Stoatally Different

 One of these came bowling into the courtyard this afternoon…

…a stoat. It came flying past the patio doors, leapt around a bit, darted hither and thither, and then shot off from whence it came. And how did I know it was a stoat and not a weasel? Well, a weasel is weasely spotted but a stoat is stoatally different. Ahahahahahahaha…ha! But seriously, a stoat has a black tip to its tail and is a bigger creature all-round. 

In other news, Lord Malarkey celebrated his birthday at the beginning of the week, and I began celebrations at 5 a.m by slipping off the top step of the stairs and bumping noisily half way down the flight. And yes, it did chuffing well hurt. The incident was a culmination of 1) the dog waking me up because she wanted to go into the garden b) me thus being only half awake and c) the liberal application of foot balm to my feet the previous evening which obviously created an element of slippery smoothness. Luckily, nothing about my person was broken - just a few bruises, a bit of stiffness and a feeling of stupidity. I shan’t be telling any physiotherapists of my accident because I don’t want a zimmer frame. 

Yesterday, I watched the State Opening of Parliament on the telly. Well, the weather was being vile and I was feeling cold and drowned because Nell and I got drenched on our walk. And there’s nothing like a bit of British pomp ‘n’ circumstance to distract the mind and cheer you up. However, I was underwhelmed by the Labour government King’s speech so I went online and read the Conservative opposition Alternative King’s Speech, and that was far more inspiring. 

I’ve had to pot on the 50 sunflower seedlings I’m growing for the village sunflower competition because they have gone berserk. It’s another two weeks before the competition so I hope they don’t go even more berserk or I shall have to buy some little sticks with which to stake them so they don’t start flopping over. Quite frankly, I shall be glad to see the back of them because they are taking up valuable growing space for my own plants. I have to report also, dear Reader(s), that in the continued spirit of NOT growing vegetables this year, I have sowed some kale and runner beans. 

On the writing front, I’ve started a new novel writing project called, ‘The Pilgrim, the Boater, and the Motorhome Roamer.’ The idea came to me on a walk and I had to get myself home quickly so I could binge write all the ideas, because I didn’t have my bag with me ergo I didn’t have my notebook and pen to hand. Anyway, I am trying to be more measured and thoughtful in my planning of this project so I don’t end up fizzling out and/or writing myself into an inescapable corner. Having a writing space in ‘Darling Buds’ is helping - I do need to make a large pin board, though, to keep my post-it notes under control. 

The baby robins (three thereof) have left their nest in the shed at the top of the garden but are still using the shed as a base, and they are making a right Royal mess of it. There are baby blue tits in two of the nest boxes and Mrs Swallow has been sitting tight on her nest in the laundry for well over a week now so I’m expecting cross-looking alien baby swallows to be making an appearance soon. The garden seems full of young blackbirds learning their blackbird ropes, and the hedgehog(s) is/are still in evidence around the top of the garden judging by the holes in the lawn and the strategic piles of hedgehog poo dolloped here and thereabouts. We are going to make a hedgehog feeding station and put in underneath ‘Darling Buds’ because that seems to be a favoured area. 

My village hall cleaning job is fine. I’m getting into a routine now. The only thing I have to say, really, is that it takes me twice as long to clean the men’s loos as it does the ladies’ loos, and I really think ALL children should be taught to clean a toilet as a life skill. Especially boys. 

And that is about it, really.