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.