Goodbye to the chickens...

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


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


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





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


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

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

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

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


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

Fluttering Heights - ta daaaa


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


Your friend, John


     

Pear cider - maybe not....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John

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

Not so pucker today...

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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

 

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


John

      

Up and about....

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

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

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

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

Ahhh a chick called Pingu

Till the next time, take good care everyone,

Your friend,

John

Bloody chickens!!!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

Chicken village expands

Looks like a Penguin chick to me!

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

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

           

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

Your friend, John

The Eagle, I mean chickens have landed...

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

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

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

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

Until later, take good care my friends,

John