9-48z46vOd2P9ZFUJdrw3hIAMdMZ003huZPBd8_AzSJW3JZJkh41orJEYwRPVgv2K09PLlRohIggK4iciG5fb/s1600/077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQL7NMU_Bvj0Cm4KenvL-GrvPXTsXKqFj0b4mMOBgI9CbIOpnfREk7zge9-48z46vOd2P9ZFUJdrw3hIAMdMZ003huZPBd8_AzSJW3JZJkh41orJEYwRPVgv2K09PLlRohIggK4iciG5fb/s400/077.JPG" width="221" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>The ‘basket’, vertically slatted hardwood strips held together with metal bands (open top and bottom);</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuahtDrcc4i6SQBEytRdIKwoDI5UkGRZS8SHERWuCkPWN4x9KoOq6c_jFN2bUqNAuzCIAL1FidbNktju2Y6GvNyR-aTBLJ6gMe_-aFC3_TVOZaxEJiU9vzJagESbFy7cXB0vUb7WQrcdt/s1600/075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuahtDrcc4i6SQBEytRdIKwoDI5UkGRZS8SHERWuCkPWN4x9KoOq6c_jFN2bUqNAuzCIAL1FidbNktju2Y6GvNyR-aTBLJ6gMe_-aFC3_TVOZaxEJiU9vzJagESbFy7cXB0vUb7WQrcdt/s400/075.JPG" width="221" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>And finally the hardwood pieces and ‘capstan’ for the applying of pressure to the mulch;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO4Tqt8amWKYszGkr-26DAr1Wd5o1ujw2zi6EkZzGSuYn8r1k9EK_V-6UXl3XoAscfn_VJmE_cWZcJ0BMQAu9fOj0IENkqoQvQMOoQtQt3jHNcOJN83DbJkSbWhagOCYmdi0L6L_Dvjoit/s1600/079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO4Tqt8amWKYszGkr-26DAr1Wd5o1ujw2zi6EkZzGSuYn8r1k9EK_V-6UXl3XoAscfn_VJmE_cWZcJ0BMQAu9fOj0IENkqoQvQMOoQtQt3jHNcOJN83DbJkSbWhagOCYmdi0L6L_Dvjoit/s400/079.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3m427Lek31aaog_xgQpsfYO8wZEsECX0VqyBEQHbcuhhr1Yfo63qpyTfx7Wqdm5ZnFSMbRY1q9AWKa3bKwsLpabVwnh9MfkP2KIDDMrNVI_03EimK5MyDGBP4CYU3Jx_syYe1vIKdtBv/s1600/082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT3m427Lek31aaog_xgQpsfYO8wZEsECX0VqyBEQHbcuhhr1Yfo63qpyTfx7Wqdm5ZnFSMbRY1q9AWKa3bKwsLpabVwnh9MfkP2KIDDMrNVI_03EimK5MyDGBP4CYU3Jx_syYe1vIKdtBv/s400/082.JPG" width="221" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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’. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3UGutZ068bhhpHog10Ah5VxA3-OH1wbC14JvlYdzuKu-4iWEnKUxWV0DySZddqNLYb1yKfIRkd3awLtu8nAh31yzhFr-J0KKtzgXMWK8d9CBNpuEcnMi2Q7jfa8R7VgmrnECEvYby96Z/s1600/178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3UGutZ068bhhpHog10Ah5VxA3-OH1wbC14JvlYdzuKu-4iWEnKUxWV0DySZddqNLYb1yKfIRkd3awLtu8nAh31yzhFr-J0KKtzgXMWK8d9CBNpuEcnMi2Q7jfa8R7VgmrnECEvYby96Z/s320/178.JPG" width="177" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4r7Hhf3hNE3rC4i7wK397n6D1n5a2Ay16XNdBD2T0fLO4ig2n0BSaY_nsqA3aV7L4FiCnfwffFWKlaTG21wsFbnJZVr-JdoxuuDTiACKrHC2adwWTuKWUVgsSQm_ihycEDmK3A_BawlO/s1600/181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4r7Hhf3hNE3rC4i7wK397n6D1n5a2Ay16XNdBD2T0fLO4ig2n0BSaY_nsqA3aV7L4FiCnfwffFWKlaTG21wsFbnJZVr-JdoxuuDTiACKrHC2adwWTuKWUVgsSQm_ihycEDmK3A_BawlO/s320/181.JPG" width="177" /></a></div><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. <u>Do not</u> 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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Stage 3, Additives;<o:p></o:p></span></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u><br />
</u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqEvfaJ-Q92lMbNVBgTSeSJ4TqWiw9g9RCEznOM_J2bxla8a74T8ZLGyp1k94J2hw77NRbX1aAU9KNzLArDbDNEARHDao9sDFDEe_9Po5kzUaoSbd3eSvp5lW3GQEHOmvF1DyrTqijPwU/s1600/087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqEvfaJ-Q92lMbNVBgTSeSJ4TqWiw9g9RCEznOM_J2bxla8a74T8ZLGyp1k94J2hw77NRbX1aAU9KNzLArDbDNEARHDao9sDFDEe_9Po5kzUaoSbd3eSvp5lW3GQEHOmvF1DyrTqijPwU/s400/087.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u><br />
</u></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Stage 4, Fermentation;<o:p></o:p></span></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMYiv6g3PM5dpdUyJPTAwJavXtS1Z1fZWoanSc7_4TGA_fNNlZNPbfbOIjoD0xL2OQ8O1G1FUdUctqCH_P0R8EU71slsFoWO_-jQaFdAfCjXwIX5Ar6Ac5J8ECLJzchiN87rO9UMKm9gT7/s1600/196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMYiv6g3PM5dpdUyJPTAwJavXtS1Z1fZWoanSc7_4TGA_fNNlZNPbfbOIjoD0xL2OQ8O1G1FUdUctqCH_P0R8EU71slsFoWO_-jQaFdAfCjXwIX5Ar6Ac5J8ECLJzchiN87rO9UMKm9gT7/s400/196.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Stage 5, Bottling;<o:p></o:p></span></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHuqDpIx8uKTim82vkD0YxGQRxJnuCLwpkhN1gYbmyOUvDYD6WnaYluiMRGQkmcvDI6RHvhx2e4b8FGws02p8-5uGqhuFmaZSiSHs4gzoYs0eOzUF4CkqQT0AWptFouYaKE5kr1ivEqCf/s1600/115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHuqDpIx8uKTim82vkD0YxGQRxJnuCLwpkhN1gYbmyOUvDYD6WnaYluiMRGQkmcvDI6RHvhx2e4b8FGws02p8-5uGqhuFmaZSiSHs4gzoYs0eOzUF4CkqQT0AWptFouYaKE5kr1ivEqCf/s320/115.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-picasa-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOO8AghgpL9zTZnmkiR0XrFPEUqu5a_IrdWus0kyvos22WWmXqNKoFbHtYStb4_0AvEzEMQOHJujeTl7cGEveva671H3yM9sCb9-oTN0UWOgBg1jWNyftUsccMVk_juomtsNMvkU513DNc/s1600/Cider.wmv"><param name="movie" value="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fv2.nonxt3.googlevideo.com%2Fvideoplayback%3Fid%3D377db40e6a972954%26itag%3D18%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1318737640%26sparams%3Did%2Citag%2Cip%2Cipbits%2Cexpire%26signature%3D47C7A069726C334A5C80C6D72FBA692F5C5A1411.48DD85F43566FE975E4465F0965F3C69D643E114%26key%3Dlh1" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fv2.nonxt3.googlevideo.com%2Fvideoplayback%3Fid%3D377db40e6a972954%26itag%3D18%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1318737640%26sparams%3Did%2Citag%2Cip%2Cipbits%2Cexpire%26signature%3D47C7A069726C334A5C80C6D72FBA692F5C5A1411.48DD85F43566FE975E4465F0965F3C69D643E114%26key%3Dlh1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-42100284974776661292011-10-13T11:42:00.001+01:002011-10-13T11:46:12.201+01:00How to make Cider - Part 2<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
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<div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: normal;"><u style="background-color: black;">The Equipment required;</u></span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"><span style="line-height: normal;"> Just as the ingredients mentioned in </span><span style="line-height: normal;"><a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2011/10/how-to-make-cider-part-1.html">part one</a></span><span style="line-height: normal;"> 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!</span></span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><u style="background-color: black;"><span style="line-height: normal;">Containers;</span> </u></span></div><div style="line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></span><span style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> 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 </span>couple of gallons of cider by not ensuring that everything is clean.</span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"><span style="line-height: normal;"><u>Masher or pulper;</u></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtXmt3xiG9S0xChGimwiP_Zfqn9SpVrgOtCZ2K98cAAtCliTpgc4HIcqxvE4jinG9RIELgHad1qW3zCbPQh6nZzQAoFya_2Bt5MpKJDvn_jJhQH23Ffl9cWGc5AfQvBZZNUMWCF2KE8Wq/s1600/091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtXmt3xiG9S0xChGimwiP_Zfqn9SpVrgOtCZ2K98cAAtCliTpgc4HIcqxvE4jinG9RIELgHad1qW3zCbPQh6nZzQAoFya_2Bt5MpKJDvn_jJhQH23Ffl9cWGc5AfQvBZZNUMWCF2KE8Wq/s400/091.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span> Last year saw Ch</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">unky Monkey and me laboring with a piece of 3x2 wood, pulverizing the apples i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white;">n a plastic container.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white; line-height: 17px;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: white; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoRT2h08dcdck7Kc2o6JWdL_yeb84Wi_1sGIvxpGUM4MpiCAbPEjLTPCMilWXl_tBd48oPojJB9xM80eon3mCY8H1_wAgNRjCpJ_tFyRM-TAmtcauQzcc-X6agHH-R2qwJgYWemZ7JGr3/s1600/2010_0919FujiPics0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoRT2h08dcdck7Kc2o6JWdL_yeb84Wi_1sGIvxpGUM4MpiCAbPEjLTPCMilWXl_tBd48oPojJB9xM80eon3mCY8H1_wAgNRjCpJ_tFyRM-TAmtcauQzcc-X6agHH-R2qwJgYWemZ7JGr3/s1600/2010_0919FujiPics0005.JPG" /></a></span></span></div><div style="color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="line-height: normal;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"> </span><span style="line-height: normal;">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 </span><span style="line-height: normal;">garage</span><span style="line-height: normal;"> 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.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u><span style="line-height: normal;">The press;</span> </u></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: white; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: white; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9zlKEG8qXoHvZm7zn_WGc-Leg5V00KLvmQa7MvsR7Pn2wp5NqxE1fIk3yhhJ9ZhsMEGvysdN0k1vc3oiF7UurEb61BGfB3YazbLiUU_gxetQ8AsHCSugos_b_VNQDts9RvWGL3BZSuiX/s1600/181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9zlKEG8qXoHvZm7zn_WGc-Leg5V00KLvmQa7MvsR7Pn2wp5NqxE1fIk3yhhJ9ZhsMEGvysdN0k1vc3oiF7UurEb61BGfB3YazbLiUU_gxetQ8AsHCSugos_b_VNQDts9RvWGL3BZSuiX/s400/181.JPG" width="221" /></a></span></span></div><div style="color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> <br style="line-height: 17px;" /><span style="line-height: normal;"> 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.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: normal;"><u>Storage bottles;</u></span> </span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /><span style="line-height: normal;"> 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.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: white; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMryroIgJIUB6oHK5EvVxZf2tPd_APn0sG6i1oIEwueh5tTNpmIe-8OsV2V0Yd3NVpFVBHxGiuQzt9hKY8rNShLgHmdPJRLqgmzQYRoKBsklbfYBChwCd8ve45D4etlAzc9yysfWTkIUCU/s1600/196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMryroIgJIUB6oHK5EvVxZf2tPd_APn0sG6i1oIEwueh5tTNpmIe-8OsV2V0Yd3NVpFVBHxGiuQzt9hKY8rNShLgHmdPJRLqgmzQYRoKBsklbfYBChwCd8ve45D4etlAzc9yysfWTkIUCU/s400/196.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><div style="color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: normal;"><u>Sundries;</u></span> </span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /><span style="line-height: normal;"> 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.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u><span style="line-height: normal;">Cleaning solutions;</span> </u></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u style="color: white;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></u><span style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9ead3;">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. </span></span></span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: normal;"> 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!</span></span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: normal;">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.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: white; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: normal;">‘Till the next time take good care of your selves,</span> <br style="line-height: 17px;" /><span style="line-height: normal;">Your friend, John</span></span></span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-5737984455426351702011-10-12T00:08:00.000+01:002011-10-12T00:08:53.930+01:00How to make Cider - Part 1<div class="MsoNormal"><span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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 <a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2010/09/time-flies.html">last year</a> 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!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u>The Ingredients;<o:p></o:p></u></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u><br />
</u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXhtI43spXUxNY_880Q6YX6zAYI6lqwomIZcyHxFdY4JIKYRLufehy-S7FIIrLOM73MOyXgw7NnC_OHKXr2i7Xxo7C4bFLUtSW3lj0bFppYxhRw-XTFDufL2OhR3ttdEbUQkrKcHZXuJ7/s1600/096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXhtI43spXUxNY_880Q6YX6zAYI6lqwomIZcyHxFdY4JIKYRLufehy-S7FIIrLOM73MOyXgw7NnC_OHKXr2i7Xxo7C4bFLUtSW3lj0bFppYxhRw-XTFDufL2OhR3ttdEbUQkrKcHZXuJ7/s400/096.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u><br />
</u></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span><u>Apples;-</u> <span> </span>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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u>Yeast; - </u>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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u>Lemons; -</u> 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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u>Strong cold tea; -</u> 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; <a href="http://www.cider.org.uk/tannin.htm">http://www.cider.org.uk/tannin.htm</a>. 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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Your friend,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-74630017806735642852011-10-07T18:02:00.000+01:002011-10-07T18:02:51.846+01:00Out and about..........<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNsBWq1fCUBDdJGkpGB5ZxWpG2w615AiGzp6Ef4ssG_vx5toE5MdVJNlHhU0_uHySd-JoWlW5-yiuzHy-8Wp_vKc8HVFcgNe7dZTqs3TSf5aSWLAHxwCpF48jwvQ_LNQ6ez3WqB5GtfuI/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNsBWq1fCUBDdJGkpGB5ZxWpG2w615AiGzp6Ef4ssG_vx5toE5MdVJNlHhU0_uHySd-JoWlW5-yiuzHy-8Wp_vKc8HVFcgNe7dZTqs3TSf5aSWLAHxwCpF48jwvQ_LNQ6ez3WqB5GtfuI/s400/014.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghU8AIGhFdyT4nah0T-faMz_fYoEs6iMC70lvf-056kykZCxTX-oQoXaescIyUfqzWk5GSsoRwlzQJ3WKeYhFXwf8ttpZQY4nnPdnntaOYB0hVELORc-men7th6Nn4tYm29HCQ4kmmWrYe/s1600/053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghU8AIGhFdyT4nah0T-faMz_fYoEs6iMC70lvf-056kykZCxTX-oQoXaescIyUfqzWk5GSsoRwlzQJ3WKeYhFXwf8ttpZQY4nnPdnntaOYB0hVELORc-men7th6Nn4tYm29HCQ4kmmWrYe/s400/053.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNcWxh0LWQFCRGRhe4bU_RLhBYtYFIljfQ12Qz7jOUz7VAgyy_a_5GEJLydd4Vzz3QvCNrFr2sksHLtPnsQjakmSG5uhy_DucVWyGteCVOBMGzjb_VmfJ_yyDBqvM7qk2NnpMLFKybhyphenhyphenMz/s1600/055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNcWxh0LWQFCRGRhe4bU_RLhBYtYFIljfQ12Qz7jOUz7VAgyy_a_5GEJLydd4Vzz3QvCNrFr2sksHLtPnsQjakmSG5uhy_DucVWyGteCVOBMGzjb_VmfJ_yyDBqvM7qk2NnpMLFKybhyphenhyphenMz/s400/055.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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;</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Till then take good care my friends,</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span><br />
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</span>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-69756180085818780642011-09-30T23:33:00.000+01:002011-09-30T23:33:27.030+01:00Goodbye to the chickens...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> But yes today was the day when '<a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2011/05/eagle-i-mean-chickens-have-landed.html">Poultry towers</a>' 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 (?) <a href="http://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/">Mr. J. Grey</a> 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!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><object height="360" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6EElqrgk4N0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6EElqrgk4N0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="360"></embed></object></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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 ;-</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Oh and what of my own, coup-less chickens? fear not dear reader for I can take great pleasure in unveiling;-</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Fluttering Heights - ta daaaa</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Right that's enough bunkum for one post, as always thank you for reading and until the next time take good care.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Your friend, John</span><br />
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</span>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-85728912225349752922011-09-28T14:46:00.000+01:002011-09-28T14:46:58.565+01:00Couldn't think of anything better....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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';-</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dztV_os3bFCVrnQ-3t9ZIx_gdc3HjgUX1qG_qYatxEvgwyHm963_uqC67tJYFW3_NSr2kGYxo_y3t_3HW9jjw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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......</span>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-8463469615018770802011-09-12T15:43:00.000+01:002011-09-12T15:43:46.632+01:00Short but in no way sweet...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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..</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.....</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Till the next time (may be a few days) take very good care of your selves,</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Your friend as ever,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
John</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9DbpvlDi_q28bW71viUufR9emOywZ2o0d68mbCdiONq7TKWnLBQq7KVmsycR-xuRHsqpPJKDWT_oP3yekKtqJ0kRwewgW-FlLNeHga_aTXez9_6uW9GMw27SKe1JH5i-3CqP2gJhnWpDl/s1600/celtic+dog+inverted.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9DbpvlDi_q28bW71viUufR9emOywZ2o0d68mbCdiONq7TKWnLBQq7KVmsycR-xuRHsqpPJKDWT_oP3yekKtqJ0kRwewgW-FlLNeHga_aTXez9_6uW9GMw27SKe1JH5i-3CqP2gJhnWpDl/s1600/celtic+dog+inverted.JPG" /></a></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-72302020899325286922011-09-06T11:56:00.000+01:002011-09-06T11:56:59.576+01:00Morning walk....<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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;- <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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 <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Willow</st1:city></st1:place> 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)’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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;-<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
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</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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;-<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoj7BTwWhJiUC1KIUD2Y0MWE4ZCOdsvdg5Btcb_D1Bv4TO8ImheWApH9V86tOYdGI8iVMq51HeV0oUoH8hN7x4os0Iw0Qyxhsm5817O1DEmYk7llwPTo7gNXjrlHH_sRfjWGv1Jut24twE/s1600/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoj7BTwWhJiUC1KIUD2Y0MWE4ZCOdsvdg5Btcb_D1Bv4TO8ImheWApH9V86tOYdGI8iVMq51HeV0oUoH8hN7x4os0Iw0Qyxhsm5817O1DEmYk7llwPTo7gNXjrlHH_sRfjWGv1Jut24twE/s400/1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elder berry.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsraw1drUL8ocHYPh-I1k4C2rrJXSsMxZb3zle2HmT8uVDL6iqELz8EwHUj5YRG138o86uVk9kCFMCIinl6A4xUklOkN-w8trqTMSdxdnIsyJaDl0O5zyX8XoWZU5SqlB6ZM9Qenqj3crl/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsraw1drUL8ocHYPh-I1k4C2rrJXSsMxZb3zle2HmT8uVDL6iqELz8EwHUj5YRG138o86uVk9kCFMCIinl6A4xUklOkN-w8trqTMSdxdnIsyJaDl0O5zyX8XoWZU5SqlB6ZM9Qenqj3crl/s400/2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crab Apples</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hawthorn Berry</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bramble or to some Blackberry</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blackthorn/Sloe Berry - now what to do with these....</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rose Hip (from Dog Rose)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Acorns of course</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small Puffball Fungus (I think)</td></tr>
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</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8l1Iy-Fne3fyOiZsoeR9OG1SZoKVd8p_4Axiy2R6AdfFFRKsFBpSTpJZ3lFsbBYSmatuyL_dhAxw5TRWkXibaY-VHGW-UB-DJAQMh35y3Zgo_mtVDxp8zokyzG11mkne7POeUbmok5XT/s1600/15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8l1Iy-Fne3fyOiZsoeR9OG1SZoKVd8p_4Axiy2R6AdfFFRKsFBpSTpJZ3lFsbBYSmatuyL_dhAxw5TRWkXibaY-VHGW-UB-DJAQMh35y3Zgo_mtVDxp8zokyzG11mkne7POeUbmok5XT/s400/15.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHMPQvXJj9llCUu50Z4A1APow5DLUEFhs8r1AgvBXOLkACYdrtM4e2BKE9tQ7q6Q6R667fBINvFZdc2XEMN3b0hr-uNR3FC9-axcGVCXeOKRHffS1MaRCppzGisdfhEG4eWXtN5Q7yOF-/s1600/2011_0906FujiPics0070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheHMPQvXJj9llCUu50Z4A1APow5DLUEFhs8r1AgvBXOLkACYdrtM4e2BKE9tQ7q6Q6R667fBINvFZdc2XEMN3b0hr-uNR3FC9-axcGVCXeOKRHffS1MaRCppzGisdfhEG4eWXtN5Q7yOF-/s400/2011_0906FujiPics0070.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bugger</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Till next time and an update on the brewing madness here, your friend,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFGOpzlrOKzW5k2xy6b580E9PwXcggeXeQDEfzIvMlISuObDmQNY8Ykx5sJtj7wRdFSSgKUoG20jdtqNa12QJr0cknD7-Kllrs5rDsbE3C507Sks0f_Vy_nzbHSE3EqPEKCKH1vKWkIzA/s1600/celtic+dog+inverted.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFGOpzlrOKzW5k2xy6b580E9PwXcggeXeQDEfzIvMlISuObDmQNY8Ykx5sJtj7wRdFSSgKUoG20jdtqNa12QJr0cknD7-Kllrs5rDsbE3C507Sks0f_Vy_nzbHSE3EqPEKCKH1vKWkIzA/s1600/celtic+dog+inverted.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-5555042751918094492011-09-01T23:35:00.000+01:002011-09-01T23:35:02.160+01:00Pear cider - maybe not....<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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 <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">do it? You know it’s wrong to listen to those fraudulent voices and that they’re just trying to lead</span> 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….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5dzj5p5LUR_5BurhRK__5yEW-vXXzu9dAWsI_1UX9EiRGuoX_NJx8h1XiMhL7Hk046CPwaiCkGq1zjTXX5XfgkY0rrBP0b1yiPy4R66kokP2dBNqleOmwJF4-xukRdjSCXhWiGlKplMp/s1600/2011_0901FujiPics0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5dzj5p5LUR_5BurhRK__5yEW-vXXzu9dAWsI_1UX9EiRGuoX_NJx8h1XiMhL7Hk046CPwaiCkGq1zjTXX5XfgkY0rrBP0b1yiPy4R66kokP2dBNqleOmwJF4-xukRdjSCXhWiGlKplMp/s400/2011_0901FujiPics0004.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1yuS5aFZz_WjzcmgaKrmfQZPx0KZbfnlyVi8QeMP7dHBrX4uZbT6k6xh_lH0F_tgciefsXBqGmsyLX1uHBpGqnWf-_70yOvfqEzJ40maSC46pRz8gFEQLQgokZ-slJNPxiqTKXVswMZO/s1600/2011_0901FujiPics0039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1yuS5aFZz_WjzcmgaKrmfQZPx0KZbfnlyVi8QeMP7dHBrX4uZbT6k6xh_lH0F_tgciefsXBqGmsyLX1uHBpGqnWf-_70yOvfqEzJ40maSC46pRz8gFEQLQgokZ-slJNPxiqTKXVswMZO/s400/2011_0901FujiPics0039.JPG" width="221" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNsCdBB2nAO4wPzJ-0B30UozRLdeDFjYmjoCYjjXCyIlTJYIt119_9bbE52twmv1ajJFoTVE67nDU6-M-FOy1WUJLvwm8BwBolAPwDzI5GpvQSZsMZvjeFly4TsoT9lHCVQrijyJQQ4Mh/s1600/2011_0901FujiPics0043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNsCdBB2nAO4wPzJ-0B30UozRLdeDFjYmjoCYjjXCyIlTJYIt119_9bbE52twmv1ajJFoTVE67nDU6-M-FOy1WUJLvwm8BwBolAPwDzI5GpvQSZsMZvjeFly4TsoT9lHCVQrijyJQQ4Mh/s400/2011_0901FujiPics0043.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>So that’s about it my friends, another instalment in the trails and tribulations of this rotund Welsh Hobbit, till next time take care.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Just checked me e-mails as finishing this off and from me matey Damn, an<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">d I quote <span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">"</span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: inherit;">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?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-17461148783208783702011-08-28T23:29:00.000+01:002011-08-28T23:29:50.825+01:00By the sea...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; line-height: 22px;">This blog entry is my submission for the <a href="https://redtunashirtclub.com/" style="color: #190982; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Red Tuna Shirt Club </a>and <a href="http://www.outdoorbloggernetwork.com/2011/08/25/red-tuna-shirt-club-writing-contest-and-giveaway/" style="color: #190982; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Outdoor Blogger Network Writing Contest</a>.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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;-<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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 <st1:place w:st="on">North Wales</st1:place> 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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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 <a href="http://wanderingowloutside.wordpress.com/">Casey Harn</a>, 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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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 <span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Take care all of you, your friend,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-76524857377240793362011-08-24T14:48:00.001+01:002011-08-24T14:50:13.228+01:00Not so pucker today...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.....</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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....</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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;-</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1504773209"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMwoK-3VVYuGALjGUuIzvf5ZQZZz9kwEKhM_9I9ZLOZMcUQTT9e9H11BgW2qqFBZ-n3bDXdc29DRSzr_3A_Ougva5YaO3lZAq0bPOw9W3cf5IxYx_iBt8G-3rKElTfhs1bcrXdYYvow7zz/s400/3.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pingu - still looks like a bleedin' penguin...</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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..</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zgrH5-N4tbE&NR=1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFkysEqIgn0rVn4jpW39j5IYE_zOlq_5eJZZUikVQPA40zDxdjCba8U41O0LMlF2X6BNrXmhIox74g2kyq7u2RLHNshpvUdjwi7kJD6uNAMVvn3Zww2JqmzlhpOTRNEAMh25HH3RLQkcm/s1600/tnt.jpg" /></a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOwven0Rt94"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIbfW4EmpB9bLfKVO0BULG4CuHvVr7F3FK03Y1r7V_anPVfVuvxuZ5xr9fs02x_5Pk-HMJ3roDS8jNZWjlrBCAoPttkVHFj4vUP1PYnxIm8tMzRgPMcpyU4bem16bR0xVW4WvYlZ4UmtJk/s1600/Bates.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-AZQWWlGLgo52IZWuiInckjV2GcS_ZTGQRn42Zxi4Trvb3faZ2hrw6o3B2U7wsELxC4KM65oaMXVRBbOP0oVe0l0Bmw2qQv_XbofM-q7tluMunFKViqzY98I2hH8hdN8xFzX87crER_l/s1600/celtic+dog+inverted.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-AZQWWlGLgo52IZWuiInckjV2GcS_ZTGQRn42Zxi4Trvb3faZ2hrw6o3B2U7wsELxC4KM65oaMXVRBbOP0oVe0l0Bmw2qQv_XbofM-q7tluMunFKViqzY98I2hH8hdN8xFzX87crER_l/s1600/celtic+dog+inverted.JPG" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-1734095802603847512011-08-18T14:18:00.000+01:002011-08-18T14:18:07.007+01:00For Harry...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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 <a href="http://murphyfish-musing.blogspot.com/2011/04/friend-in-need.html">post</a> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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 <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Normans</st1:place></st1:city> are going to have somebody’s eye out today..”<span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>I’ll use Rachel’s words to for the next bit;-<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-GB">“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> <div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span> </span>The link is here my friends;-<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span> </span><a href="http://www.justgiving.com/Harry-Riley/?fb_ref=fundraising-page-top&fb_source=home_multiline">For Harry.</a><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span> </span>I’ll also try to pin it upon me side bar (that may well take me some time and head scratching).<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Your friend,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">John<o:p></o:p></span></div></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Mu44uEyaNYAQav0939cmnFzli5PuuDle25u8n8XWDSTmjwfV0nkutnMNgRi3gNCU-eb6jRq4hAS1fc5DlrmCgBusZQWlOHLfiK-fw4CxGGES5BNUVSpO3-FkV2drXKkhgINTT5q4SwRy/s1600/celtic+dog+inverted.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Mu44uEyaNYAQav0939cmnFzli5PuuDle25u8n8XWDSTmjwfV0nkutnMNgRi3gNCU-eb6jRq4hAS1fc5DlrmCgBusZQWlOHLfiK-fw4CxGGES5BNUVSpO3-FkV2drXKkhgINTT5q4SwRy/s1600/celtic+dog+inverted.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-68096607922016922452011-08-14T21:29:00.000+01:002011-08-14T21:29:09.146+01:00Warthog surprise....<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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…..<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Oh go on then ya buggers just a little insight then……<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj900YtJ6oN7yIR6bDX1xbTno9Slc-X9HkNqjbsD9vJypDDj7Njk9F55b_-6gP5H-6zqG1OSNUkJSd7krz4W4hvw6xgC77beF8sPxeApa9dne1jjfUI836_AKiBolWwfdQy70Cu-YNqMPIA/s1600/hook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj900YtJ6oN7yIR6bDX1xbTno9Slc-X9HkNqjbsD9vJypDDj7Njk9F55b_-6gP5H-6zqG1OSNUkJSd7krz4W4hvw6xgC77beF8sPxeApa9dne1jjfUI836_AKiBolWwfdQy70Cu-YNqMPIA/s400/hook.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Try time...Mr. Hook puts England to bed...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYAbZDrVSYQO4ZhILpXBRpdFeUz6ZkKi8BBa_rrOd5us-c2m1FNQX_3OHhFszoFLujT9LveZgng6yxn0MBk9HnHtpeABpQJwobEZH5kHi02fKy1v1o3FEgi2W1oow-uRu8rRMycLVASQw/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYAbZDrVSYQO4ZhILpXBRpdFeUz6ZkKi8BBa_rrOd5us-c2m1FNQX_3OHhFszoFLujT9LveZgng6yxn0MBk9HnHtpeABpQJwobEZH5kHi02fKy1v1o3FEgi2W1oow-uRu8rRMycLVASQw/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0003.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> The show, though not as large in scale as the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Cheshire</st1:place></st1:city> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9iBfYzWYf2S8M5l3sVNHBpbgPrH1eCQ0sZZemzz9Do3FXCfxJ9SWU0hFJs1tni1mi8pWnp2erGkGahVba8yRvD7SspmmDb6oJzjJwG6TwtvhaZDNs2ES9bCAWeZ6hI7seyzgI-nNjV6u/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9iBfYzWYf2S8M5l3sVNHBpbgPrH1eCQ0sZZemzz9Do3FXCfxJ9SWU0hFJs1tni1mi8pWnp2erGkGahVba8yRvD7SspmmDb6oJzjJwG6TwtvhaZDNs2ES9bCAWeZ6hI7seyzgI-nNjV6u/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0018.JPG" width="226" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9uKtWcQjEjWdxGsoamy3bnG_C93d9iXn1gIEoePMKblervtVpTI2DzbjRjoPw3XnGe04c_B3JoX3rzXj4cffHSNaIC3KmOILTwgT07b5yjGJ4c_aljHDekWcpvEK2XerCha5nvwHXa4tz/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9uKtWcQjEjWdxGsoamy3bnG_C93d9iXn1gIEoePMKblervtVpTI2DzbjRjoPw3XnGe04c_B3JoX3rzXj4cffHSNaIC3KmOILTwgT07b5yjGJ4c_aljHDekWcpvEK2XerCha5nvwHXa4tz/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0008.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smokey, a boyfriend?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUMb8ycjtUr7mTajrJs8P6uKF75AbTYuwCCxWhuz83JO4ufsEeYPPmNleLpNSmVSv3aGtbNPKDNADtu1r1Szl1n6apgGcLX-KAU57_n6b-MWb2soegQ12kdWNzVIgBnXC7_ApjXHI8opa1/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUMb8ycjtUr7mTajrJs8P6uKF75AbTYuwCCxWhuz83JO4ufsEeYPPmNleLpNSmVSv3aGtbNPKDNADtu1r1Szl1n6apgGcLX-KAU57_n6b-MWb2soegQ12kdWNzVIgBnXC7_ApjXHI8opa1/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0007.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Myself, Willow,Smokey and Ben</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-zXORxrZZRwj8q9B7yCRb7s9oxbWVeiW2hOXHN3NdwMAeisRbCqvOpZO5XcdsoR1c0Pvjud35wxVCxV_fDgf2CFOSpWkX4UcCXYeHFRGS_m6ooNjFdMsZnYjTT1NC__S_ssuw4L58L7-/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-zXORxrZZRwj8q9B7yCRb7s9oxbWVeiW2hOXHN3NdwMAeisRbCqvOpZO5XcdsoR1c0Pvjud35wxVCxV_fDgf2CFOSpWkX4UcCXYeHFRGS_m6ooNjFdMsZnYjTT1NC__S_ssuw4L58L7-/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben, Woody, Fred and Myself with 'the pack'</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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….<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLC_4zSxG08ZrFQHc5BOaczi6cVE3U25AQr-LOO25DZcJ4HUY2KUM4PJW1FyT9BrR46RvpYZziGEzTvnDeYuAYCoRD-5ntdZ0kli_RbWCQsYOttzfMDlhkXWXoR8if5zcSuIhad8EzTMm/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLC_4zSxG08ZrFQHc5BOaczi6cVE3U25AQr-LOO25DZcJ4HUY2KUM4PJW1FyT9BrR46RvpYZziGEzTvnDeYuAYCoRD-5ntdZ0kli_RbWCQsYOttzfMDlhkXWXoR8if5zcSuIhad8EzTMm/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0033.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5mORVp2NnEKG2SBM_zE-1asVT0N9-qQyvtA8slPItd2krDg5nY8Z1TB2unpCeBhHNUDq4E0NinFtNA4esAd4cCS4O1q-9A3evhqz2ZKwxjZu8rLYtP0c4oNx2Yu363b3SprYSswaHI5co/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5mORVp2NnEKG2SBM_zE-1asVT0N9-qQyvtA8slPItd2krDg5nY8Z1TB2unpCeBhHNUDq4E0NinFtNA4esAd4cCS4O1q-9A3evhqz2ZKwxjZu8rLYtP0c4oNx2Yu363b3SprYSswaHI5co/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0040.JPG" width="226" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI6GDLP0XfMNNc8WQTrWw1umkT5UXLaXrmOxAvGA6VH4VZEnqJoEeVYBndiN6Sw03xTbZA_1MKUeN_WS7ESv723vsbWkjQHfq6k54zko7pe3GwCtO0INM-NoJDyTyMwNtINJcp9hwFrCDc/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI6GDLP0XfMNNc8WQTrWw1umkT5UXLaXrmOxAvGA6VH4VZEnqJoEeVYBndiN6Sw03xTbZA_1MKUeN_WS7ESv723vsbWkjQHfq6k54zko7pe3GwCtO0INM-NoJDyTyMwNtINJcp9hwFrCDc/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0036.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span id="goog_83850017"></span><span id="goog_83850018"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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<sup>st</sup> 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!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0_qE_EEpHlflAo72U6ZgnBnQY-4pGtCH3SqIprxgjNRweyDgKnWFwD_rdt0BqxeO8V7PeA_axUmxw4LfzIcgfGdVJxhARDsL38wP80byBbhoFJ-6gtw2c3H8m31AqgZ6D_AvXdSXD0XE/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0_qE_EEpHlflAo72U6ZgnBnQY-4pGtCH3SqIprxgjNRweyDgKnWFwD_rdt0BqxeO8V7PeA_axUmxw4LfzIcgfGdVJxhARDsL38wP80byBbhoFJ-6gtw2c3H8m31AqgZ6D_AvXdSXD0XE/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0037.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Didn't she do well....</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOc6hWQ4TsAj-Vi9PNsZC7Z97QOcZbOWmEl-a4_Lhq4uBwdtfKRfFyIGtwa7YcVs_jFcXZUZ8oyyPJsZa3FRv_3qYz659EEWyMLPN6-gEapW72NyySSTCBe-DLqQUN4yHdMNMLG4IQdNr/s1600/2011_0814FujiPics0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOc6hWQ4TsAj-Vi9PNsZC7Z97QOcZbOWmEl-a4_Lhq4uBwdtfKRfFyIGtwa7YcVs_jFcXZUZ8oyyPJsZa3FRv_3qYz659EEWyMLPN6-gEapW72NyySSTCBe-DLqQUN4yHdMNMLG4IQdNr/s400/2011_0814FujiPics0048.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plum knackered.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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 <a href="http://damnthebroccoli.blogspot.com/">‘Damn’</a>; 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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Till the next time take good care my friends,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-883083227309962298.post-31968203496189904002011-08-10T14:38:00.000+01:002011-08-10T14:38:41.704+01:00Up and about....<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> 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…..<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkRgFrtIWAMOB15IiSTdZgGkIBy2ICpW4QPDmU3KTe_QasqPyAcKaVwcLrHMo6r9xLaiA4sZRaLgiob-5L4xFhUSWaVqoPdvgRyjRDxiMR4zqaBbe7oolkamyEo9Yt8ttDcdmbCuU5-KT/s1600/2011_0810FujiPics0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkRgFrtIWAMOB15IiSTdZgGkIBy2ICpW4QPDmU3KTe_QasqPyAcKaVwcLrHMo6r9xLaiA4sZRaLgiob-5L4xFhUSWaVqoPdvgRyjRDxiMR4zqaBbe7oolkamyEo9Yt8ttDcdmbCuU5-KT/s400/2011_0810FujiPics0001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahhh a chick called Pingu</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrSdGb0wRdfLa2vUDuCf7_OXNwHBgWbd6d4DFj2fb8eNWlWZ1nGfCD5ANEByhA4v1RE4AfgRKp7gStSk4En-ANqkO_ZBWiaPFL06A-bBj0HMr3CIABacCz_2409L37AC2W75uG3ZxZcLl/s1600/2011_0810FujiPics0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrSdGb0wRdfLa2vUDuCf7_OXNwHBgWbd6d4DFj2fb8eNWlWZ1nGfCD5ANEByhA4v1RE4AfgRKp7gStSk4En-ANqkO_ZBWiaPFL06A-bBj0HMr3CIABacCz_2409L37AC2W75uG3ZxZcLl/s400/2011_0810FujiPics0003.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCXlYIr19JnyeDRh8VbL0uEgzdB9zaGCzhOHxee0B5PuMlJQLHpix8Bul10tyidmtimZbtB18WWeUCGfVo8Puy8GYED38Ce1K4uZC1RwMgIU0JUUwnqx0vGLbNozy0n9Y83Ojgv2TwJKl/s1600/2011_0810FujiPics0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCXlYIr19JnyeDRh8VbL0uEgzdB9zaGCzhOHxee0B5PuMlJQLHpix8Bul10tyidmtimZbtB18WWeUCGfVo8Puy8GYED38Ce1K4uZC1RwMgIU0JUUwnqx0vGLbNozy0n9Y83Ojgv2TwJKl/s400/2011_0810FujiPics0007.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Till the next time, take good care everyone,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Your friend,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">John</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>murphyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03382223977388631947noreply@blogger.com21