Home Grown

One of the absolute delights of living this rather alternative life style is the ability to look down at a delicious plate full of supper and know that we grew all or most of what we are looking at. Tonight's here is haggis from our own lambs, our own (mashed) spuds and our own calabrese. Yesterday was our own lamb chops, spuds again and a delicious medley of broad and French beans, peas, garlic and onions, with only the tomatoes and anchovy being shop-bought. My toms are not quite there yet and we will struggle to grow an anchovy bush in our climate (!).

If you exclude the 30 km round trip for the lambs to the butchers, then we are also very low on food miles, with most of this coming from the kitchen garden just outside the kitchen window (sometimes I pass it in through to Liz; I don't even walk it in round the yard!) and the rest from the 'allotment' about 100 yards away.

I know some of you have issues with eating animals we have named and known but I am personally delighted and have a clear conscience knowing that my lambs were very well cared for. They ate good grass, herbs and browse, enjoyed the freedom of the orchard and fields with the sun and rain on their backs. They were never chased about in a stressful way or harassed by dogs, children or vehicles. I know exactly what food went into them and that they loved it and ate heartily. I know that the only medicine they got when they lived here was one wormer/fluke dose when our man Kenny thought they were not growing as fast as they might.

When the time came for their final journey they did not go to some big, anonymous meat plant, but to our little local butcher, Ignatius, carefully selected and recommended to us. They were the only lambs in the batch that day, so there was no hanging around in pens listening to, and smelling the 'process' happening to other animals and the vet was there to see due care and professionalism. The carcasses are then hung by the butcher for a week to relax before being cut up in front of us. I firmly believe you would struggle to find this whole process done better or with a higher regard to welfare (though I accept that an organic diet could be seen in that light, ours were not fed organic 'crunch'). They were also sired by Jacob rams which are known to be good for flavour, being a traditional breed and all of these factors showed up in the quality of the meat which was tender and tasty throughout. The chops and the haggis I have mentioned are almost the last of the 2012 meat; we have a small quantity of liver left, and then we are done. It has been, in our view, a very successful exercise.

The veg is grown as well as I am able in good rich deep Roscommon hilltop soil (actually double-depth as I flip one 'spit' upside down on top of the existing grass when I am making the ridges in my allotment) enjoying the sunshine (this year!) and plenty of rain and being grown organically. I use no chemicals, not even the widely accepted ones like dilute washing up liquid for green fly. Everything is hand weeded and, if necessary, caterpillars and slugs are picked off by hand; in fact this has not been necessary at all. The nasturtiums and marigolds attract plenty of insects for pollination and even seem to distract the large white ("cabbage" white) butterflies, so that we find eggs and caterpillars on the nasturtium leaves rather than the kale. We leave some plants of lines like leek and chard to go to seed to keep the bees interested and try to save some seed. We are able to nip out and pick the veg for a meal minutes before it goes into the steamer, wok or pan.

Then there is the cooking, of course which is mainly Liz these days, though I do get involved occasionally. Liz has the knack of cooking all this bounty in simple ways with little additional flavouring and no overly spiced or sweet sauces. The lamb comes slow roasted or normally roasted with maybe just a smear of garlic, anchovy and rosemary paste, the chops maybe just slightly salted. Heart, kidney and liver are also cooked to show off the natural flavours. Veg' is generally steamed rather than boiled to keep the maximum fresh flavour or is as salad or quick stir-fry, nothing done to get in the way of the as-picked flavours. We use very few sauces from tins or jars and even when we do a curry it's a Madhur Jaffrey one - with the spices bought individually and added - quarter teaspoon of this, half a teaspoon of that.

We must be bursting with vitamins and nutrients!

3 Baby Bunnies

29,823 page views and counting....

We have some excellent news on the rabbit front and can report that Padfoot plus 3 two-week old baby bunnies are now rescued to the Maternity Unit where Pads is now standing guard outside the 'bedroom' of her new hutch and the three babies, in a nest made with fur from her belly and new dry hay are hiding within.

That sounds nice and easy and relaxing, doesn't it? It was not that calm to start with. Dad had done the sheep-free-range thing which happens now twice a day; the sheep get let out of the paddock to roam the lawn, the pond garden and the stuff around the allotment where the crops are finishing ( or in the case of the big York cabbages, so slug-riddled that a sheep is hardly going to make visible damage!) and all we dogs were locked up indoors, so Mum and Dad drew a deep breath and went to look.

At first glance it was all a loss, the compost 'heap' looking more and more like a trampled, dank mess of rotting nettles and the 'hay plug' Dad had seen blocked only a collapsed, empty tunnel with a few shreds of fur in it. But Dad climbed over the fence and started to look for other entrances as then found one right at the back against the wall. This proved to be a shallow tunnel about 2 feet long and when the top was broken open there was the nest, obviously still warm, dry and cared for, and now wriggling visibly with new life. Wearing rubber gloves to minimise the human smell put on the babies, Dad lifted nest-ball complete with babies into a Curver bucket held by Mum and Padfoot had helpfully hopped straight into the cat-basket a few seconds earlier, so Padfoot and the nest could be hurriedly transferred to the calf house and the hutch there quickly bedded with new hay, sawdust, water and food.

Now we just need Pads to stay a good mother for 2 more weeks or so, while the babies are weaned. Then she can go back in with Ginny and Rogers and the bunnies will stay indoors as they grow for a month or so while we decide what to do with them; sale as pet rabbits, or the larder.

In other news, we have blitzed the big overgrown hedge to the east of the front lawn, between the lawn and the "Primrose Path" (Our 2nd driveway, if you like). This had been neglected for at least 15 years and was a mess of big blackthorn, elder and hawthorn poles 10 foot high and 6 or 7 foot thick. Not any more. Now it's a neat 4 foot tall and 2 feet or so thick and, hopefully, thinking about coming back as a nice green reviving trimmed garden feature!

Just for fun, here too are a couple of pictures of the chickens up a tree, possibly trying to get a better view of whether their sister is going to hatch those eggs tomorrow or not. There is also a nice Autumn shot of our lane starting to get nice and colourful with the leaves and, finally a shot of Dora's flank showing her beautiful gingery wool. Like the inside of a Crunchie Bar, says Mum and we are not going to argue.

Jezz the Window

Sorry if this is a bit of a bizarre, snatched image of a man apparently holding nothing recognisable in a living room. If the photographer had had any idea how to take a good picture you'd realise that it is Jezz-the-Window holding one end of our 3-seat sofa, while the other end rests on the window sill, which is currently open to the elements because Jezz has just deftly removed the glazed panel. Dad has just lifted that up there and is meant to be racing round outside to grab the outer end to help Jezz hoof it out into the front garden but has sneakily paused to take this picture leaving poor Jezz holding his end up. Suffice to say that the sofa is now out of the house and the window is re-instated.

That job done we head for the allotments for probably the last time ever to pull the last of the onions and dig the last spuds. We took the wheel barrow and therein lies the reason why we did it today - you need a barrow to do it sensibly and the barrow will shortly be off into storage along with all the other furniture and house-stuff. Anyway, the onions needed pulling - it is about now that if they are still in the ground they start to re-root and to bolt, and also to go soft with basal rot at the bottoms. You need to haul them out and invert them in the sun (in our case in the greenhouse) to dry the roots out, stop the bolt and stop the rot; to 'ripen' them in fact.

I say 'all the furniture and house stuff'. Well, that's not quite true. Dad decides that there are items lying around which are 'clutter' and would be better off left behind, so the best bet, as we know form experience' is to create a pile on the front drive labelled 'free to a good home' and let the locals give it an onward journey. Out goes the old deep and heavy wide screen TV, the video player, its stand/base and video drawer and all the videos (Yes, Mum said, even the Shakespeare ones; this is a serious de-clutter). Up from the shed comes Dad's old pair of skis and ski poles not used for 20 years or so. Down from the loft comes the cat basket, a kiddies high-chair, a wine rack, the ski boots and gloves , the bass guitar amp and a big old picture of a dolphin, framed and again, not seen for decades. By evening we have only the dodgy wine rack and the video drawer/TV stand thingy.

Dad then has to make a million phone calls to utility companies to tell them we're moving out, and ends up scranny over the number of answerphone options he has had to battle through. To be fair you can now 'move house' using their websites and this is very well set up on most of them. We get a nice walk round the boat yard later on in the evening, before Dad cooks himself a thawed out chilli (trying to empty the freezer too!) and we all watch the Irish RTE programme "Late Late Show" with Ryan Tubridy on RTE's version of i-player. Can I just say how funny it was when Dad decided he'd watch TV, grabbed the listings mag and walked through to the living room only to find no sofa and no TV! Do I come here often?

Haha!

Deefs

Back to the Allotment

Back to more prosaic stuff today after all the excitement of watching the Thames Barge Match yesterday. Mum is away at Mazy-Lou's in Richmond (where, unfortunately, M-L comes down with a stomach bug which rather puts a damper on the proceedings). Dad gets up at 0630, wondering if he'll ever lose the early-bird work-ethic, and takes us for an early walk out past the allotments. This mainly to check on the state of play, none of us have been up there since before narrow boating and we fear it may be a jungle. In fact it's not too bad, but badly in need of a mow. The weeds in the onion and spud areas are all annuals, so a few hours on hands and knees will sort them out.

Dad takes off after breakfast to start this attack. One man went to mow. He is determined to do a couple of hours early every morning now that the decorating is (nearly) done till the plot is brought back under control. Neighbouring plot holders suggest he is mad as he will be leaving it soon as part of Project Erroll, but he prefers to hand it back in a fit state and is also eye-ing up the big fat onions and the healthy potato foliage with an eye to getting some crop off it before he hands it in.

Chillin'
Deefs

Duffing up the Boris Boy

Yup, Boris has fitted in quite nicely and is now available mornings and evenings for some serious duffing up by both me and Haggis. These pictures show us largely up the right way and Boris largely on his back, and that's how it should be, don't you agree.

Dad has to disappear down to Cambria to do his painterly duties and they are all delighted to find that SB Beric has snuck in on the evening tide and is now moored alongside. She is in to have some repairs done to her decks and this is seen as a SIGNIFICANT development given all the gloomy talk of the landlord evicting all the shipwrights from their workshops and preventing any repairs going on after Mid Summer's Day which is now only 9 days off. Beric's appearance suggests that this may not be the end of the story.

This afternoon's walk has us down through the allotments and out across the feilds and Dad, feeling a bit brave now that we all have name collars with the new, post-Erroll phone number on, lets Boris off the lead for a while. Boris stays around, but its me who vanishes into the waist-high oil seed rape and fails to re-appear for several minutes causing him palpitations. Got to keep the old bu***r on his toes.

Good luck

Deefs

Project 'Errol'

OYEZ OYEZ OYEZ! Be it known throughout the known reaches of the (Deefer-Dawg) blog-o-sphere, that the proposed project to up sticks and move to the Emerald Isle be named "Project Errol" after a runt-of-the-litter hatchling dragon in Terry Pratchett's 'Men at Arms' book (The Police Commander's wife breeds them. Don't ask). Be it also known that although any such plans are at the melting pot stage so far, two iconic 'things' have happened which, if you knew Mum like we know Mum, you would take VERY SERIOUSLY INDEED.

Firstly they have started "A List". Yes, a real one in the ring bound books they keep a-top the freezer. Lists get started for any major events, like narrow boating holidays, home-improvement projects, big garden changes, visits by Silverwood personnel etc. There is now, in existence an "Errol List". You have been warned.

Secondly the above earthenware casserole dish which ' would look good in the Project Errol Kitchen' has been purchased. Mum subtly asked Dad to give her a hand in with the shopping and Dad carried in that particular bag and (luckily for him) spotted the pot and quietly thought 'Ah... I wonder if that's a purchase with Errol in mind'. Seconds later with all the shopping safely gathered in, Mum hefted the pot and asked as if out of no-where, 'D'you know what this is?' to which Dad replied 'Our First Errol Purchase!'.

Maximum points, Dad. You live to fight (and stir the earthenware melting pot) another day!

Deefs

Any Old Iron?

A quick picture of yours truly either admiring the sailing barge SB Orinoco, or possibly closely examining the mud on which she rests for its perfumic and beauty enhancing potential. Gotta look and smell my best for the house-vetting Lady from Cinnamon Trust.

Dad gets a day off today in lieu of working last weekend and we all decide to have a day of catching up on the chores. First up a goodly walk round the boatyard and back through town. Next we pull the back seats out of the 2CV (dead easy, two bolts, tilt the seat forward and it unhooks at the front and slides easily out through the rear door aperture. 2CV-ers regularly perform this trick in picnic mode and end up with a very comfortable picnic seat) and head for the allotments.

Here we must gather up the scrap metal, bits of old fence, chicken wire, angle iron, metal pipe and tubes generated by last weekends tidying purge and take it to the tip. While we're there we gather up a small pile from fellow-allotmenter Nick G who has done similar and take his too. We also gather up the small mountain of old carpet, pond liner, plastic fruit-cage mesh and the like to take that to the tip too. Oh, and the roll of carpet, old r*t chewed plastic compost "dalek" and 2 bags of holly leaves from the garden. 3 trips to the tip in all. We're tired and (some of us) sweaty!

Next job, we have Uncle Jim from next door round to help repair a broken off fence post. This proves to be rotted through where it used to be completely entwined in the enormous jasmine 'vine'. The boys use judicious force from a 14lb sledge hammer to persuade a chunk of angle iron down through the rotten post-base without damaging the original concrete, and the post top can then be strapped to this. Good as new. Well, close enough anyway.

...and we get a lovely email from a friend who lives in the famous Challock Forest (hey Rona!). We had all heard that we might need to be careful in the Forest from now as "wild boars" have finally arrived. This turned out to be a false alarm. The "boar" turned out to be a stupidly tame and soppy black farm pig of some heritage breed, which is now recaptured and living safely in Chilham Animal Rescue Centre chasing chickens and charming the visitors.

Deefs

Night Shift

Poor old Dad has to work a night shift. EDF Energy, who supply Dad's work with electrons, need to service the substation, so all the power's going to be off from 0200 to 0600 and Dad has to go in to nurse the computer systems safely to sleep, and then gently wake them all up again when the work is done. So we have to see him off at "last out" and then look after Mum in case she gets burgled in her sleep, till Dad gets home at 07:30.

Dad then sleeps through till midday (as do we, all in a heap) and then gets involved in allotment judging round the town, and a bit of harvesting on his own plot, broad beans and artichokes. It's all go, here, I tell you!

Deefski

Broad Beans

I've been asked why there was a picture of a nightjar in yesterday's post, and no mention there-of. Well, we put the nightjar in fully intending to talk about nightjars, but then got all carried away with tales of heroic battles with bay trees and jasmine arbours.

Dad had done his annual leading of a guided walk with the Friends of Kingswood, this one the Nightjar walk. It was a good one. They'd had a good turn out and not lost anyone in the dark, and the nightjars had done their stuff churring and flapping about. They also saw and heard (via the bat-box) plenty of bats but there was no sign of deer, glow worms or woodcock, which are usually seen on this walk)

Ah well, the jasmine is now all gone, bagged up and lugged up to the tip in 5 car journeys, all in Mum's little Fiat because Dad picked up his brand new car yesterday and didn't want to be filling it with skanky old jasmine.

Up at the allotment, Dad gets a good cut of spinach, a couple of artichokes and the first broad beans. Back at home he pods these out into a bucket and is that a tear I see come to his eye? He's welling up a bit missing Megan. Megan used to love a broad bean straight out of the pod (the gnarlier and older, grey skinned the bean, the better) and used to sit at Dad's feet every time they podded hoping for Dad to occasionally give her a bean, or accidentally ping one out across the terrace. Haggis and I hate beans, so we're no use to him here, and I think it brought it all back.

Poor ol' Dad
Deefski

These are not just eggs

These are not just eggs. These are Sandra's allotment chicken, free range, organic eggs. This is not just a westie. This is a westie whose cheeks have been treated (the day after she was shampoo'd) with Thames Sailing-Barge sail dressing, a noxious mixture of fish oil, linseed, red ochre and usually something like horse-piss. A sailing barge keeps her sails up in the rig all year. They are never taken off the masts and stowed in a nice dry sail locker, so they are treated each year to preserve them from a year's worth of sea and salt and sun and rot, with this sloppy, oily mixture.

But they are beeeeeg. The SB Cambria had 5000 square feet of sails. So they guys spread them out on the quay side and paint the ick on with sweeping brooms. They go right to the edges and , inevitably, slop some on the surrounding grass and dirt. This is very attractive to westies, who can get a quick slither in on their cheek and chest before their Dad susses out what they are at.

Deefer 1, shampooers nil!

Deefski

Mast case

Dad is celebrating that he finally managed to get up on the allotment for what feels like the first time since the wet and winter set in in about October. Realistically it's too wet to work on and the grass still has snow amongst it, but once there with a spade he could not resist lifting a few carrots and spuds (Yes, we know they are salad potatoes (Pink Fir Apple) and should have been harvested back in July but hey, we've got a little behind) and beetroot, plus pulling a few leeks and snapping off some tiny kale and cabbage tops. A nice addition to the normal fare.

And the metal thang? That is, would you believe, SB Cambria's original mast case. The rigging on sailing barges had to be collapsible, so that they could get under the various Thames bridges, so they worked a system where the whole lot collapes backwards along the deck, with the bottom of the main mast sitting in this "socket". To raise the rig there was an enormous winch at the bow (you can see the main outer cog of the winch barrel in this pic, far right), and turning the winch stood the mast up in the mast case, till you could lock it in place with big metal bars behind it.

The smaller winch gear here on the case is for furling (= brailing) the main sail. The plan was to rescue as many of these metal parts as were salvage-able and to have them restored by the engineering students in a school in Gravesend, but shot blasting is a brutal weapon, and if the metal is not up to it (too rusty) the structure gets blown apart by the process. This is what has happened to the mast case, so the guys have painted the "relic" with modern anti-rust coating so that it can be used as a template to fabricate a new one out of sound metal, and the old one can be used as part of our heritage exhibition.

All good stuff

Deefer

New Trains

Parked up in the sidings at Faversham over Christmas, all this smart new rolling stock - our new japanese built "Javelin" Trains. I bet the local "fat controller" thinks his Christmas has come in style this year, and he has a whole new big-boy's trainset to play with.

We are getting back into nice long proper walks now, in the absence of Meggie, so not only have we done the old "two bridges loop" many times, but also the "levee" loop down past the barge (Cambria) and today a bit of a skiddy, waterlogged one down across the allotments and out round the fields. It's something to do with needing fresh air and healthy exercise after all the indulgences of Christmas eating.

Look after yourself

Deefski

Greenwich Mean

So sad - we're now on Greenwich Mean time (GMT), so we suddenly don't have any daylight left in the evenings, and we're lucky if we can get a walk before dark. Especially if Dad either stops on the way home to sneak some broad beans into the allotment (good ol' Autumn sown "Aquadulce") or as yesterday gets held by a problem at work.

Still, rumour has it that Bob the Builder (actually John) is on the way soon to start knocking the house about, and that Dad might have some time off work to coincide. Mum has a dream of a "kitchen diner".

...and just in case you're interested, Dad is now blogging in competition to this one, "blogger in residence" to the Cambria Trust volunteers, in which he is involved on a regular basis. Nip onto their website and check out the "news" section for anything that says "Volunteer's Views". Can't promise it's any more exciting than this but it will be different.

Look after yourself
Deefski

...or not to bee...

Only one more "sleep" till my birthday, and I get a nice run around on the Rec tonight chasing ball with Sis' Ellie (whose Birthday is also tomorrow, of course, along with Brother Archie). Dad's not mentionned anything yet about a joint walk, but you never know. We also meet a brown, almost tortoise-shell looking Lhasa Abso called "Cosmo". He's only 3 months old. Cosmo was, coincidentally, the name of one of Mum and Dad's Mississippi Westie-owning chums' Westies, but this Cosmo was named after a fairy in some kiddies' TV show, and was named by one of the lady's children.

Disturbing news from Dad's allotments, where some herberts have broken in and knocked over the main bee-hive. Everyone is very upset, as you can imagine, none more so than Scott-the-Bees, our bee-keeper, who has (for now at least) taken the hives away with him. He says that if they had got any rain water in while lying on their sides, we could have lost the whole colony.

They had been doing really well, too, apparently, with a promise of plenty of honey this autumn, and we'd been looking forward to a jar with the allotments own logo on the label. We don't suppose Scott will be too inclined to do that any more. Dad will be lucky, they think, to get him back in the Spring.

One small silver lining on the cloud. Inspired by Scott's efforts and success, one of the allotment holders had decided to start a hive of our own, funded by the allotments but worked by himself, and he had built the hive (He's a bit of a woodworker), and persuaded Scott to take him under his wing as an apprentice bee-keeper. Scott has agreed to keep going with this, even though his own hive was damaged by the hooligans, and our man will keep his hive there, with its very small "nucleus" colony of bees, getting set up to go through the winter.

Why do the kids need to do this? We have no idea.

Shame
Deefer

Back in the old Routine

It's a normal Saturday, and we get a standard walk to the Rec. We meet old frineds Barney (westie) and Smudge (long haired Jack Russell who chases a ball endlessly till his over heated and tired state shows up in the redness of the insides of his ears). We also meet new kid on the block, 5-year old (maybe) rescue westie Jessie. She's only been in town a couple of weeks with her new owners, so it's good that she's discovered the Rec, hub of dog-social activity that it is.

Dad is off up to the allotment which is now in full flow of productivity. He returns with some last broad beans, but also French and runner beans, chard with massive leaves, cherry tomatoes, courgettes, baby beetroot, a small Summer Cabbage, Grannies and Discovery apples, and some first new potatoes.

The gang head off to visit Diamond, still languishing in hospital and undergoing treatment (so Rags is still on his "hols"). She is OK -ish, but feeling weary and aching, and also a bit fed up with some of her family members. She will be apparently allowed home soon, for a rest between the various episodes of treatment, and is looking forward to being able to relax in her own, proper bath.

Look after yourself, Diamond, and get well soon.

Mr S writes (Thanks, old chum). We have now managed to copy our photo's of the hols onto the memory card of one of those digital frames, so it's rolling round in the living room. Have you got the CD yet Mr S ?

Have a good weekend
Deefer

Allotment Bounty

Just one more pic from the "home leg" of the twinning thing if I may - an oil painting presented from La Chapelle to Birchington (one of many gifts in a looooong ceremony!) and look, down there in the lower left is "our old girl", Mademoiselle d'Armentieres.

Sorry that postings have once again been a bit thin on the ground. It's been mad round here through June and July as Dad has had the Village of the Year judging (we cover the "Environmental Action" category, now called "Sustainability"), and Gardens for Wildlife judging, and Mum has been trying to be there for Diamond who is in hospital.

Diamond update - she's OK and being well looked after; she's in the safest place; but it is quite a long and hard treatment she must go through before she can be pronounced fit and well, so all those who know her will be wishing her well. Rags has been to visit, we know and although he took a while to suss that this was his Mum, he was overcome with excitement and joy when he worked it all out. (Anyone who wants to know an update, email my Dad privately and we'll tell you all).

Meanwhile the allotment has gone from nothing really ready, to glut, all in one hit, but as we are shortly feeding the 5000, this is a good thing, and Dad has been up there tonight to gather in the first French beans, Rainbow chard and baby beetroot, plus some more artichokes, broad beans and peas. More of the 5000 later.

Talking of babies, a lovely sight tonight when a parent goldfinch brought young to the garden and provided food from the sunflower kernel feeders (presumably part-digested). First time we've knowingly seen young gold finches.

Ah well, with all this judging over, we might be able to post more regularly soon (although we must just get through this feeding-the-5000 hiatus.

Look after yourself, and have a great weekend

Deefski

Two Ticks

With Dad apparently trans-fixed by "Kate Humble Watch" (and he says it's the Red Kites and Goshawks!) there's been lots of focus round here on wild life. We have our own flying-schools of course, of baby sparrows and starlings, great tits and robins, but then Dad sees above the M2 on his way home the unmistake-able outline of a red kite.

Common now above the M4 and M40, West of London ("normal" but still very impressive) they have not yet officially made it down here to Kent. This one was flapping lazily westward (London Bound). They are a great success story in conversation. When Dad was small they were a great rarity, with only a few pairs breeding in central Wales, but now, 30-40 years later they are spreading fast across western England. It can be only a matter of time before they are as common over the North Downs, as they are over the Chilterns and Mendips.

I have my own wildlife, when 2 ticks attach themselves to the top of my head, exactly symetrically placed, just in front of my ears. So symetrical are they that Dad thinks first, as he tousles my hair, that they are some kind of whisker-base hair follicle. But, No, and they have to go. I bravely succumb to a Mum's tweezers based gentle but firm extraction (She insists that Dad douse the tweezers in boiling water afterwards, for some reason!). I do not even squeak.

Tonight, walking back from the allotments we meet up with Ellie in her front garden and have a nice sisterly chat. It's ages since we met. She already looks gorgeous (inevitably) and not satisfied with that she's off to the groomer tomorrow.

Have a great weekend.

Deefer

Scott the Bees

Another bees pic for you, this one of the couple who came to deliver, and now return to tend to, the allotments hive. That's Scott on the left, and his wife, Jed (we think???) on the right.

They've been down here, too, with an eye to installing a hive in our garden which you can see from the middle pic, is at its most floristic and bee-attractive phase just now. Now, he might have been winding me up, but he said he was worried that we dogs might have problems with the bees - it's the fur thing, he said, making the bees think we were bears. Bears and bees, he said, don't mix, and anything that sets off bear insticts in bees is a BAD THING. He made me promise to not even think about being a bear while close to the bees.

Finally, a pic of the SB Cambria as she is now, in May 2009. This from the starboard bow looking aft, showing progress on the new deck beams and showing the access walkway that the boys now use as a public viewing gallery. Dad met Janie's mum and Dad here before they tootled off down to the barge in their 2CVs, both with their roofs rolled back in the sunshine.

They brought Janie (brindled greyhound, you'll recall) into the garden where we made her welcome (and laughed at her when she briefly fell into the pond before spronging out again on those long legs of hers. Shook herself "at" people, of course, but being a short haired greyhound, the spraying effect was nothing like you'd get from a good wet labrador or a westie.

Hope your weekend is going as well as ours.

Deefer

Of Bees and Bad things

Our game of footie in the Rec early this morning is frustrated by a complete Police Cordon around the whole Rec. It seems (although the 12-year-old policeman (Dad's words) was not saying anything) that there has been a fatal stabbing in the middle of the Rec. By this afternoon word is out that it's two herberts fighting over a woman.

We have names but this is probably not the place! The victim died in William Harvey Hospital, our "local" A+E. Bad things anyway. Mum comes back in the afternoon, and comments that the feds have been guarding the Rec all day, and fair play to them, nobody's stolen it.

Meanwhile, some pics of our allotment bees coming and going happily in the warm afternoon sunshine. Main pic shows the location of the main hive in a miniature hazel-spinney. The other shows the entrance. There is now, in addition, a smaller swarm housed in a "Nuke" (Nucleus box). We don't know much about bees yet but if I know Dad he will be buying books and reading the subject up. Scott the bee guy is also talking about us maybe having a hive here in the garden, so we need to check with the neighbours that they have no objections.

Enjoy the hot weather.

Deefski

Rotovatin'

Dad has the afternoon off in order to be here for the Gas Man, who's coming to service the "aul' boiler" (no comment). Gas man comes and goes, very efficiently by about 3pm, so Dad hikes up to the allotment to do the Rotovating. It's hard physical work, because that old beast is a big powerful thing, and Dad spends all the time fighting it's wayward tendency to take off across the plot.

All the time, he and his allotment mates are ruefully watching a massive John Deere with a 40-50 foot gang of 4 discs and rollers doing to acres in seconds out on the (new) fields, what it is taking Dad hours to do per square yard. The tractor guy is followed by hundreds of gulls swooping and crying after the turned up worms. Dad is supporting one robin. Yes, the job of turning the "nature reserve" out back into an oil seed rape monoculture is proceding a-pace.

We aren't allowed up - there is this theory that dogs and rotovators don't mix. I was only trying to bite the wheels Dad! In the end we get our walk across the Rec where we meet 8 month old Cav, "Alfie" and try to have a run around. I'm up for it, and Alfie keeps trying, but as soon as it's me chasing him, and I look like catching up he stops and cowers, tail between legs, which puts a bit of a dampener on the game and I get bored and wander off, where upon he chases me again. Odd dog. Needs to learn to play in a Deefer-style, mildly robust way!

Deefer