New Balls Not Required …

Good Morning

Riddle me this – how do I get more than three hours sleep a night? What is wrong with me? Is it simply that I’m a big kid and can’t wait to get up to play with my new chickens? No that can’t be it. That would make me nuts. I don’t think I want to believe that yet.

I did watch the documentary last night that the BBC had quickly cobbled together on Andy Murray. And those pictures of him dressed up to the nines and looking like a rugged movie star were not bad at all and definitely fodder to keep the faint hearted and shallow awake. I do hope this doesn’t change him. I have had my expectations of him squashed and trampled into the dust time after time. Like Henman, I began to fear that Andy would never quite make it to the top. But I didn’t count on the guy’s grit and sheer bloody determination. He certainly has balls  – in all senses of the word. Watching him on Sunday, battling to win the first set and then the second was amazing, agonising and astounding all at the same time. And when he was serving for the match I had tears trickling down my face. And Lordy, Lordy, when he won, I punched the air and almost buggered up another neck disc. Well I am a tad emotional at times. I also have massive pride in my country – and seeing the underdog win.

Richard had left me to it and disappeared into his summer house (shed) with another bloody WWII DVD to watch. I tell you – there is something seriously not computing with that man. Why would anyone, who obviously lives in the past, not want to watch history in the making? Whenever I turn on the TV it is always on the Yesterday channel. I even said to him yesterday, ‘why do you have to live in the past?’ And do you know what he said? ‘Because I prefer it. It was better.’ Sodding charming. Am I not his present? The little bugger had to get his own lunch.

After the Andy thing I caught up with Big Brother. Ha ha, now I’ve really blown my cover, haven’t I? I know, it’s a load of crap but I can’t help it. I like watching idiots being idiots. Who are these people? Where do they come from? I don’t actually know anyone like that. Well, unless you count Richard because as I’ve said a hundred times, he’s weird. But thinking about it, I don’t think he was weird when I met him. Blame it on osmosis!

Back to Big Brother… I’m waiting for the usual comments to start flowing. ‘It’s been a roller coaster!’ No it hasn’t. Not unless they rigged one up in the garden. ‘I’ve been on a journey!’ No you haven’t. What they actually mean is, ‘I’ve come on here for exposure so that when I leave the house I can be famous.’ Famous? Like Andy Murray? Like the guy who has struggled to raise himself up through the ranks, never giving in, never quitting, failing and digging deeper, until one scorching day in July 2013 he accomplished what he had been determined to accomplish for most of his life. Yeah, Big Brother dudes, you have all been on a roller coaster and a journey – not!!!

I think today is the day! The moment when I’m going to let out the new chucks, so that they can officially meet Dust. I’m thinking if I block off a smaller area than is usually available to them I stand a good chance of actually getting them back into the cage? This is a very loose plan. The holes in the plan will probably only become visibly when it is put into action!

Just to bring you up to date with my neighbour – the one who apparently lives under the conifer hedge, because he is always there, waiting to spring out. Last Saturday we were having the clean-up of all clean-ups of the chucks quarters and the neighbour’s voice drifted over the hedge. ‘Gail, what do you know about bees?’

Good question. Considering myself a bit of a Jack-of-all-trades I said, ‘Um …why?’

‘Because they are trying to get into an old bird box. Do you want to come round and have a look?’

I have lived in this house for twenty-three years and NEVER been invited into his garden so sensing more history in the making I trotted round. Sure enough bees were swarming and attempting to move into an old bird box. He seemed on the verge of ringing the council to have them exterminated. The bees not the council! Although, knowing the council round here it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I flipped and demanded that he must NOT destroy them. I asked him how he dare stand smelling his roses and appreciating his beautiful garden if he wasn’t prepared to give a home to a few bees who had, in all probability, pollinated the bloody thing. I said he would be fine as long as he didn’t walk up the garden eating a treacle sandwich!

We chatted for a while and he showed me the robin’s nest that had been ripped to shit by some cat and all the babies had been taken!! I have a massively strong suspicion that I know the cat responsible. Obviously I defended her. Well you do, don’t you, defend your own? In all fairness I did shut her in for two days after she brought back the half dead/half alive, depending on your mindset, baby bird, but it may have been too little too late. I am under the impression that the baby birds around here have now fledged. I really hope so because I can’t stand any more little dying creatures laid out on the step with a little leg throbbing to the beat of its failing heart. Bloody cats!!

Right! Off to barricade off a piece of the garden. Wish me luck? I might chicken out actually …sorry, no pun intended.


Take care my lovelies x

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