Wild Life

 Yesterday, I was bitten by a shrew, which I thought was very ungrateful of it given I was rescuing it from the jaws of certain death a.k.a Bambino Bobble Wilson at the time. And for a baby shrew it packed a hefty chomp. Anyway, I managed to hold on to it long enough to release it outside and then I started thinking about rabies and sepsis etc etc blah blah blah, so I spent considerable time washing the bite - it drew blood, that vampiric little monster - with hot soapy water, then hot water and antibacterial handwash, and then compressing it with a long and goodly dose of TCP. 

I briefly wondered if I needed a tetanus jab, given the last one I had was in 1990, but decided I would probably be okay. And I am. My finger did not swell up or drop off overnight and this morning, all that’s to show from my wild life shrew-wrangling is a tiny pinprick mark. 

Today, it has reached 32 degrees C chez nous. By keeping all the curtains closed it has stayed at 22 degrees C inside the house, which is fine. I walked Nell early, and she has spent most of the day in melting mode. She wants to be outside, but then she doesn’t because it is too hot for a creature wearing a furry coat. I had a bit of painting to do on ‘Darling Buds’ so Nell joined me outside for that, but she stayed in the shade underneath the hut and by early afternoon the paint wasn’t liking the heat and I was battling with sweat in my eyes, so we called it a day and came inside. 

The veg garden is doing VERY well. Everything has shot upwards and outwards. Even the out-of-date parsley seeds I sowed a couple of weeks ago with no hope or agenda of them germinating are making an appearance. See, you should never worry about use-by dates, unless something stinks to high heaven or is growing mould, of course. I’ve been harvesting radish, spinach, basil, raspberries and strawberries for a few days now, and yesterday I picked the first of the sweet peas. The beetroot are swelling, the courgettes and squash are forming, the French beans are well in flower and the runner beans are racing up their poles.  The flowers are blossoming and all is right with the world. 

Lord Malarkey is bringing this home from work…

…a teeny tiny baby birdie, for hand rearing. Not sure what sort of bird it is - a blackbird or robin, maybe - but as long as it doesn’t turn into an ostrich I think we’ll be okay. 

I am fed up with all the football. I am fed up with British politics which allows the manipulative and, to my mind, very undemocratic installation of a new Prime Minister with neither manifesto nor by-your-leave. This will be the seventh P.M in 10 years for chuff’s sake. It’s all very self-serving. All I can think is that my heroine, Margaret Thatcher, was leader of the Conservative Party for fifteen years and P.M for eleven. That’s what we need - stability. How can progress be made, otherwise? Anyway, I am trying to avoid all the show boating that’s going on at the moment because it will make me feel testy if I pay too much attention. 

Tomorrow, Darling Daughter and I are having a day out doing a spot of antique hunting, and then having a bit of lunch. So that will be nice.