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

      

Catch and Release Dilemma

       Over the last couple of years, as the daylight hours lengthen and with the flora and fauna beginning to slowly shake off the shackles of winter, I have found myself in somewhat of a dilemma. The dilemma is a direct consequence of my place of work, and its affects upon a certain creature at this time of the year. Now before you start assuming that this is to be yet another thinly veiled tirade upon my beloved employers and their attempts to grind my bones for cattle feed, I’ll hasten to say it has nothing to do with them.


        No, the dilemma is connected in a way to my growing love of nature and the need to be able to do more to encourage it to flourish and to be able to interact with it where and when I can. Bear with me while I explain myself and my dilemma. At the rear of the factory building, where I while away the long hours of ‘the grind’, there is a large expanse of concreted road surface for the unloading of materials, storage of base product and general access etc. At this time of year the half observant person may notice several areas across the ‘yard’ which have little mounds of dark flattened debris, oozing a dark liquid,  or alternatively twisted, dried out husks that make a sound similar to dried leaves when underfoot. Closer investigation reveals that these remains are of a small creature either flatted by traffic, foot or vehicles, or those that have failed to reach shade in their nightly endeavor to cross the yard and have been dried by the now warming sun.


        If you are fortunate enough to have time to wander the factory yard upon these slowly warming evenings you’ll be able to spot these creatures before they’re flattened by traffic or dehydrated to a husk by the unforgiving sun. Your first impression may be that you’ve spotted a small lizard, but if you have a care to look closer at the creature that sits on this desert of concrete it proves to be an amphibian, the Smooth newt (Triturus vulgaris) to be correct.

Cute aren't they?

Had to belly crawl for this shot at 2am this morning

       This would explain the high numbers of flat or dried remains for this creature is certainly not the fastest around and coupled with its amphibious need to retain a moist skin, then been caught out on the unforgiving desert of the yard spells certain and slow death for it. I mention the word desert when describing the yard, and yes what may seem to be just a large expanse of hard surface necessary for the day to day function of a factory is indeed akin to a huge and unforgiving desert to these miniscule creatures. Why do they throw themselves, lemming like, onto the yard? Well I can only surmise that it’s the attraction of the factory lights that draw these delicate newts to their inevitable doom, there is now other reason that I can see for their suicidal behavior, certainly no source of food, moisture or shelter that would sustain them is available here. They make this journey from waste ground upon the factory’s parameter, an area with is out of reach to minions like myself being behind secure fencing and any expedition towards it is looked upon by paranoid higher beings with more than a little suspicion. The waste ground I assume has all the necessary needs for a happy newt but without fail at this time of year the procession of the doomed 'Lemming' newt is repeated once more.


        Here we come to my dilemma, I firmly believe that nature should be fully left to her own devices, the less humankind interferes with the natural process the more successful, resourceful and enchanting nature proves to be. Those who recall some of my earlier posts will know that my rear garden is the size of a postage stamp but within this small space I’m always looking to encourage nature to use it, whether just in passing or as a permanent home. At the same time I’m also trying to utilize the space to grow a small number of edible crops for my ever demanding plate, and combing the two is demanding but ever so rewarding at the same time. So how does this cause me my dilemma? When faced with the scenes of carnage on the factory yard my heart told my to save as many as these newts that were hell bent upon their own destruction whilst my head spoke of leaving well alone and let nature run its course. Whether rightly or wrongly my heart in this case won out and I resolved to save at least some of these newts last year. Normally I would not have removed a plant from its natural habitat let alone a living creature, true I will take a wild plant or animal for the pot upon occasion, but this brings me, I feel closer to nature and the way that I’d love to live, hypocritical? Perhaps, but what I’m trying to say here is that when I can I try to avoid interfering with the flow of nature but by, upon occasion, when taking and consuming wildlife (being flora or fauna) I feel that I’m being more a part of the flow than when eating a cellophane wrapped piece of meat harvested off a shop's shelf. Anyway moving on from this where I may be making not much sense, back to the newts.


        So last year I made the conscious (and quite probably illegal) decision to remove a wild creature from its environment, however unnatural, and relocate it elsewhere hoping to promote its survival. But then the next issue arose, where should I release these creatures without altering the balance of another area or even just dooming them to another form of premature death? I considered the edges of the factory, but besides being grilled with a thousand questions of what I’d being doing near the parameter and shouldn’t I have been greasing something or other, there was nothing to stop the little buggers heading back and becoming the smallest mounds of road kill that you’re likely to see. I’m not aware of any local populations of smooth newts where to introduce the recuees and also the introduction of them to an already thriving population may have disastrous effects, tipping the numbers balance, introducing disease for which I cannot test etc. So this left me with a slightly uncomfortably but perhaps viable solution, my garden. Now before some of you go lecturing me upon about self interest whatever, this choice was not taken lightly and although not a perfect solution does have some redeeming points in its favor; Within the confines of my garden there are areas of habitat that are favorable for these amphibians, as well as a well planted pond there are perennial borders continually refreshed with compost and leaf mould which in turn leads to damp areas of cover teaming with invertebrate life, there is an shady area, albeit small, set aside for a rotting woodpile and what ever grows there is left alone which is proving a haven for allsorts of fungi, flora and fauna not usually associated with urban gardens, here also is a pile of half pipes and roof tiles covered with more leaf mould which attracts a mired of fauna. Coupled with the insect attracting plants that I’m endeavoring to increase and areas of shade and damp provided by my mainly container driven food planting area it is an amphibians nirvana, on a small scale. Also the surrounding gardens offer other varied habitats and more diverse possibilities.

Waterfall into pond - plastic you know

Release point

Already amphibians here, point of danger?

No sign after 10 minutes from release this morning

        So at this time last year a total of five Smooth newts were recovered from a premature flattening and released into what I hoped would be a favorable habitat for them. For the majority of the year I saw neither head nor tail of them and to be honest as the summer months stretched towards autumn all thoughts of the immigrants had been forgotten. But then, whilst moving some planters to enable an attempt at crop rotation, there, blinking at his rude exposure to the evening sun was a male smooth newt in what appeared to be excellent health (although I’m probably better at judging the health of a dog than an amphibian!). Watching him closely I finished rearranging the various planters and was lost in wonder for a while as I observed him make his way to the cover of a crack in the flagged step (see Clare, I told you that leaving cracks between the flags was OK). On a couple more occasions I came across newts, definitely a couple of different individuals, whilst tidying up for the onset of autumn which confirmed to me that although maybe not strictly the moral thing to have done I was justified in that the habitat provided was able to support the newts and they had indeed settled, not needing to move away in search of something better. Even saying this I still have a pang of guilt about relocating them and my interference, but given the choice between being flat or discovering new lands I know what I’d pick. This year the newts are at it again, littering the concrete with their tiny corpses, once again I’ve relocated a few, but doubts still nag at me as to whether it’s the right thing to do, after all I advocate mankind to interfere less with nature yet here I am, perhaps playing at a amphibious deity? I tell myself that I’m allowing some small part of nature survive when, if left, it would most certainly be jam but it doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m right.


        Now perhaps some whom think that they know me might mock or even have the odd titter at this grease monkeys attempt at wildlife preservation, after all surely there are more majestic and deserving animals that would better merit my attention? But, and I’m not exactly what you’d call a tree hugger here, there’s wonderment and awe to be found in all the different faces of Mother Nature. It does not have to be a tiger, panda or elephant to deserve the right to survival, all nature is connected in ways that are far beyond our comprehension and to lose just one species through our ignorant lives is a sad thing indeed. Yes perhaps to some these newts are not worth a second thought and have no place or purpose in our ‘ordered’ world, but I but you a pound to a pinch of salt that if asked, the newt would have something to say about it! Maybe this grease monkey is becoming slightly tree huggerish, who knows, it may not be a bad thing after all. Not my usual ramblings I know, but hey without a poor post how can I tell when I ever manage to present you with a good one? someday I promise it'll happen, someday.....


Your friend,


John

Cowboys n Bees'

So there I was standing in next doors overgrown strip of land between his house and my garage, sorry, my sacred refuge and den of a thousand projects, looking up at the balls up my cowboy builder mate (that word between very gritted teeth at the time of writing) wondering what the bloody hell had possessed him. A quick picture in words is required at this junction I feel. My garage is in two halves, the original and the extension, with the extension being wider by about five inches. The whole ensemble had previously been sheltered (a loose use of the word as my garage at times contained a mini lagoon!) from the elements by a roof of two halves, one of felt and the extension of corrugated steel. My, to remain unnamed, cowboy builder mate (teeth still gritted) had been commissioned to reroof the lot, at the same time changing the fall from back to front too a fall from one side to tother. Yep he’d changed the fall, yep the garage no longer leaked and yep the roof is now of a uniform, clad steel, material. But the Roy Rogers of Buckley building had conspired to make a pair spherical shaped objects heading in an upwards direction of one item; the new roof over the wider part of my sacred hideaway was trimmed to the very walls edge leaving no bloody overhang for me to erect guttering beneath, bollocks!, and his answer when apprehended by posse Wooldridge? "Oh it’ll be alright till the winter I’ll sort something then", double bollocks!!!!!! So here I am looking at me poor 'temple to many projects shield from the elements' thinking ‘I’ll be needing the ladder then’. Have I ever mentioned before that I absolutely hate heights above two inches above terra firma, no? well I bleedin’ well do. With appropriately cut sheets of roof cladding to slide under the new panels I set forth on my quest for an overhanging roof (I’ll be hanging somebody else after this episode I can tell you!).

All was going reasonably well, I’d gained the heights of the roof, removing the necessary retaining coach bolts to enable me to raise the existing cladding, and had managed, now grounded once more and with a modicum of huffing and puffing, to slide under two of the required five extension pieces into position when this slight feeling that something was not quite right came over me. A glance down at my stubby little legs confirm my suspicion, for there, like several miniature bi-planes swarming around a greying (and now sweating) King Kong, was a host of perturbed bees. Yep yours truly had managed to discover some more deeply interesting ‘townlife’ by taking the dried grass top off a colony of hitherto unnoticed bees, doh.

Like a lemon I just stood there, legs akimbo, waiting for the inevitably searing pain from a host of distraught and to be honest rightfully pissed off little bees. Damn thing was it just didn’t happen, oh they swarmed above and around me, but they were far more interested in repairing their own, now less than pristine, roof. I was fascinated, so much so that all thoughts of the job in hand evaporated and my sole focus was on the nest I’d unwittingly disturbed. I crouched and watched the industrious little insects now having no fear of a deserved sting. The majority covered the now exposed hive cells whilst others laboured to pull grass to the nest to repair my damage.

 It became apparent that this was a hopeless task and that soon the nest would be discovered by either wasps or others and in its present state was indefensible for the bees (not that they seemed to be willing to defend themselves from this clumsy oaf!). A cursory glance located the domed grass roof of their hive, which I promptly plonked upon top of the nest.

 Amazingly within fifteen minutes the join had been repaired so that only by the closest inspection could the bees’ exit/entry to the hive be seen. I still have not fully identified the type of bee but after checking upon the nest the following day and being mesmerized for an hour by the bees’ comings and goings I’m happy that the nest is safe and functioning again.

Oh and the roof? finished and awaiting payday and the guttering that it will bring, no thanks to Roy Bleedin’ Rogers that is.

Your friend,

John

            

Townlife

Good evening all,

I was not going to bother with writing a post this evening, nor probably this week. Tis not writers block (I’d have to be a writer firstly and then get a block!) nor was it that I’ve been resting upon my gluteus maximus, indeed far from it I’ve been a busy little bee of late what with ‘the grind’, starting on project number 5076 (fishing trailer for a cycle), E-bay, a little fishing and of course the odd ramble with she who smells of fox shit (yes the bog monster found something far more er ….. intoxicating shall we say, than stagnant ditch water, bless her).

But ‘the grind’ doesn’t merit a post unless I’ve actually shot a manager, project 5076 is still in the development stage and requires some more head scratching before becoming even remotely reportable upon, E-bay? I really don’t want to be telling tales of the folks that I’ve fleeced er I mean sold exceptional high level goods too do I (far to incriminating), the fishing has been steady but would be more a post on the ones that got away than any great catches and Lucy reeking of fox shit? my humble scribing would in no way do the resulting stench justice. So I was to remain postless in a happy cider induce haze.

But I hadn’t reckoned on my friend from across the pond Wolfy over at Flowing waters and his comment upon my last post. He expressed his feeling concerning the abundance of ‘wildlife’ in a more suburban setting beginning to rival wildlife’s abundance elsewhere. Now regular readers (2.5 I think) may have picked up upon the thread that seems now to have started running through my posts as this scratched together blog evolves. Basically it’s to do with my desire to lead a simpler life with a much reduced impact upon mother earth and some of my basic attempts at achieving it. Part of this drive is to reduce the use of my chariot of steel; the old fun cruiser. With this in mind Lucy and I have been taken more walks around the pavements of sunny Buckley instead of heading off to the hills and as always I now seem to have the camera in hand when we’re on the prowl. Without even realising it I’ve been snapping away and already I’m getting more pictures of animals around town than what I ever have out on the trails.

I’ve given the reason to this some timely thought (‘bout 5 minutes now I reckon) and so far I’ve come up with two possible reasons for the very small increase of fauna that I’ve been able to capture in a digital sort of way. Firstly the animals around town are living with humans twenty four seven and are much less wary than their country cousins, after all it doesn’t take a great deal of figuring out that the majority of humans around town are not interested in the wild flora and fauna around them regarding it as nothing more than either weeds or vermin and certainly not as possibly food or just plain ol’ natural beauty. The second is that for long parts of the walks Lucy is now tethered to me via her lead (not a happy bunny at all!) and so is far less able to dash ahead dispersing everything in my path to the four corners, cue smug feeling. So to the photographs, not many but enough I feel to start showing the diversity of townlife and not wildlife, hopefully as these town walks increase then so will my knowledge of ‘townlife’ which I’ll share with you all as and when.

On a footnote its funny how my perspectives have changed as time has shaped my thoughts through this life of mine, I now seem to view neatly trimmed front lawns as deserts devoid of interest containing just one plant, the rest ‘weeded’ or herbicided into extinction, the ruler straight borders containing a galaxy of imported flora which have little or no benefit to the insects which form such vital links in our biosphere as wasted opportunities to grow far more beneficial plants or even food crops on a small scale, the vermin I now longer see as the animals but instead the self preserving, at the cost of this planet, humans driving themselves forward to oblivion thinking faster, bigger and more shiny is the answer to all our woes. I have no answers myself except to try and change my own impact by learning new ways to live in harmony with mine and your world, some by trail and undoubtedly error and some by learning from people who’ve taken this path already. Thank you for reading thus far.

Your friend,

John