Bloody Rodents!

 Thursday started with the continuing task of processing the bulk load of honey. 

I have a 30lb tub of semi solid honey that needs to be warmed, but not too much, so that it can be poured in to jars and sealed. This involves a Bain-Marie technique to avoid overheating the honey and damaging the flavour. Our slow cooker is the tool of choice, but I am limited to batches of about 5lbs, so this is going to take a few days to complete.

After putting on the first batch to warm, 30% and I headed over to a local workshop to drop off the Defender for its MOT test. I had gently woken the beast on Monday, after its Winter hibernation in the car port. It rumbled in to life relatively easily and all seemed well, but a test run down the road showed a fault with its ABS and traction control systems. The brakes were fine, but the ABS wasn't kicking in.

I alerted the chap at the workshop to this fault and he seemed unperturbed and advised that he would look in to it.

The remainder of the morning was spent on honey bottling duties and, shortly before lunch, I received a call to advise that the Defender was ready for collection. 30% and I headed out in the early afternoon to pick it up. 

The chap at the workshop advised that "I had friends" and lifted the bonnet to show a rodent nest in the vicinity of the brake master cylinder. It seems that the little fuckers had chewed through the ABS loom as part of their nest building activities. He had rectified this electrical fault for a very low charge of £30 and advised that, once fixed, the Defender had flown through its annual test with no "advisories".*

Back at home, I pottered around the house and garden for the rest of the afternoon and took the opportunity to steam clean the Defender's seats. These did not look their best after 6 months in the car port and a blast of steam followed by a wipe over with a towel seems to have spruced them up quite nicely.

This evening I was joined by "Bobbyn" for a walk around the Three Miler. On most Tuesdays and Thursdays, for the past few months, she joins me after work and we walk together in a vain attempt to improve our fitness. She brings her three terriers, who enjoy the rural scents and I think she enjoys the opportunity to vent after a long day in the waste management industry.

In the evening 30% and I stumbled across Allelujah, a film adaptation of an Alan Bennet play of the same name.  It was rather good with a cast of some of Britain's finest acting talents; Dench, Jacobi, Jennifer Saunders. 

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* Unlike last year when the inspection suggested that I should keep an eye on the rusty front springs and the condition of tires which are still the original fitments from 2009!

What day is it?

 After reading yesterday's Journal entry I realised that I had barely hinted at the reason for resuming The Journal. 

The main reason is that I now have the time. I know I have plenty of activities to fill my hours with a large garden, three dogs, motorcycles etc*, but I used to feel guilty for grabbing a few** minutes from my working day to recount the previous day's activities, trials and tribulations. Now my time is my own and this is something that I can to do without a trace of guilt.

Now to the main purpose of today's entry ... Anyone who knows me really well will know that I don't have a great grasp on days and dates. I have no problem with the time of day, but ask me the date and I would need to check a calendar and I can be vague on what day of the week it is too.*** 

Working meant that I needed to remember, or at least confirm, what day and date it was to ensure that deadlines were met and meetings attended. Now I am retired, a task or activity can be done at any time and there is much less need to schedule. 

I don't need to wait until the weekend, and hope it isn't raining, to dig over the vegetable garden. I can do it today if the weather is fine. 

Another significant reason for resuming the Journal is therefore to help in anchoring me to the Gregorian Calendar. I am pretty certain that without some form of calendrical discipline I would rapidly go feral and end up like one of those Japanese Soldiers that were posted to, and abandoned on, a remote Pacific islet and still think it is 1952.

I also think that it will give an element of structure to my day, which may be beneficial.

I'll finish by giving a quick summary of today's activities. 30% disappeared early to spend the day with The Coven watching a matinee of Jesus Christ Superstar in Birmingham. This left me home alone bottling honey.

We finally sold the last of the 2022 bumper crop**** a couple of days ago. Our little roadside honey stall does quite good business, so with no chance of a honey crop before August I approached a local beekeeper to ask if he would permit me to bulk buy from him and sell under my own branding. He was more than happy to oblige and I have made a start on clarifying, filtering and bottling 30lbs of local honey for resale from the doorstep.

This wasn't an arduous task, but it did require my attention throughout the day. When not involved in stirring or sterilising jars, I did head out on the Three Miler with the dogs for a constitutional.

Now the more attentive reader will note that there is no mention of a 2023 honey crop and there is a good reason for that, but that can wait for another day.

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* I suppose I had better add family to that list too!

**"Few"! If only Dantes Nine Circles of Hell and The Neat & Today Piano Movers knew how many of their hours I had wasted jotting down this rubbish.

*** I can definitely confirm that it has a "y" in it, if that helps.

**** Over 260lbs from 5 hives

How to begin ... again!

It's a good job that I don't hold my breath when pausing for inspiration. As one of nature's procrastinators, I would have expired many, many years ago! Breathe Bad Man, breathe. Here I now find myself, almost four years since I last posted in the Journal, wondering how to begin ... again?

Shall I note down the long list of excuses for not posting, attempt a summary of the past four years, or shall I just start wittering about my trivial achievements of the past twenty four hours? 

It is probably best if there is an explanation ... 31st March 2024 was my last day of work ... probably! After thirty nine years in a variety of roles, I finally decided that I just really didn't want to do it any more. I realised that I had no problem in finding something to occupy my time, and many of the things I wanted to do were being put off to sit in front of a corporate laptop waiting for something to happen.

As 30% noted, I actually gave up work for Lent as it was on Shrove Tuesday that I politely advised my current employer that "their role did not meet my expectations", gave them a calendar month's notice and did as little as possible until I sloped off on Maundy Thursday.

I have to admit that I had a huge amount of support from 30% in making this decision. She has been semi-retired for a while and finally gave up her last part-time job at the beginning of December, last year.  She dutifully warned me of the challenges I was likely to encounter, particularly regarding identity and income, based on her own experiences. All I can do is see how the next days, months and years unfold to see how I am impacted by this new stage of my life.

The Neat & Tidy Piano Movers* also deserve a special mention in my decision making process. In April last year, they advised that me, my colleagues and our manager were to be made redundant at the end of June. Fortuitously I was approached on the very next day by a Recruitment Consultant asking if I was interested in an exciting** opportunity. I took the bait, polished up my CV and sent it off. I also took advantage of The Piano Movers financial planning benefit for employees over the ago of 55. 

The Piano Movers generously part fund the services of a Financial Advisor, so 30% and I spent many hours collating financial information and submitted it for the scrutiny of an FA who had been recommended by a friend.

Whilst this was going on my application for the new job was progressing and I appeared to be making my way through their interview process successfully.*** 

Now let us jump forward to early June and my final interview with the prospective new employer. That day was a busy one as 30% and I also had our final assessment call with our Financial Advisors. That call came first and they uttered a phrase that I will never forget, "You don't need to work Bad Man".  

Now it has been said that there are two types of people; those who live to work and those who work to live****. I am most definitely a person who has worked to live and this utterance from the FA was accompanied by the proverbial choir of angels singing exaltations in the background.

I suppose I should add that I landed the new job but it is fair to say that my heart wasn't really in it and it turned out to be the complete antithesis of its description during the recruitment process. I stuck at it for nine months but, in the end, I decided that I would rather be free from the home office to do things that please me and others rather than pick at bloated carcasses of IT outsourcing solutions in an attempt to make them palatable to customers and suppliers.*****

I am now nearly a month in to my retirement and have never been so busy. 30% and I celebrated her 60th Birthday with a few days at Llangennith on The Gower, I have constructed a mini desk for the back bedroom and am currently working on a little project for The Elf.

I can already confirm the utterance of so many retired people, "We don't know how we found the time for work"!

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* Courtesy of The Simpsons 

** It wasn't exciting, but the salary was reasonable.

*** So successfully that after perusal of my CV and interview #1 I was offered a more senior role and more money.

**** There are also those who prefer to rely on The State to live

***** I didn't actually mind working on the solutions, it was that I had had my fill of the endless and inane Corporate Bull Shit.

What have I been doing?

Both work and home life have been quite hectic and, yet again, I have failed in my efforts to maintain The Journal.  Here is another half arsed summary of the comings and goings here at The Pile.

The weekend started with a trip over to Hailes Shooting Ground with Bubbles and BBQ Dave.  They both shot really well and I was pleased that my performance finally seems to be getting back to where it was before the lockdown started.*

I almost forgot to mention that Whiffler joined us up at Hailes and seemed to enjoy the new experience, especially the fuss and attention he got from the other shooters.  The reason for taking him was that we had a house viewing that morning, 30% was quite happy to walk Marauder and #3 while the viewing took place, but couldn't manage all three of the dogs.  So, Whiffler came shooting with the lads.

After shooting I spent an hour or so with Bubbles while he fitted a new Bluetooth DAB head unit to the Defender.  It seemed that our entire day was spent together as 30% and I were back there in the evening for one of Bubbles' "meat fest" barbecues.

Most of Sunday and Monday were spent attempting to tidy up the garage.  It was built when we extended The Pile back in 2007 and I swear that there was stuff in there that hasn't seen the light of day since it was first put on the shelves.

Over the course of the two days 30% and I worked through the various boxes trying to identify possessions that we no longer needed.  It is fair to say that this led to a few heated debates as I fall in to the "just chuck the bloody stuff away" camp, whilst 30% wants to either keep it, recycle it or spend an incredible amount of time trying to re-home stuff.**

Despite the strategic disagreements we have made fantastic start on the garage clearance.  A Defender full of crap went to the local refuse site and a Mini full of unwanted belongings went to local lady who is a fund raiser for the local Brownie Troop.

We now have shelf space in the garage and it looks a whole lot tidier, providing you don't look up in to the roof space ... That is yet to be tackled.

On the work front it is more of the same.  I'm busy trying to define a way forward on the latest project and have managed to persuade the Sales Guy that my proposed course of action is the right one.  That is a result, but it still means that I have a metaphorical mountain to climb over the coming weeks.

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* I shot 51% overall with individual stand scores of 62.5% and 75% on five of the twelve stands. (5/8 and 6/8)

** By way of example we have 396 jar lids that don't fit the honey jars we use.  They were supplied in error and we were not charged for them.  My approach is to just put them out for recycling.  30%, on the other hand, advertised them on Facebook and has had several exchanges over the past few days with a local chap who MAY want 20 of them.  For fuck's sake! 

Ouch!

One story from the past week that slipped my memory was Marauder's visit to the Vet.

At some point over the weekend before last we had noticed that she seemed to have an infection on her paw, so, at the beginning of last week, she was taken to her preferred private health practitioner.  The vet confirmed our diagnosis, prescribed a course of steroids and antibiotics and advised that we should bring her back in a week if there was no improvement.

At the beginning of this week her foot was marginally improved, but it was clear that the infection was still present.  We toddled off to the Vets, once again, and it was decided that she needed an x-ray and to have the site of the infection explored and lanced.*

To cut a long story short, another £400 pounds was added to last week's £60 bill.  There didn't appear to be anything nasty embedded in her foot and she has another course of antibiotics to consume.  She will, of course, be taking it easy on the end of the sofa until the incision has healed.

Despite her advancing years, Marauder appears to be in robust health ... this isn't that surprising as she appears to get better medical care than I do.**

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*  When I returned home without Marauder, 30% started to imagine horrible outcomes and ended up heading up to the Vets to say goodbye to M ... just in case!   

** Marauder ... "Badman, You should go private like me"

Catching up

It's been a week since I last made an entry in The Journal.  It would be untruthful to say that I hadn't had time, but I have been quite busy and, after brain melting days sat at a laptop, the last thing I want to do is prolong the experience by making another entry in BMJ.

So, what have I been up to?  On the work front I have been handed a new assignment and have spent much of the past week thinking "what the hell am I supposed to be doing?"  After several conversations I think I may have an understanding of what is needed and now have a very wordy PowerPoint presentation to waft in the face of the Sales Lead.  

I'm not expecting the Sales bod to be particularly informative, but the presentation is a documented view of my understanding and proposed course of action.  He can disagree and advise of what he really wants, but, based on previous experience, I am expecting him to pay minimal attention, agree and then slope off before he gets landed with some proper work.

So that was work covered; succinctly "very busy on a new project".

Away from work I had another three day weekend and it, literally, started with a bang, or more accurately hundreds of bangs ...

On Saturday morning Grubby Mark and I headed up to Burford for a simulated game shoot.  Basically this involved six pair of shooters stood in a line about twenty yards from each other.  At the sound of the starting whistle, clay targets were launched in the general direction of the shooters, simulating pheasants being driven towards the guns.

It was a fantastic experience with each "drive" seeming to last about five minutes and the targets came in thick and fast. There were so many incoming targets it was necessary to have your partner reload your gun after each pair of shots rather than waste time rummaging in a pocket for cartridges.* 

Over the course of the day we ate and drank plenty and shot nearly five hundred cartridges on eight simulated drives at four different sites.  It was a great experience and I would definitely be up for another simulated game day.

The game day was surprisingly tiring considering that we didn't exactly walk very far and spent most of our time blowing clays to smithereens, talking, eating and drinking!  Despite this seeming to take very little effort I was exhausted by the time I got home and was glad that Sunday was a quiet day.

We were joined at lunch time by M&M** for a quick bite.  They were on their way up to visit M's relatives in Birmingham and we had arranged for them to break their journey and lunch with us, so that we could catch up on each others' news.  We had a super couple of hours and it was hard to part when we had so much talking and laughing left to do.***  Hopefully we can arrange a "sleep over" in the not too distant future and continue the fun.

Later in the day we had our regular Sunday Zoom Cocktail hour.  It was just 30%, me and C&S.  We had another rambling natter that ended with us deciding to have an overnight stay with them in Abbots Langley now that is permitted following the recent easing of lock down restrictions.

Monday was spent with the bees and it is probably best if I leave it at that!  The weather has been pretty poor all week and it seems that they have spent most of their time huddled on the frames.  Very little nectar seems to have been gathered in over the course of the week and many of the colonies seem intent on swarming.  I'm finding that eight hives is way too many to manage and am definitely planning to cut them back at the end of the season.****

So that's a brief and scruffy summary of the past week; a lot of confusing work, much shooting and a modicum of socialising too.

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*  At the end of each simulated drive, the shooter and loader swap roles and the clays are repeated, so that each gets a turn.

**  From deepest, darkest Wiltshire ... Moonraker country!

***  and drinking too!

****  Colonies can be united late in the season, so watch out for a muddled narrative on that in September.

A blast from the past

Whilst rummaging around for my copy of Fitter, Fitter & Blamey, I happened to take a quick look inside the large wooden trunk on the landing.  It is filled to the brim with old photographs and, for some reason, I selected a wallet at random and thumbed through the snaps.  I was delighted to come across a couple of photos of my first "big bike".

It was a Honda VF500 FII and I can still remember the registration; C124 UWP.*  I have many fond recollections of her and she was quite special in her day.  This was one of the early incarnations of the Honda V4 motorcycle engine that was massively successful on both road and race track.  According to Wikipedia it is regarded as one of the finest handling bikes of the 1980s.  I occasionally search eBay ... just on the off chance of being reunited.

I bought her from Skellerns in Worcester, shortly after passing my motorcycle test, in July 1987 and can still recall the excitement and trepidation as I wobbled off up the London Road.  She was my only form of transport for a good few years and, when I moved down to South West London later that year, she made my daily commute from Motspur Park to Hinchley Wood an adventure and delight. 

It was a few minutes work to scan the photos and it's really nice to see her again ... She's still very pretty!

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*  A check of the DVLA website shows that she was last MOT tested in 2006 and had nearly 55,000 miles on the clock.  It also strangely records her colour as yellow?

Where's Fitter, Fitter or Blamey when you need them?*

For the past few days a rather attractive wildflower has caught my eye at the highest elevation on the three miler.  It has an attractive, reddish coloured, composite flower and I can't recall ever having seen it before.  I took another long look today and cursed myself for bringing neither camera nor 'phone to take a snap and facilitate it's identification.

After a session with Google, I eventually learned that it was greater knapweed (Centaurea scabiosa).  Apparently it's quite common, but I don't think I've ever seen this little stunner around the Three Miler before.

I must try to get a half decent photo before the flowering period ends.

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* Fitter, Fitter & Blamey - The Wildflowers of Britain and Northern Europe.  This is one of those little nuggets of information that you don't really need, but can't seem to forget.  This was the recommended field guide for an ecology module of my degree over thirty five years ago.  I still have the battered volume somewhere, but can't, for the life of me, think where.

Two in one ... again

Sunday was mostly taken up with dogs and bees.

I would normally start this narrative with "as soon as the day warmed, I made a start on the hives", but the day was unseasonably cool and very windy.  This was in marked contrast to the weather earlier in the week.  I did my best to inspect frames covered with bees that should have been out foraging and can report that the June gap seems to be over.  The bees are finally bringing in more nectar than they are consuming, so let's see how well they do over the next few weeks.

The dogs were walked in the afternoon and that pretty much sums up my Sunday.  Considering we're at the end of June, it feels more like the end of March at the moment.

And now on to Monday,  the early part of the day was spent on house tidying as we had a viewing booked in at two o'clock.  30% hosted the viewing whilst I hit the Three Miler with Whiffler and #3.  Three large and exuberant dogs can tend to detract potential buyers from the period, original features of The Pile.  Apparently Marauder did her best to see them off with a half-hearted bark from the end of the sofa, but couldn't summon up the enthusiasm for her full-blown, volume turned up to eleven welcome/warning!

30% reported that the viewers didn't seem particularly enthralled with the house and, after a short session with Google,*  we are at a loss to understand why they wanted to see it in the first place?  Their current home is the polar opposite of The Pile.  They appear to favour chrome, glass topped tables and modern, gold framed mirrors whilst our home is very much period features, antiques and open fires.  One would have to assume that they have budgeted to spend twenty thousand on replacement furniture as we can't see anything of theirs fitting in here.

I did also manage to pay a visit to see my Alcester Mum & Dad for an hour in the morning.  I'd missed a call from Buzzer on Saturday and it was much more fun to ride over on the Guzzi and sit and drink coffee with them than to talk on the phone.  We had a lovely catch up and are hoping for some decent weather so we can finally get out on our bikes.

Two in one

It's Saturday and the first of a long run of three day weekends ... let me explain.

The Neat & Tidy Piano Movers, and many other employers too, are concerned that their staff are amassing huge amounts of annual leave during lockdown and they will all disappear off on holiday as soon as they are able, leading to resourcing issues.  As a result we have been encouraged to take time off now.

I'm quite happy to do so and have arranged to have the next five Mondays off work.  I now have a run of five three day weekends ... fan-bloody-tastic!

Now, let's just drop back to Friday's comings and goings.  It was deathly quiet at work and the only matter of any significance was that Colleague R announced that he was finally leaving the building.  I sent him an insincere note thanking him for all of his support and assistance over the past few weeks.  I would have liked to have pointed out that he was a waffling, old woman that lacked any ability to drive his work forward to a conclusion, but, apparently, that is not an acceptable goodbye and good luck note.

And that would have been it for Friday if it hadn't been for the fact that 30% had invited a new friend over for an afternoon glass of wine in the garden.  Her husband joined her at about seven o'clock and it was gone eleven before the fun ended.  This impromptu evening was a lovely start to the weekend and I'm certain we will be seeing a lot more of O, J and Baby Artie in the future.

Now we get back to Saturday; I woke reasonably early with a thick head as a result of last night's drinking.  This was not the ideal preparation for a morning at Hailes Shooting Ground with Bubbles, but it turned out that my shooting was a slight improvement over the piss-poor performance of the past few weeks.  I can't actually tell you what my score was because it rained so hard that the ink was literally washed off the scorecard.  As we got to the last few stands we gave up keeping score and just enjoyed smashing clays.  

The high point of the morning was a pair of simulated rabbits that charged across the ground. I managed a respectable 6/8 and was surprised to have beaten Bubbles' score of 5.  Mind you, by this point, we were already sodden and he may have just decided to piss around!

Once back at home I had a light lunch and cleaned my gun before I was encouraged to tidy myself up and head down the road to Grubby Sue and Mark's house.  We were on the sauce, once again, and enjoyed a relaxed early evening barbecue with yet more wine.  

If I am honest we hadn't fully recovered from Friday evening's antics and were fortunate that we could make our excuses and return home to let the dogs out before retiring to the sofa for a long overdue snooze.

Another quiet day

It was another quiet day today, so my key accomplishments were to go and get myself 1,000 shotgun cartridges and mow the lawn.

The quantity of cartridges might seem a little excessive until one notes that a morning's clay shooting will comprise one hundred sporting clays.  Today's shopping will therefore only keeping me going for ten outings.  Actually even less, as Grubby Mark and I are going on a simulated game day in a couple of weeks and the expectation is that we will go through five hundred cartridges over the course of that day.

I've only ever shot game once before on a soaking wet day last December.  A simulated game day is something new and, by the scant details squeezed from Mark, it basically sounds like a bunch of people with shotguns firing at a torrent of incoming clays over the course of the day.*

It's only a week away, so watch out for an update.

Finally, on a completely unconnected subject, what on earth is going through the minds of the people at the AA?  About a year ago I cancelled my subscription to their roadside assistance service.  There are lots of reasons why, but principally it's because I get a no claims discount on my car and bike insurance and expect the same from the AA.  Fuck it, we have only ever broken down twice in the past twenty years and, at about ninety quid a year, it makes more sense to pay per breakdown rather than fund the AA.

Now, back to my grumble; since cancelling my AA subscription I get the occasional offer to rejoin.  The AA describe it as a tempting offer.  I've looked at the price and it is neither "tempting" nor "an offer".  They simply present their basic service price.  As soon as I have added in cover for 30% we are right back at the price I was paying when I cancelled!

Now, I'm not sure whether the AA have noticed or not, but the whole bloody country has been in lockdown since the end of March and are still being encouraged to socially distance and work from home if at all possible.  I estimate that I have driven no more than one hundred miles in the past thirteen weeks.  Why would I resubscribe when neither of us are actually using our vehicles?

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*  With several breaks for refreshments and bullshitting  

Job done ... eventually

With Marauder and Whiffler completely shorn and ready to face the hottest weather of the year, my attention turned to #3.

For some reason I was slightly apprehensive about clipping her.  I've clipped her face and paws ever since she was a young pup, but I have never given her the full body clip and I was uncertain how it would go.  The Grooming School always reported that she was a pleasure to clip, but they would say that wouldn't they?  For all I know she could be a complete nightmare like the vile brat at the nursery that they can't wait to hand back to the parents at the end of the day.*

I think the foundation of my concerns is that she is of a very slight build and she is a real wuss! She will squeal at the least provocation and I mean the LEAST provocation.  I've heard her whine as a tangle is brushed from her coat.  She really is a drama queen and sometimes we suspect that she "puts it on".  For example she will be bouncing around with Whiffler in the most exuberant of games and then shout out in apparent alarm if brushed!

Clipping the dogs is quite a physical process and they need to be held and repositioned frequently as they are shorn of their long hair.  So, I would be putting a young, petite drama queen through a long physical process.  What could possibly go wrong?

Early in the day, #3 was encouraged on to the grooming mat and I made a start on her long tangled coat.  To be fair; she was an absolute star for the first 30 minutes and stood patiently as swathes of hair were shorn from her  head and body.  It was only when I got to her tail and legs that she started to fidget and then yelp as knotted mats of hair were pulled at.

I decided it was probably time for a break and, after a treat to reward her, she ran around like a thing possessed trailing lengths of red fur behind her.

In the end it took three sessions to get her clipped and that doesn't include the considerable amount of scissor work to remove the worst of her mats, before breaking out the clippers to tidy her up.

As the day ends she is sprawled on the floor looking a whole lot tidier, and smaller, than she did.  The problem with being a completer/finisher is that my eye is constantly drawn to tufts of hair that need a quick snip to finish the job ...

She'll be back on the grooming mat tomorrow as her feet are still a bloody disgrace!

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* "Oh yes, he's had a lovely day and been such a special boy".  No mention of the eating crayons, biting, constant shouting and attention seeking all bloody day.  The nursery staff rush back inside and reach for the gin and prozac. 

Haircuts (cont'd)

It was fairly quiet at work, so, being at a loose end for most of the day, I finished Whiffler's Summer clip and then hauled a reluctant Marauder from her favourite spot on the end of the sofa.

Marauder is approaching her eleventh birthday and is, most definitely, the senior member of the pack.  She still enjoys a walk around the Three Miler from time to time, but is now happy to amble along at my heel rather than race around like Whiffler and #3.  She'll still break out in to a run from time to time, but this is usually because she has smelt a pile of fresh horse shit and wants to be first at the trough.

Right, where was I going with this?  Oh yes, Marauder is now getting on and I made the clip as easy as possible by doing her feet whilst she was perched on the sofa.  This meant that she didn't need to balance on three legs whilst I stripped away her coat.  She tires easily and eventually lay down on the floor whilst I finished the job.

Both 30% and I are painfully aware that she only has a couple of years, at best, left and we are dreading her end.  She has a massive character. She is noisy and independent, but at the same time calm and sociable, liking nothing better than to curl up alongside you on the sofa and be loved.

I talk to her all the time and, as most dog owners will tell you, she answers back.  She has an incorrigible personality and comes out with the most outrageous statements,* but we love her without limit.

How do you repay the unconditional love that a dog gives? Marauder's response is "plenty of treats and yes, I will have a big spoonful of that Madagascar Vanilla Ice Cream".

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*  She has held a lifelong grudge with Eddy, our three legged cat and her most recent plan was to "have the whining little shit put down".  When asked about disposing of the body she replied that it was a simple matter ... "dump his body in the road.  Once the first car has gone over 'im it'll look like an RTA".   This is not a dog who really cares what you think.   

Long overdue for a trim

There has been quite a bit of coverage and comment in the media about the impact of no hairdressers or barbers since the beginning of the lockdown.  There are on-line tutorials for DIY haircuts, celebrity commercials for self applied colourings to cover roots or grey and a stream of social media videos showing home haircut failures.

I took the plunge myself a few weeks ago and got TP to clip my hair, but it isn't just the human population that are in dire need of a haircut ...

Marauder, Whiffler and Dog #3 are looking very shaggy indeed.  They were last clipped the day before our wedding and that was almost four months ago.  The weather is forecast to get well in to the eighties* this week and a three inch long coat is not going to be much fun for them.

I used to clip them all quite regularly, but for the last couple of years we have been using a Dog Grooming Training School in Stratford-upon-Avon.  To cut a long story short we met a drunk man in Alcester who managed, at the third or fourth attempt,** to explain that he had a poodle and got it clipped for free in Stratford.  After a bit of web searching we located the Grooming School and learnt that standard poodles are in demand for training dog groomers due to their size and the complexity of their clip.

Standard poodles are not that common and consequently the grooming school welcomed our three with open arms.  They charge £10 per dog for a bath, groom and clip which is less than a sixth of what we would pay elsewhere.  As a result they have been models for a couple of years and get a very cheap haircut ever four to six weeks.

However, the grooming school has been closed during the lockdown too and today it was my turn to make a start on the dogs.  Whiffler was first for the treatment and I have clipped him completely back, removing his topknot and longer hair on his ears.  After four months he had become quite matted and taking his coat back to 3mm in length is the best approach.  Hopefully it will be just the right length for a lamb clip  by the time the grooming school reopens.

I had got the worst of Whiffler's coat removed by dinner time.  I'll tidy his feet and face up tomorrow morning before choosing my next victim.

Marauder, these clippers have your name on them!

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* Fahrenheit obviously!

**  He was very pissed!

Weekend round-up

 Saturday: Hit 'n Miss

After my usual leisurely start to Saturday morning, I dragged the lawn mower from the shed and, unsurprisingly, mowed the lawn with it.  I needed to get this task out of the way as Grubby Mark and I had a reservation at the Cotswold Shooting Ground.

An early lunch was eaten and we were at the ground and ready to shoot just before one o'clock.  It was an eighty bird card* and it was bloody difficult.  It is fair to say my shooting ranged from sublime to ridiculous and my miserable total was 26/80. 

At my best I shot a perfect ten on one stand and a reasonable 6/10 on another, but overall I did not do well.  I later found out that a very experienced friend, who would normally shoot in to the 80%s only managed to hit 55 of the very tricky clays.  I took some consolation that it must have been a challenging shoot, but I definitely need a lot more practice.

I headed home and spent the late afternoon in the garden inspecting the hives.  I was joined by TP's girlfriend, who was quite keen to see the workings of a honey bee colony.  She seemed to really enjoy the experience and by the time we working our way through the last of the four hives, she even managed to spot the queen among the tens of thousands of workers on the brood combs.

Sunday: More bees!

Another leisurely start to the day and then 30% and I headed out around the Three Miler with the dogs.  It was a pleasant enough amble, but encounters with friends along the way, meant that this hour long walk took the best part of two hours this morning.

The longer than usual walk meant that the three hives in Kathy's garden didn't get inspected until the early afternoon.

I took a nucleus hive** with me as a precautionary measure.  One of the hives had been looking "swarmy" for the past month.  I had been doing my best to deter them, but on every previous inspection I had been greeted with the sight of multiple queen cups dotted around the brood nest.  Today was no different and one frame had three or four well developed queen cells hanging from the lower bars of the brood frame.

Locating the queen was a bit of a challenge as the frames were crowded with workers, but I eventually found her and removed her to the nucleus hive.  I added a few more frames of brood, shook in plenty of workers and closed up the nuc.  Once I'd finished the inspection I would take this with me and put it on a hive stand in the garden at home.***

The second hive was doing reasonably well.  There still isn't much nectar being brought in but there were plenty of workers ready and waiting for the Summer flowers.  Having ensured this colony was fine I headed to the third hive.  Earlier in the week Kathy had 'phoned to let me know that the third hive had swarmed.  I had been expecting this as this was yet another colony that could not be deterred from reproducing.

As I lifted the queen excluder my attention was drawn to a bee in the corner of the hive, well away from the brood nest.  It was a small queen.  I assume that it is an unmated, virgin queen that has hatched now the old queen has swarmed.  With warm weather forecast for the upcoming week, I hope she will have successful mating flights and soon be laying her first generation of daughters.

So Sunday ended with another colony of bees in the garden, but this entry wouldn't be complete without mention of Father's Day.  Earlier in the day TP presented me with a cucumber and a wrapped present.  He certainly knows his Father well.  I instantly got the joke and removed the gift wrap to reveal a bottle of Hendricks gin.****

I shall enjoy that.

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* The number of clay targets available to shoot.  

**  A small portable hive that can be used for catching swarms or taking a split or shook swarm from a hive.

*** If I left the nuc in Kathy's garden the most of the workers would simply return to the original hive leaving the queen without a sustainable colony.  This is because the workers have incredible navigation skills and can range over a mile from their hive and still make their way back with their foraged nectar and pollen.  By moving the nuc to an unknown location, the workers will reorientate themselves and return to the new hive.

****  A slice of cucumber compliments it perfectly.

Clock watching

The title of today's Journal entry pretty much sums up my day.

I had delivered this week's planned deliverables by close of business yesterday and, consequently, had very little on my professional plate for today.  I did finally managed to finish off the five minute job, * but even that took a couple of attempts.  

As there is not much else to report I may as well explain.  The final requirement clarifications were provided by the Project Managers early this morning and this clearly demonstrated that the second and final deliverable was something that the Sales Team could manage without my help.

I sent over an email with all of the relevant information and evidence and advised that I planned to cancel the request for my support.  The Sales Guy promptly responded asking a question that clearly indicated that he hadn't bothered to read the attachments in the email.

I sent him a polite reply directing him to the relevant attachments and fortunately heard nothing more before the end of the day.  

Now, after re-reading this, I may seem to be a bit of a jobsworth, but I have actually spent the past two days doing work the Sales Guy should have done before he even requested my support.  It is his job to clarify the requirements and, if he had done that, this activity might have taken an hour or two rather than the best part of a full day spread over three.  

It is a sad fact that the Sales Guys I work with aren't very keen on doing anything other than schmooze with the customer and take bonuses for poorly contracted business deals with questionable profitability.**  Christ knows what they are doing*** now that Covid-19 restrictions have stopped them visiting the customer?

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*  The fact that I have now been wittering on about this five minute job since Wednesday pretty much proves my point; there is no such thing as a five minute job. 

**  My colleagues and I do our best to make them profitable, but then the horse trading starts and crappy deals get done!

*** Most of them are wankers, so they are probably exercising their right arms at home.

A long memory can come in useful

Yesterday's "5 minute job" was first on my to-do list when I opened up the laptop this morning.

It was crystal clear that the Sales Guy had no intention of providing the information needed, so I had trawled through my memory banks and come up with a plan.  At the end of 2018 I had been involved in a Programme that had included work directly related to yesterday's request.  Better than that, I had remembered the names of the Project Managers that had managed the implementation and had even located their status reports for the relevant projects.

It was a matter of ten minutes work to knock up a quick email asking for the details that I needed.

At this point it is probably worth pointing out that sometimes I have problems remembering what I had for dinner, let alone the fascinating intricacies of my working day.  However overall my memory is very good and, for some strange reason, I can recall salient points from stuff that happened months or even years ago.  

Back to today's problem, once again The Gods were benevolent and the Project Managers provided the information needed within a couple of hours.  By the end of the day I had already managed to close out part of the request.  Hopefully tomorrow will see a way forward with the rest of the work.

The other major event from the working day was that I managed to sail the crumbling hulk of Colleague R's latest solution through an internal review without it sinking.  In fact it took no cannon fire at all and we can now tart it up with colourful bunting and pennants and pass it over to the customer for them to ransack.*

A week ago I mentioned that I try to avoid writing about my work in The Journal as it isn't very interesting. Unfortunately I was reasonably occupied by it today, leaving little time for anything else.  The weather didn't play ball either.  It poured with rain for a lot of the day and I didn't even get out for a walk with the dogs.

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*  I should add that our customer is keen for us to develop this solution.  They even may want us to build it, but, as soon as it is up and running smoothly, they plan to take it off us and run it themselves. 

There is no such thing as a five minute job

As I approach the end of my second decade developing IT services solutions, I should know that there is no such thing as a five minute job.  So, why on earth I did I volunteer to pick up something and assume that it would be straightforward and simple?

On initial examination it looked like all I needed to do was act as a post man.  I took the requirements* from the Sales Guy and passed them across to a team of specialists who would provide the necessary quotes.  All I would then have to do is pass the quotes back to the sales team.

What could possibly go wrong? 

I even had a precautionary call with the Sales Guy to ensure that there were no hidden issues or problems that were likely to leap out and bite me.  "No, no" he reassured me "it really is that simple". 

These words are still ringing in my ears.

Today I discovered that the requirements I was given are flaky at best and the Sales Guy has responded with a long winded "don't ask me" when I asked for clarifications.

The don't ask me email came in late in the day and it looks like I am going to have to use my native wit and cunning to drive this forward.  Unfortunately I was running low on "wit and cunning" by four o'clock, so I took Whiffler and #3 for a walk instead.

Hopefully my "W 'n C" reserves will be restored overnight.

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*  He had even used the correct form and had filled in all the fields

A rumble overhead

A change in the weather had been predicted and, as 30% headed out to work at lunchtime, large drops started to fall from a leaden sky.  Within minutes it was absolutely hammering down with rain and a colossal thunderclap sounded overhead.

Unfortunately I was working at my desk and missed the theatrics of the storm.  Instead I had to suffer an hour long call with a half witted project manager who seems to think that I will support his project but not charge my time to his budget.  I requested the budgetary codes on his call, but I was surprised to find that he had forgotten to record that in his minutes.  Ah well, it was a simple matter to "reply all" commenting that he seemed to have forgotten to record my request for the relevant codes. *

The working days went reasonably well and I was able to head out for a walk with Whiffler and Dog#3 at about four in the afternoon.  

Remembering the lunchtime storm, I collected a precautionary hat and jacket before heading out in to the lanes.  It soon became apparent that this wet weather apparel was redundant.  The weather was hot, sunny and humid and the coat was soon tied around my waist.  Although the rumble of thunder was ever present, the storms stayed away and the walk was a dry one.

During the walk Dog#3 performed her usual antics and it is one of these that I'll recount today.  When the poodles are young they delight in play and will constantly practice their instinctive hunting behaviours in preparation for running down imaginary Bison, Elk or Deer with the rest of the pack.

When Whiffler was a pup he was an absolute nightmare for hassling Marauder in this way.  As soon as she broke in to a trot or a run, he charged alongside her attempting to bite her legs and trip her up.  He's now approaching his sixth birthday and, as a mature dog, that behaviour is long behind him.  

However, Dog#3 is barely eighteen months old and what goes around comes around. Now it is her turn to hassle Whiffler.  It needs to be mentioned that Whiffler is a big boy.  The youngster is barely half his weight and much shorter in the leg and body.  This does put her at a disadvantage when Whiffler is running, but she is also quite smart ...

There are a couple of fields on the walk where Whiffler squeezes under the metal gates to take a quick nose among the stalks of the growing barley.  #3 doesn't follow, but waits at the gate.  She knows that Whiffler needs to creep under the gate to rejoin us and, at that point, is unable to defend himself from her practice attacks.

It is quite comical to see the stand-off with a dog on either side of the gate.  Whiffler waits for #3 to follow me up the road, so he can get under the gate without being attacked and #3 waits for Whiffler to duck under the gate, so she can pounce.

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*  I'm sure this was an oversight. **

**  Like fuck was it an oversight!  The little shit wants me to work for free.

More Socialising

I've spent more time socialising* in the past twenty four hours than I have for a good few months.

I had a vaguely annoying day at work. Don't ask me why, because I can't explain ... it was just a case of most of the things I had to do annoyed me.  I really wasn't in the mood.

By four o'clock I'd had enough and wandered away from the laptop.  I headed out to the garage and collected a few tools for a long overdue job.  The radiator in the downstairs lavatory has a few rust spots and it was definitely time to address them.

Now it is fair to say that I am not overly keen to do anything more to The Pile, but, at the same time, I really need a project to occupy me.  I was talking to 30% about this a few days ago and we both agreed that we love it here, but are now ready to say goodbye and take on a something new. 

Anyway, my desire to do something with my hands obviously outweighed my lack of DIY motivation and I found myself grinding back the rust spots with a Dremel, applying a rust inhibitor and, a few hours later, a touch up with enamel paint.  It's far from perfect, but it looks a whole lot better than the rust pocked surface that I started with.

Now, back to the socialising,  30% had invited BBQ Dave and Janet over for a cup of tea and a natter.  We hadn't seen them since the Lockdown started as they had been conscientiously self-isolating due to BBQ Dave's age.  It was a lovely afternoon, so tea was cancelled and beer was brought out as a far superior replacement.  The conversation was the usual mix of shooting, politics and the BBC's crappy news service and it was close to seven o'clock before they left.

Later in the evening, as I was cleaning my paintbrush I espied Doctor H parking up in the lay-by outside.  He had been called upon to perform vital Parish duties.  It seems that an overhanging bush needs pruning and he was heading up the High Street with Secateurs and Loppers to tame the aggressive shrub.  However, he seemed far more keen to chat and we had an amusing chunter about life, bees and everything before he headed up the footpath to perform arboreal surgery.

So, that was Monday; an irritating day at work followed by a productive and pleasant evening.

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*  Proper face to face sitting down and having a chat socialising, not your contrived, pre-prepared, plastic wrapped, additive filled social media substitute for socialising that I have had to endure since the back end of March. 

Getting back to normal?

Sunday evening found me gently snoring on the sofa. It's fair to say that we'd had quite a busy weekend.

Saturday

Saturday morning started with a run over to the Cotswolds.  I met up with Grubby Mark at the Hailes shooting ground, where we attempted 96 sporting clays. I had a frustrating round hitting only 40 "birds".  What irritated me most was that I was doing well on the challenging stands, but missing the more straightforward clays.  I'm obviously out of practice.

Back at home I ran around the lawn with the mower before putting on my bee suit and checking the hives in the garden.  They are all in a reasonable state, but it is apparent that there is still very little nectar available to forage.

I was pleased to see that my approach with a particularly troublesome hive seems to have been spot on.  The queen in this hive had been able to get through the queen excluder and lay up in the supers.  After giving this some thought I wondered if she was coming to the end of her laying life.  This notion was reinforced by what appeared to be supercedure queen cells;  these are produced when the workers become aware of a failing queen.  For the past few weeks I have left the hive well alone and, today, decided to take a look.  I couldn't see the queen, but there was a single frame of larvae and eggs.  This suggests that the original queen has been replaced and her daughter is now in residence.

As the afternoon cooled, 30% and I took a wander around the Three Miler with the dogs before collapsing on the sofa with a gin.

Sunday

With the slight easing of Social Distancing, we had arranged a barbecue for the afternoon.  This meant that the morning was filled with chores and preparations.  

First on the list was preparing two chickens for my barbecue speciality; beer can chicken.   Once the chickens had been prepped and the barbecue had been dragged out in to the sun, I headed down the road to inspect the hives in Kathy's garden.  The hives were much the same as those at home; good sized colonies waiting for a decent nectar flow.

I was home in time to get the charcoal lit and thirty minutes later I set the chickens on the grill to roast.  I then had enough time to tidy myself up before our guests* arrived.  We had a splendid few hours sat in the sunny garden; filling our faces and drinking plenty of wine.  It was so nice to be able to just sit, talk and joke naturally after the preceding weeks of Facebook and WhatsApp messages.

30% and I imbibed liberally and we both hit the sofa for a couple of hours after our guests left ... The tidying up can wait until Monday morning.

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* Grubby Sue, Grubby Mark, Bubbles and Robyn

That Friday feeling

It's the end of the working week and I've the uncommon feeling of having made significant progress this week.  An approval, that Colleague R had suggested would be challenging to obtain, turned up on Friday afternoon and we are now preparing for our Review call next week.

I would have liked to have celebrated with an early finish, but I had a call in the late afternoon and Marauder* and I could only manage a short walk as drizzle fell from an overcast sky.

I'm also chuffed to report that I have managed to catch another rat in the shed where I used to keep the chickens' feed.  What better way to start the weekend than with the death of rodent scum.

The end of the working week got me thinking about how people are using instant messaging, email and conferencing calls to stay in touch during the Covid-19 lockdown.  At the start of Social Distancing, I was quite happy to stay in touch using these apps and tools.  

However, as time has gone on, I've become less inclined to participate and I think I have worked out why ...  These tools are exactly the same as the ones I use at work and my social life has moved from being informal get togethers and shared meals to wretched alerts on my 'phone that interrupt my non-working life without thought to whether I want to talk to anyone or not.

Basically lockdown has meant that our friends now have access to more of my time than I really want to share with them and I am feeling somewhat resentful.  I know that this might seem selfish and awful, but I am busy at work and need time for me, time for the family and time for our friends.  At the moment I feel that Covid-19 has given everyone license to eat in to my personal and family time using methods that are very similar to interruptions at work.  

Perhaps they should read this.  They might understand why it sometimes takes me a week to reply, or not at all, as the case may be.

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*  TP's girlfriend has popped up for the day, and possibly an overnight stay, so they walked Whiffler and Dog #3** earlier in the day.

**  I really must give her a proper alias.

It would be a shame to waste it

I do try to avoid moaning about work in The Journal, as it doesn't make the most interesting of reads.  Also, for confidentiality reasons, I need to be quite vague about what I am up to and, reading back over previous years' entries, even I can't work out what I was moaning about at least half of the time!

These are two very  good reasons for avoiding the subject of work, although I will mention that I am finally making progress with colleague R.  He has finally managed to get his head out of his arse and focus on the task at hand.  He is still making mountains out of proverbial molehills, failing to see the wood for the trees and and having problems sorting the wheat from the chaff,* but, with the assistance of Tel and me, he has finally produced a passable, draft service definition document.

The next steps will be to issue it out to the wider team for review.  They will immediately ignore this request and ask stupid questions on next Thursday's call.

Putting work to one side, I'll  now get to the title of today's entry.  I was out snapping pictures of the dog roses on the Three Miler yesterday and I found another which I quite liked.  As it says at the top of the page "it would be a shame to waste it".

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* This list of aphorisms might seem like overkill, but they really do so neatly sum up the behaviour of this chap.  Now I do tend to be a "stop fucking around and get on with it" sort of chap, so you can imagine how close I have come to going ballistic with this dithering, procrastinating idiot over the past couple of months.

The thing about bubbles ...

is that they are ephemeral.  Enjoy them whilst they float above you, but be aware that they will burst.

Today we had a couple of calls regarding house sales and purchases.  It appears that our prospective buyers are still very keen, but not yet able to make an offer.  We also learnt that the owner of the cottage we fell in love with has accepted a cash offer from another buyer.

It looks like 30% will be scouring RightMove* to draw up another shortlist this evening.

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*  A UK property selling website

Dog Roses

As a regular walker of the local three mile loop, I'm reasonably aware of the local flora.  Dog walking gets me out around the lanes and bee keeping nudges me to keep an eye on what is flowering.*

I mentioned the "June gap" at the weekend; a period in the UK beekeeping season when, for a few weeks, there is a limited amount of nectar bearing flowers.  As I wander around the Three Miler I tend to survey the hedges and verges, looking for signs of Summer flowers.

One thing that has caught my eye over the past week is the huge amount of dog roses climbing up through the high, hawthorn hedges.  There are always a few to be seen, but this year they are absolutely splendid.  Their pink and white blooms can be seen every few feet on the sunnier parts of the walk.  I don't ever recall such a prolific flowering before, perhaps it is as a result of the warm, sunny spring?

A few bramble flowers are starting to appear too, hopefully the weather will soon improve and the bees will be back out foraging.

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*  My degree also had a significant amount of botany studies. Funnily enough, if you asked me, I would have always said that I was more interested in zoology,  but it seems that I am a closet botanist too.

Just stuff

Today started with a decent cup of freshly ground coffee, the first in several weeks.  Actually that's not quite accurate.  Today started with me letting the dogs out.  They desecrated the lawn while I liberated the chickens from their coop.  I then wandered over to check my rat trap and was surprised to see that I had actually caught one.  The realist in me knows that I have likely barely made a dent in the local population* ...  Only then did I get my cup of freshly ground coffee. 

The working day was quiet and, after discussing pricing with one of our Sales team, I did little other than clean my shotgun, complete on-line training and chat with a couple of colleagues.

There was also a change to the routine here at The Pile as TP started a new job at a distribution company over in Worcester.  It is warehouse work and is not well paid, but at least it provides him wth a regular income and gives his day structure and focus until his preferred line of work starts up again.**  His hours are 2.00 pm until 10.00, so it looks like I will be walking the dogs on my own from now on. 

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*  This was proved later in the day when I went to remove the carcass and saw a youngster scuttle across the shed floor.

** TP graduated from USW, Cardiff with a 1st Class Honours Degree in Sound Engineering last year.  We are both immensely proud of him.  Even before he had graduated he had managed to sow and nurture the seed of a career as a freelance sound engineer.  Just before the lockdown he had landed a place with a national program that helps to develop the skills and talent and invest in the future of the UK screen industry.  He had recently landed a three month contract on a big production through this program only to see it postponed as a result of Covid-19.

Defrosting the microwave

Item #1 on today's agenda was inspecting the bees.  

The weather has been cool and showery over the past week and, unsurprisingly, the bees have not been flying as much as they would in warmer weather.  I waited until the day had brightened somewhat, but the hives were still packed with bees as I examined the frames.  This made it a challenge to find queen cups or cells, let alone the queens themselves.  

The inspections went reasonably well, but it was apparent that the the bees had been relying on their stores rather than foraged nectar.*  The frames of stores that surround the brood nests had, mostly, been emptied to keep the colony sustained over the past seven days.  I'm not concerned, as there is ample honey in the supers to keep them going.

After checking on the bees, 30% and headed out in to the garden to deal with a vermin problem ... Over the past few weeks we had noticed that something had been chewing holes in the poultry food sacks.  These are kept in what, until recently, had been a vermin proof store, so it was time to investigate.  The little shed was emptied and 30% dived in to sweep up.  She soon called out that she had found rat droppings.  At this point I suggested that she should retreat, so that we could check that the rat wasn't still there.

I started looking for rat runs and, as I looked around the roof space, I saw a beady eye looking back at me.  Neither of us fancied having a startled rat jumping out at us, so a length of cane was deployed to persuade the verminous, little sod to vacate the premises.  We then spent an hour, or so, clearing up the shed and relocating the food to a rat proof metal bin.  With the poultry food gone, a couple of traps were set, although I didn't hold much hope of success;  they are very clever animals.

There's not much else to report, apart from the fact that I finally got my arse in to gear and descaled the coffee machine this evening.  I love to start the day with a cup of proper coffee ... A black Americano made with an espresso machine and, preferably, from freshly ground Old Brown Java coffee beans.

I have a little Gaggia classic and it makes a great cup of coffee, but it is a complete faff to descale.  It needs doing every couple of months and the process can take a good couple of hours.  This necessary chore is lovingly referred to as "defrosting the microwave" in the panoply of nonsense I spout as I grow older.

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*  Here in the UK there is a phenomenon called the"June gap" where nectar sources diminish during this month and then increase again from July through to September.

A possible buyer?

We had a viewing scheduled for eleven o'clock this morning, so the hours before were spent tidying up and TP and I took the dogs out for a walk shortly before the viewers arrived.

After a twenty minute wander around the local playing fields, we headed back to The Pile and guessed that the viewing was still in progress, based on the unfamiliar car parked outside.  We sat out in the back garden with the dogs to avoid interrupting 30%'s sales pitch.

A short while later the potential buyers came out to see the garden and it was clear that they absolutely loved the house and neither of us will be surprised if an offer is forthcoming in the next few days.

There are, however, a few flies in this sweet smelling unction ...  They have yet to sell their property and are going to need to borrow* to buy The Pile.  It might happen, but I'm not holding my breath.

They were incredibly keen and even asked if the woman's mum and dad could pop over to take a look from the outside. We were happy to oblige and let them view the inside too ... after all, the bank of mum and dad might be involved in the financing.

Later in the afternoon TP was out in the kitchen making up a batch of Halloumi.  He called me over and we could see that the viewers had returned and had parked up outside and were talking and gesturing at the outside of the house ... as I said, they seem quite keen.

That is the big news for Saturday,  I did head over to the Cotswold Shooting Ground at Childswickham for 100 sporting clays.  Bubbles had shot earlier in the day with a mutual friend, so I had a sort of blind date with a chap from Bromsgrove for the 13.55 pm slot.**

I shot appallingly and ended up with 36/100 on my card.  My best stand was an 8 and my worst was a 1.  I checked my blood sugar as I prepared to drive home and saw that it had been low for most of the time I was shooting ... I always shoot badly with low blood glucose.***

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*  They are in a two bedroomed flat valued at £210K.  Personally, I doubt that they own it outright, so my guess is that they will need to be borrowing the fat side of half a million.

**  The shooting grounds used to operate on a "turn up with a bunch of mates and just get on with it approach".  Covid-19 has put the mockers on that and they are now only allowing pairs of shooters, with pre arranged start times to control numbers at the grounds. 

*** Other excuses include; "it was windy today" and "a lot of the targets were edge on" ... actually there are several volumes of excuses, as to why I shot badly!

That's not how I'd go about it

I took my first honey crop in the May of 2017.  There had been a significant acreage of oilseed rape around the village and the bees had made good use of it to produce an early honey crop.  It's not the finest of honeys because it is prone to crystallising within hours of extraction, but it was our first crop and we were just delighted to see the honey pour from the extractor.*

Later in the Summer I was approached by an acquaintance that had heard that I had some bees.  He had a hive up in his Orchard and wondered if I would be willing to extract some honey from his hive.  He offered up half of the crop by way of a reward and I agreed ... What could possibly go wrong?

On the agreed date** I loaded up the Defender with my beekeeping kit and drove up to his orchard which is close to the tower that overlooks the village.  We wandered over to the hive and I was presented with a very scruffy WBC hive that was sat on a wooden platform some 3' above ground level.

I suited up, lit my smoker and clambered up on to the platform to open up the hive.  The owner had already informed me that he followed a hands off approach to beekeeping and this was apparent as soon as I managed to wrestle the roof from the hive.  

The WBC hive is the traditional English beehive that most people tend to picture when asked to imagine a hive.  It is a double walled design, with outer walls surrounding and protecting the hive that sits within.  

This hive had not been inspected for months, if not years.  It was apparent that ill-fitting supers and frames had been added at some point and these had created gaps that had allowed the bees to colonise the space between the inner hive and the outer walls.  This space was crammed with honey-filled comb and bees.

I could see that the colony was healthy enough, but it was clear that the owner had no spare equipment and neither did he seem to have any desire to take any care of the colony.  I therefore advised him that I would only take one of the two supers for a harvest and that was on the understanding that he returned the super to the hive to give the colony the space it needed.

After a bit of work with the hive tool I managed to break the super free from the hive.  As I did this it became apparent that the outer hive was starting to rot.  I upgraded my advice from "inspect them and give them more space" to "move them in to a new hive".  I lifted the honey filled super from the manky hive and stepped back ... I had forgotten that the hive was 3' off the ground and found myself falling with a 25 lb super in my hands.  As I landed, the super crushed the top of one of my fingers and my pride was somewhat bruised too.

To cut a long story short, the honey was extracted and I received a bottle of wine, a leg of lamb and nearly eight pounds of honey in payment.  I also ended up with a broken finger and several hours of work to clean the extractor after this harvest. 

Funnily enough, I hadn't really heard from him again until I bumped in to him earlier this week.   He asked how my bees were doing and I asked how his were, in return.  He advised that the colony had died out a couple of years after we had taken the harvest.  He had cleared the hive and bought a new colony from a local semi-professional beekeeper.  The semi-pro had advised this chap to inspect the hive every eight days, but this chap seemed to take a perverse pleasure in advising that he hadn't looked at them since introducing them to the hive.

I really don't understand why this chap has bees.  He takes no care of them.  He doesn't need them for pollination of his orchard as there are ample local colonies to perform this service.  I just don't get it!

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* I had borrowed a hand cranked extractor and all the other extracting paraphernalia from Doctor H; Village Idiot's son and heir.

** 30th July 2017 ... I knew my beekeeping notes would be of use eventually.

A glimmer of hope?

Late in the afternoon the 'phone rang.  I answered and found myself talking to a rather excited 30%.  It appears that the daughter of the owner of the cottage we like has tracked her down on FaceBook and sent her a message saying that her mum wants to sell her house to us and is willing to give us a little more time to see if we can sell The Pile.

30% spoke to the daughter this evening and it appears that her mum really liked how we responded to her home and felt that we were really suited to it.*  She has the flexibility to give us more time and is willing to do so. Apparently she has received another offer, but has rejected it in favour of ours.

As the title of today's entry states, this is only "a glimmer of hope", as we still need to get a Buyer for The Pile.  We did have a viewing today, but we have yet to receive any feedback.

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* Maybe our bees bring us luck?  When we spoke to the seller we mentioned that the orchard and paddock would be perfect for the hives and she instantly responded that her father had kept bees.  It's a little odd how keeping bees seems to lead to all sorts of new encounters and relationships.  I even had my Boss ping me over the weekend to ask for advice about a bumblebee nest in his garden.

Who turned the heating off?

This week it has been reported that we have had the sunniest Spring on record.*

Today's weather was therefore something of a shock.  I awoke to a grey sky and drizzle with temperatures ten degrees** lower than they were yesterday.  It was cold and depressing after the glorious sunshine of May and breakfast was eaten inside rather than in the garden.

There is little to report for today.  The cooler weather meant that the dogs could have an afternoon walk around the Three Miler.  I also dragged the porn mower from the shed and endured forty minutes of fine rain as I tidied up a damp lawn in preparation for tomorrow's viewing. 

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*  Also the eighth warmest and fifth driest.

**  Celcius 

A quieter day

For the first time in a week it was a fairly normal day.  I got annoyed wth fuckwits at work and seemed to spend most of my time either placating people, who had been upset by Colleague R, or stopping him from making mountains out of molehills.

There were no house selling, emotional roller-coaster events, although the Agent did get a call from a potential buyer who advised that he'd be willing to come and have a look, provided that we were willing to accept twenty to thirty thousand less than the asking price, and that was only if the house didn't need any work doing to it.  Our Agent informed him that this was an unusual approach to house buying and that it was unlikely to get him a viewing appointment.  We all agreed that he could go and fuck himself!*

We do have another viewing on Thursday, so it looks like tomorrow will be mostly cleaning and tidying.

I did also brighten up the outside of the house by planting the raised bed with marigolds.  This has become an annual event over the past few years.  The bed is situated alongside the footpath and the orange of the marigolds add a welcome splash of colour to this rather austere aspect of the property.  The locals seem to love  it and are always very complimentary when they see us preparing and planting out the bed.

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*  We want to sell the house, but we are not desperate.  We have no intention of letting some tyre kicking arsehole walk through our home, spouting bullshit in an attempt to screw the price down below market value.

The bubble burst

Today we found out that our prospective buyers would not be making a further offer and had, in fact, submitted an offer on 30%'s "Uncle Brian's" house.

Obviously, Uncle Brian is well aware of our situation.  When they viewed his house he noted that they didn't seem that interested and his current opinion is that he doesn't trust them as far as he could throw them.  He is yet to respond to their offer.

We are very disappointed but, having completed the post match analysis, the warning flags were there from the start.  The Estate Agents had indicated that they didn't show the normal behaviours of a buyer* and the lack of response after we rejected their opening offer was certainly not the norm.  The more we think about it, the more we conclude that it was never a proper offer and it is better for the sale to fall through now, than after we had spent a few thousand on Solicitor and Surveyor fees.

We are both very cross and very disappointed at having to withdraw our offer on the cottage, but we have a couple more viewings of The Pile in the pipeline, so let's just wait and see.

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*  Remember, they viewed the house three times, including a visit for their daughter to "chose her new bedroom".  Their feedback was gushingly positive ... and then just lost all interest when their opening offer was knocked back. Strange!

Surely it can't be that difficult?

This morning started with a delivery ...

I've been in contact with a chap down in the village who is anxious to get a nucleus colony of bees installed in his new hive.  To be honest, I'm not sure* that he is sufficiently prepared, but all I can do is give him a few pointers and hope that he a) listens,  b) follows sound advice and c) joins a club and gets himself a mentor.

So, as I said, this morning I trundled down to his house and spent forty minutes installing six frames of bees in his hive.  He is going to have a few challenges as my frames aren't really compatible with his hive.  I've already mentioned that he isn't properly prepared and not being aware that there are several frame and hive types, most of which are not cross-compatible, was his first major crime.**  For Fuck's Sake!  Keeping bees is challenging enough, without making it even more complicated by trying to migrate bees from one type of hive to another. 

Anyway, the frames were introduced and I left him with some basic instructions to follow over the next days and weeks.  I don't want him to fail,  but, at the same time, I have no desire to take on another mentee.*** 

I've advised him to do weekly inspections, but does he know what he is actually looking for?  Can he identify queen cups and swarm cells? Can he spot eggs and young larvae?  Can he even identify a worker, drone or queen?  The list of questions and concerns is as long as my arm, but 30%'s advice is ringing in my ears "You've done everything you can, its his problem now".

The problem is that I feel a sense of responsibility for the future of the colony.  I don't want a novice beekeeper's ignorance to lead to the demise of a colony of honey bees.

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*  Actually I am bloody positive that he is nowhere near sufficiently prepared.  His comment that he had "watched a few YouTube videos" told me that he has severely underestimated the knowledge and skill needed to maintain a colony or two.

**  Try fitting a Ford fuel injection system to a Volvo and see how far you get. 

*** This is a hideous word and I actually cringe as I type it.

A bit of normality

Earlier in the week Bubbles sent me a WhatsApp asking if I fancied going clay pigeon shooting this morning. 

It has been more than ten weeks since I last shot* and I'm not that good at the best of times, so I was expecting to be absolutely appalling after two and half months without laying a finger on a shotgun.  There was also going to be the novelty of the new social distancing procedures that had been implemented to minimise the risk of infection.  It was going to be a strange mix of familiar and new routines.

It was quite reassuring to go through the pre-shoot routine.  110 fibre wad cartridges in the bag ... check.  Ear plugs and shooting glasses ... check.  Hat, shooting gilet and licence ... check.  Finally I unlocked the gun safe, pulled my Browning out of her "sock" and zipped her in to a gun slip.  I was ready to go out and smash some clays.

Today's shooting ground of choice was the Hereford & Worcester ground over on the other side of Redditch.  Bubbles had got us booked in for a 10.15 start and we navigated our way through the new one-way system to pay and enter the ground.

I volunteered to shoot first at stand #1 and was somewhat apprehensive as I loaded and shouldered my gun.  I called "pull" and Bubbles released the first clay.  I tracked the clay's path, fired and missed.  There was no time to think as the sound of the first shot was the signal for Bubbles to release the second clay.  I picked up the path of the second clay, took aim and fired.  I was rewarded with the sight of clay fragments raining down.  

It is fair to say that I was somewhat relieved that I had managed to "get my eye in" and hit one of the targets.  Eight more clays followed in quick succession and my score for the first stand was 5/10.  It's not a great score, but after a ten week gap I was happy enough ... it could have been a whole lot worse.

Before lockdown my percentage score was mid to high fifties on a good day and forties on a not so good day.  Today I managed 56% and was quite chuffed.  Bubbles is a far better shot than I, and scored a solid 81%.

Bubbles did say "You'd better check my maths"

The thing is, we both agreed that the shooting was great.  What can't you love about using a shotgun to blow targets to smithereens? However, the camaraderie was equally as important.  It was lovely to wander around in the sun talking bullshit, catching up on each other's news and alternating between congratulating great shots and ripping the piss when we missed the easy ones.

Now I've got to clean my gun.

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*  14th March at Hailes Shooting Ground

The suspense is intense

Our BAFO* on Pile #2 has been accepted.  There was a momentary pause for a minor celebration, but we still need to get a firm offer in place on The Pile.  Our potential buyers have been in contact with the Estate Agent, advising that they had viewed another property yesterday, but "it wasn't for them".  They have another house to look at this afternoon** and then they will get back to the Agent about our house.  They say that they, and their daughter, love our house, so we can only wait and see.

You can rest assured that we are constantly revisiting our decisions and second guessing each and every one of them.  Should we have accepted their only offer?  Surely everyone comes in with a low bid at first?  Then there is the forensic analysis and reanalysis of the scant facts with the hope that the cosmic tumblers will, once again, click in to place an unlock a new future for us.

30% keeps telling me that "it will happen if it is meant to be", but, as you have probably worked out,  I'm not a great believer in fate*** and am currently thinking "have we fucked this up"?

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*  Best and final offer.

**  This turned out to be the home of 30%'s "Uncle Brian".  It is £50K more expensive than ours and has the space they need, but not the location.  30% interrogated Uncle B via FaceBook and his view was that they didn't seem that interested.

*** Now the bell shaped curve of probability is a completely different thing.  Everybody gets lucky once in a while.

Who is going to blink first?

It came as no surprise that our opening offer on the property was rejected.  It was £20K under the asking price, but surely no-one starts a negotiation with their best and final offer?

Well, it appears that may be the case with our potential buyers.  The feedback from the Agents is that they are not going to come back with another offer and are, in fact, now going to look at other properties in the area.

So today was spent with very high stress levels with both of us wondering whether we had messed up by not accepting the one and only offer on The Pile.  We are both aware that it was a very good offer and was only 3.33% less than our asking price.  Have we fucked this up?

Later in the day 30% did some social media stalking of our potential buyer and discovered that she was a senior buyer for an automobile manufacturer.  This is a women that understands the art of negotiation and this had a somewhat calming effect.

Are we in a staring contest where it is a case of who will blink first?  If she blinks we get a few more grand and that will certainly help with fees and stamp duty.  If we blink first the buyer gets the house for her opening offer.

Our desire to buy the house we have viewed is obviously a massive incentive to cave in and accept the offer.  It is fair to say that this is a nerve wracking situation.

We have done our sums and worked out that we can afford to buy the new house for its asking price, based on what our potential buyer has offered.  We will need to hit our savings hard, but we are willing to do so.

This evening we submitted an increased offer on the new house, well aware that we can't proceed until our potential buyer blinks.

It looks perfect

With an offer made on The Pile, we promptly made an appointment to view the property that we had driven out to look at last Saturday.

At eleven o'clock this morning we turned up for our viewing and were both bowled over by the house, its gardens and its views over South Worcestershire.  Admittedly it will need redecorating and, in time, the kitchen and bathrooms will need to be updated, but it is a property where you could just move in and enjoy your new home.

We both absolutely loved it and put in an opening offer as soon as we got home ...

The only problem is that our potential buyers haven't come back to us with an improved offer.  It is fair to say that our stress levels have not subsided.

A disturbance in The Force

The possibility of moving house suddenly got very real!

After more than fifteen years here at The Pile we have become very accustomed to our environment and our daily routines.  One might say "stuck in a rut". If that is the case, it is a very pleasant "rut" and I would argue that we have just become very settled to, and comfortable with, our life here in the village.

There was, therefore, a massive disturbance in The Force today, when we received a very respectable offer for the house.  All of a sudden everything that seemed permanent was not.  Our future was unclear and a thousand questions filled our heads.  

It is fair to say that both of us were very unsettled by this sudden turn of events.  I know that this is the natural order of things when you put your house up for sale, but after the complete lack of interest a couple of years ago, we didn't expect anything ... but we did hope.

Needless to say we have politely rejected the first offer.  As I said, it was a good offer, but surely the prospective buyer has left some wiggle room and can up a little more ... After all we have conveyancing, removals and stamp duty to consider.

Other stuff

Obviously 30% and I are in a head spin as a result of today's news, but life goes on and there were a couple of other noteworthy events ...

Firstly, Dog #3's recent behaviour can now be explained.  She has come in to season over the weekend and is unbelievably clingy at the moment.  She is a complete "wuss" at the best of times, but can now be found lying outstretched on the sofa with a pained expression and exhibiting the occasional whimper.*  

I also grabbed a camera and took a few pictures of the Moto Guzzi to preserve her for posterity.

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*  This could be due to the indignity of having to wear a pair of Huggies pull-ups to prevent any mess.