The Beast

I had problems getting my act together this morning.  I had jobs that needed to be done, but I just could not get my arse in to gear.

30% busied herself with further tidying of her Pineapple Broom's bed and suggested that we could complete a Tip Run before we needed to head in to Redditch to view the new, old mower.  I grudgingly agreed, fell in to line and soon found myself happily extracting items of garden debris and piling them up by the trailer.

At this point I should probably mention that the previous owner of the cottage was a) a bit of a hoarder and b) a bit of a bodger. The phrase "why do a job properly when you can assemble a half-arsed mess of inappropriate items" accurately sums up his approach. Over the past three years I have removed all sorts of stuff from gaps in the fences and hedges. We assume these were attempts to constrain Archie, their son's Lurcher. And, as for the chicken house, do not get me started on that abomination!*

Right! Back to the Tip Run. Obviously the Porn Mower was destined for recycling and it was joined in the trailer with several large sheets of metal mesh and plastic that had been inserted at various points in our boundary hedges. A few other odds 'n sods were added to the load and off we went to Hanbury tip.

A quick lunch was eaten on our return, before we headed off to Redditch to have a look at the second-hand mower.  It was a Honda engined McCulloch that was originally a self-propelled unit.  Time and some abuse had resulted in the failure of the self-drive functionality and it had been serviced and converted to a push only mower.

It started easily and seems perfect for hacking back the grass and weeds on the rough ground in the orchard. If it only lasts a season it will have earned its keep.

Hands were shaken, money was handed over and the Beast was loaded in to the back of the Defender. We then headed over to Evesham to pick up a prescription and a few comestibles.

Back at home it was time to try out the Beast and it was absolutely brilliant. I spent a merry couple of hours in the orchard and it was only thirst and a need to spray more nettles that brought the fun to a close. 

With a few more hours up there, it will start to look almost civilised.

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* Definitely a crime against carpentry and shed construction in general

How many lawn mowers does a man need?

 Achieving anything significant today was always going to be challenging. 

Hobson and Whiffler were booked in at the Groomers and this meant that at least an hour needed to be put aside at both ends of the day to ferry them to and from Stratford-upon-Avon.  "OK" I hear you say "but that is only a couple of hours, three at most" and I agree, but when you add in compulsory coffee breaks and a definite need to change in and out of filthy gardening clothes, the couple of hours becomes a significant disruption.

So, the day panned out as follows. We dropped them off in the morning and then headed over to Evesham with Dog#4 for coffee and a wander round the shops at The Valley.  That consumed most of the morning.

The afternoon was mostly pottering, but the most significant occurrence was that 30% has made contact with a chap in Redditch via Facebook Marketplace who has a second-hand mower for sale for a very reasonable sixty quid.

"Why the fuck do you need another Mower?" I hear you ask "You already have a ride-on that you rarely use and there is a one day old Mountfield sat in the shed!"  Well, these are good points, but you are forgetting that I blew up the Porn Mower* attempting to tame the orchard on Saturday. There is no way that I am going to expose my Beauties to the wilds of the orchard. 

If I am going to kill another mower it is going to be some cheap, potentially knackered old bastard from The Ditch!

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* God Bless its eternal soul

Out with the old, in with the new

 The forecast for today was torrential rain, which was due to arrive by lunchtime. That had a significant impact on our gardening plans and we ended up doing little jobs that could be easily aborted as the morning showers came and went.

30% contented herself with weeding out in the front, whilst I nipped out the side shoots and trained the tomatoes in the greenhouse. I then headed out to the vegetable garden and planted another row of spring onions and also a row of beetroot in the larger of the two raised beds. The carrots in the smaller bed were thinned about a week ago and are looking fantastic with their feathery foliage, evenly spaced in five neat rows.

In the early afternoon we headed in to Worcester to pick up the new lawn mower and collect a few sundries from the supermarket just over the road from Ron Smith Ltd. We were back home by two o'clock, just as the rain started.

30%'s life is punctuated by coffee breaks. Every activity is either preceded by, or followed up, with a cup of coffee, so our safe arrival home was celebrated with a cup of "instant" before I assembled the mower. 

It didn't seem to be an overly complex job. The push handle needed to be fixed in to place and the grass collection bag needed to be assembled. However, If I am honest, the task was made more complicated by the fucking appalling, infographic loaded, multi language pamphlet that had been substituted for a proper manual.* The booklet covered three model ranges and had model dependent assembly instructions. Unfortunately the diagrams did not make clear which model they for and there were a couple of steps that had to be redone after moments of inspiration, gifted by the deity** of lawn mowing.

As for the grass collection bag, do not get me started! The only reason I was able to get this put together was that I had read a couple of on-line reviews, and learnt that, if assembled inside out, the bag would simply fall apart once it was half full of clippings. It still took me a couple of attempts and a bloody big screwdriver to clip the bag on to its metal supports. What makes this worse is that I rarely use the grass collection bag, preferring to mow in mulch mode.

Anyway, rant over. All I need to do now is to decide on a name for the new mower.

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* A full manual is available on-line, but I am assembling the mower sheltered from the rain in the shed and I am sixty years old. There is no fucking way that I am going to use a tiny phone screen that turns off five seconds after I put the damned thing down, in order to tighten up the next bolt in the assembly process. I want a proper bloody manual that I can put down, open at the correct page and then glance at it when I am ready to follow the next step in the process. Is that too much to ask for Mountfield?

** Worship this all knowing entity properly and make the correct offerings.*** Then you can be certain of fine weather and a dry sward on the day you want to mow the lawn.

*** I have clearly fucked this god properly off as I have recently been stricken with a plague of moles!

Shooting at South Worcester

 A short one today!

In the eight months I worked at my last job I only managed to develop one working relationship. That says a lot about how badly the remote team was managed and it was probably the primary reason why I decided to retire. For someone who enjoys the solitude of home working, it is somewhat ironic that I found it a very lonely job. In every other remote working job I have had, the teams have been well managed and working relationships established with ease, many of them developing in to friendships.

That didn't happen with DXC* with the exception of the relationship with Gary.  A few months in to my employment I was assigned to shadow a deal being led by Gary and within a few minutes of our first phone call we realised that we were both cynical bastards that liked shooting.  The relationship blossomed and we have continued to keep in touch. 

His role in the relationship is to remind me how shit it is working for a living and my role is to piss him off by telling him how great retirement is.

Anyway, today he came down from Nottinghamshire and we went shooting with Bubbles and Ben at South Worcester shooting ground just the other side of Upton-upon-Severn. We had a splendid few hours in lovely sunshine and then headed back here for bacon rolls and a chat.

Once Gary had headed off I had a traditional Sunday afternoon snooze, followed by a very lazy evening.

All in all a grand Sunday!

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* The manager was, at best, a dispatcher who was fucking useless. He loved the sound of his own voice, but hadn't got a frigging clue how to listen or manage and unite a remote team. I realised very early on in my employment that he was pretty clueless and nothing changed my opinion in my time there. He seemed completely disinterested in how I was integrating in to the role and didn't assign me any work for over six months. There were a few nice people** on the team, but there was no opportunity or apparent willingness to develop relationships. It was basically just a bunch of middle aged men with their own assignments under a common manager.

** There were a couple of complete fucking pricks too, but, fortunately, they were relatively easy to avoid.

The King is Dead, Long Live the King

Saturday started with a trip in to Evesham to fill the Defender with diesel and to pick up a couple of bags of chipped bark. These were needed to mulch the bed that is now home to the Pineapple Broom.  En route we passed Golls Nursery and managed to pop in on both the outbound and inbound journeys!  We purchased three lovely little Coleus plants with the most beautiful russet coloured foliage. They aren't frost hardy, but, for the moment, they look lovely in the recently cleared bed.

Mole news; I learnt that the Wikipedia statement about them being "solitary creatures" is complete bollocks! Another of the little sods has created a new molehill barely inches from yesterday's successful trapping.  I've got over my mole killing remorse very quickly and have re-set the bloody trap.

I then dragged the mower from the shed and whizzed around the back lawn and greenhouses.  With the rear of the cottage looking neat and tidy, I decided to take the mower up in to the orchard and see whether it would be feasible to mow it.

At this point I probably need to state that the grass and weeds in the orchard are close to knee height and it is nearly quarter of an acre in size. This is the gardening equivalent of trying to paint the Forth Bridge with 2" paint brush.

Actually, I was very surprised! With the mower set to its highest cut it made a reasonable job of the test area* and both 30% and I were bowled over by how much better it looked.  We had already been talking about buying a second hand mower for use up there** and this trial has demonstrated that simply mowing the orchard vastly improves its appearance and will help to control the weeds and improve the sward.

In the afternoon I was persuaded to take a break from the garden and take a walk with 30% and the dogs. For a change we diverted from the Three Miler and headed over the little bridge towards the next hamlet.  A couple of hundred yards beyond the bridge we turned right on to the Bridle Path and found a delightful, overgrown, but easily passable path with lovely views over the fields.  We walked for, perhaps, half a mile before turning and heading back towards home and supper.

Back at home I decided to mow a little more of the orchard and re-started the mower. It has been making horrible noises for the past couple of outings and, after a couple of yards, it lost power and stalled. I attempted to restart it and, after a few pulls, got it going again, but it was very, very sick.  After thirteen years of faithful service it had finally expired.  Without a single look back, not a modicum of remorse I walked away, grabbed my tablet and got a new mower ordered ... I'll be picking that up on Monday. 

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* About 50 square yards

** Mowing the orchard is going to be very hard on any mower until the ground is levelled out, so I don't want to be buggering up a brand new mower up there.

Not all victories are glorious

I slept late this morning, well late for me, and was woken around eight o'clock by 30% with a mug of hot coffee.

After a very gentle start to the day, we divided and conquered. 30% headed out* whilst I attended to gardening matters.  The main vegetable crops were fed; tomatoes, cucumbers, cabbages and celeriac and then I went to inspect the mole trap ... Success!

I have caught one of the little blighters, but, despite yesterday's bluster, there is a poignancy to the deed. Moles are delightful little creatures and, as I have said before, I am perfectly happy for them to tunnel up in the orchard. And, for the past three years, that is exactly what they have done. It is a shame that there is no effective deterrent as that would be my preferred approach.

Midday approached and there was still no sight of 30%, so I dragged out the pawn mower and made a start on the front lawn. It was making a horrible noise, so I stopped and checked the blade. It is securely bolted to the drive shaft, but there is a lot of play and my imagination headed off down a very dark alley ... the one where the blade breaks loose from the drive shaft, exits the mower deck at the rear and shears off my feet at the ankles.

It is definitely time for a new mower!

The afternoon saw us clear the last of the ivy and brambles from behind the re-discovered bed and finally get the Pineapple tree in to the ground.  This, of course, creates a whole new gardening debate based around "what ground cover plants should we go with?"

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* For a chat with her half-sister

Crossing the Line

 A couple of weeks ago I was looking out from the bathroom window* and noticed a small heap of freshly dug earth at the edge of the lawn. 

In an instant each and every nerve fibre was on full alert ... it was clearly an initial foray by every green keeper's nemesis; a mole!

Now we have moles up in the orchard and I am quite happy for them to live their little subterranean lives, munching on worms and creating heaps of soft, brown earth.  However there is a line that shall not be crossed and that line surrounds each and every one of the lawns.

"Do your moley shit in the orchard and all is fine. Any foray on to the lawns is an open declaration of war!"

Over the following days a few more molehills appeared and a mole trap was purchased.  Now for a little tangent. Years ago my father informed me that moles have a very keen sense of smell and one should always handle mole traps with hands that have been rubbed with earth to mask our scent. Taking heed of this I ensured that the new mole trap was rubbed with damp soil and buried for a day or so, before I set it in the mole's run.

The approach I used was to dig carefully down with a hand trowel and locate the run about 5" below the surface.  I place a few chopped worms in the run as bait and carefully set the trap in place.  A bucket was upturned over the trap to keep every thing nice and dark and all needed to do now was to go about my business.

Should the mole be piggybacking on my wifi and reading the Journal, I have this message for it ... I WILL END YOU, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!

The rest of the day involved some gentle gardening, an invitation from the coven to attend an Indian cuisine demonstration and an evening fishing at Fladbury with Bubbles.**

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* The WC in the bathroom is affectionately known as The Best Seat in the House.  We have no neighbours, so we have no need of opaque glass and therefore enjoy unobscured views across open fields when sat upon the loo.

** We had several good bites, but none were caught.

Can you freeze celeriac?

 I know it's a bit of an odd title for a Journal entry, but I'll get to the point in a moment, or two.

I woke early and wandered in to the kitchen to make coffee. A flash of colour outside the window caught my attention and my eyes fell upon a Greater Spotted Woodpecker searching for insects on the trunk of the Birch tree.  We have several woodpeckers in and around the garden and they are always a delight to see and hear.

As I watched it searching for food, a movement on the ground distracted me and I saw another quite large bird. It took me a moment to realise that it was a juvenile Green Woodpecker here in the garden.  We often hear these shy birds calling in the surrounding fields, but it was a rare treat to see one only a few yards from the kitchen window. 

So that was how my day started, coffee and a rarely seen avian dinosaur. 

Now on to celeriac and whether it can be frozen.  Both 30% and I love this versatile vegetable hence I have twenty plants doing quite nicely out in the veg patch. They are slow to germinate and grow, but I should have a decent crop by the end of the Autumn. 

I have grown them previously and the limited information available suggested that they could be left in the ground and simply lifted, as required, over the course of the Winter.  I found out the hard way that this advice was complete bollocks, as they turned to a revolting mush after the first couple of frosts.

I was therefore interested in finding a way to effectively store this vegetable to avoid another wasted crop. Research on the internet had indicated that it could be blanched and frozen, so that is what I tried this morning.  

The celeriac bulb was peeled, cut in to 2cm cubes and added to a pan of boiling water. Once the water had returned to the boil, it was left to simmer for two and a half minutes before being drained and plunged in to iced water.  After chilling, the cubes of celeriac were patted dry with a fresh tea towel and then frozen loose on a tray. They will be bagged up tomorrow and then left for a month or two, before I thaw them out and see if it is an effective method of preservation.

The alternative is to simply lift them out of the ground, clean them off and store them in a box of peat in a cool, dry, frost free place.  My only concern is that the bloody mice will be at them before I shut the door on the store room.

The rest of the day saw me mostly out and about in the garden. I finally got the BMW hooked up to the battery optimiser and it is now neatly covered in the car port. 30% and I gave the dogs a short walk and finally got the Azure Rush Geraniums and Lemon Popsicle Kniphofia planted after they had sat patiently in pots for far too long a good while.

The big job of the afternoon was to prepare space in the garden for 30%'s recently acquired Pineapple Tree (Cytisus battandieri).  The chosen spot was a very overgrown bed to the rear of the vegetable garden up against the orchard fence.  The bed was home to a monstrous, tangled privet, a healthy crop of stinging nettles and a red currant that had last cropped when I was a child. It is fair to say that clearing the bed was a bit of a job and, by the end of the afternoon, several barrow loads of greenery had been piled in the orchard for burning at a later date.

We haven't finished the clearance yet, but we can see that we now have a bed that is about 5' x 8' and it should be perfect for the Pineapple Tree ... once I get those bloody roots out!

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* I must jot down the celeriac soup recipe I use. It is a fabulous rich creamy soup that must be good for you, it has vegetables in it.**

** Yes Bad Man, it also has six ounces of butter and half a pint of double cream too!

Car Cleaning, take #2

 This morning I looked out to see steady rain falling from a grey sky and was not encouraged to venture out in to the garden.

30% enquired as to my plans for the day and I knew that I had to come up with something pretty quickly or I was going to be guilt tripped persuaded to spend a soggy delightful morning engaged in horticultural activities.  I got the cerebral cogs whirring and came up with a genius idea ... I assembled a shopping list based on recent conversations and added in that we could also do with another couple of litres of deionised water for the incubator. 

This final item was the trump card. 30% loves her chickens and there was no way that the current batch of potential chickens would be risked in any way. If the incubator needs deionised water, it shall be done!

The morning was therefore spent wandering around a supermarket that was several degrees centigrade cooler than I would have liked.* It was, however, far drier than outside.

The afternoon saw me, once again, attempt to get the BMW clean before being put away in the car port. If I am honest I have been dragging my heels on this particular task as it is a real faff.  What with hose pipes, pressure washers, extension reels, buckets and car cleaning products there is half an hour of set-up before a drop of water makes contact with the car. And then there is the tidy up at the end ... ball ache!

Anyway, I managed to get myself sufficiently motivated and the car is now much cleaner and finally slotted in to the car port. Tomorrow should see it connected to a battery optimiser and sheeted up for the next few months.

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* What is it about these bloody places! They are fucking freezing inside! A few weeks ago I was dragged in to Sainsbury's in Redditch and had to huddle by the Rotisserie Chicken stand for warmth whilst 30% picked up a couple of items. I kid you not when I say that a member of staff sidled up, asked if I was cold and then admitted that she often lingered in the same warm spot for a couple of minutes to thaw out.

Domesticity

 Today was another quiet day. I had great plans which included lawn mowing and car washing, or even hoeing the veg patch, but, as the day drew to a close, they were still just that ... plans.

30% was out for much of today attending a family funeral.  I had offered support, but she was quite happy to go alone. It was one of those funerals where the relationship with the sadly deceased had declined over time, having been more than thirty years since she last saw this aunt.  It was, therefore, a relatively pain free experience and, when she eventually returned from the wake,* she seemed to have had a pleasant time catching up with her Father's side of the family.

As she left there was a casual reference to stripping of beds and domesticity became my focus for the day.  Beds were stripped, bed linen was laundered and line dried. The dishwasher was emptied and refilled and so the day ambled forward. 

If I am truly honest, the pace was leisurely and I didn't break a sweat until I decided that the dogs should be walked in the early afternoon.  The weather is still cool for the time of year, but the dogs were panting and I ended the walk wishing that I had left my hat** and sweatshirt at home.

The walk was followed by a snooze and I then undertook a job that, it seems, only I find deeply satisfying ... I cleaned two pairs of my boots.  

Many years ago someone said that you can judge a character by looking at a persons shoes and you can judge their spending power by looking at their watch. I must think that there is something in this observation.  I have often looked at sharply dressed individuals and then looked down to see dirty, scuffed shoes.  The entire ensemble has failed because the individual couldn't be arsed to spend twenty minutes polishing their shoes ... Why wouldn't you do that? And what does this tell you about the character of that individual?

Anyway that's enough for today ... domestic trivia, dog walking, depilation and character judgements.

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* There was mention of hot sausage rolls. They sounded lovely, but clearly way too large for one to be sneaked out in her handbag ... sad face emoji

** A hat is now required safety wear*** as I have sported a shaved head clipped scalp since the covid lockdown of 2020. I had a full head of hair when 30% and I got married, but when I saw the wedding pictures it was very clear that I was going quite thin at the back.  We entered lockdown shortly after the wedding and a haircut was not possible, so I grabbed the clippers and clipped it back to my scalp.  I have sported a haircut varying from skinhead to suedehead, depending on the interval between cuts ever since.

Well, today I went one step further. Having clipped my hair earlier in the day I was well aware that there is often a tuft of hair left at the back because it is actually quite difficult to see the back of one's head.  This is a source of amusement for 30%. I therefore decided to wet shave my head. I had never done this before and really wasn't sure how it would go, but it was really easy and I now sport a tuft free, smooth pate.

*** Be skin cancer aware, kids!

Day of Rest

 After Saturday's comings and goings Sunday was always going to be a day of rest.

30% and I started the day at a leisurely pace and were joined by Bubbles shortly after nine o'clock.  He has his motorcycle compulsory basic training arranged for next Wednesday and had come over to get a little more experience on my Moto Guzzi.  He is doing really well, considering this is only his second time on a bike, and was soon riding smoothly up and down the lane with much improved gear changes.

Bubbles hung around until shortly before lunch and the time was filled with chat and coffee.

TP finally turned up in the early afternoon after yesterday's Ibiza Classic gig at Ragley.  We caught up on each others' news and were joined by Charlie to discuss a potential motorcycle tour of the Pyrenees. When I say "potential" it is an actual tour for TP and Charlie, taking place at the beginning of September.  My participation was the potential factor.  Unfortunately I am not going to be joining the tour due to dog, and probably chicken, sitting duties, as 30% will be in London that week.

As the afternoon turned to evening I helped TP adjust the chain on his BMW and we soon learn that he really needs a new chain and sprockets, especially as he will be touring on it later in the Summer.

That just about sums up Sunday. A traditional Sunday dinner was eaten and an extended period of vegetation took place.

Out and About

 Friday was a day of breezy, sunny intervals. Saturday was most definitely not! 

The morning was vile. Rain fell from a grey sky and it was chilly. It is quite amazing that, for the past two or three days, it has been cool enough overnight that our central heating has fired up in the early morning to take away the chill. It hasn't been running full blast but the radiators have been warm to the touch.

Today was going to be fairly busy and I was driving down the lane by eight this morning. The rain worsened as I headed over to the Cotswold Shooting Ground and, by the time I got there, my mind was made up; there was no bloody way I was going to shoot in this crappy weather.*

I informed Bubbles and the rest of the squad of my decision, but they persuaded me to stay and score for them, rather than heading straight back home. I actually had a fun morning chatting and laughing and didn't miss not shooting. I don't shoot well in a heavy coat and the bonus was that I hadn't spent seventy quid on cartridges and the clays.

Back at home I discovered that the cleaning fairies had been busy while I was out, as had the cookery elves, and I returned to a much tidier home than the one I had left. 

As we lunched we noted that the weather seemed to have improved and we decided that we would make use of the two virtual tickets to Hanbury Show that were sitting in 30%'s inbox.  Hanbury is only a few miles down the road and their agricultural show is a little gem.  It is not huge like the Three Counties or The Royal Welsh, but it is just lovely. It is well attended, well organised and has everything one would expect at a manageable scale.  We had a lovely few hours wandering around. A few showers were dodged and an ice cream was shared.  We fell in love several times as we wandered along the pig pens and future plans for the orchard may well involve a pair of these lovely animals.

In the evening we headed over to Huntingdon Hall in Worcester to see Richard Herring's Can I have my ball back? stand up show.  We have seen Richard many times and this deeply personal account of his testicular cancer experiences was brilliantly funny and delivered with pace and enthusiasm.  It is many years since we were last at the Hall and I had forgotten just how intimate it is. We were a couple of rows back from the stage and had a huge sense of connection with the performer.

So that just about covers Saturday.  TP is attending the Classic Ibiza gig at Ragley Hall this evening and the weather appears to have settled. We haven't a clue where he is sleeping, just that he is likely to be making an appearance at the cottage at some point on Sunday ... probably nursing a monstrous hangover!

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* I had a fairly busy day planned and I really didn't want to add an hour of gun cleaning to the schedule.

The weekend begins

 Clearly I haven't lost the habits established over thirty seven years of work because Friday was very much a lazy day marking the transition to the weekend. Although every day is a Saturday or a Sunday now we are retired the weekend still has special status. I suppose it is because a significant proportion of our friends are still working and many events are scheduled for the weekend.

Anyway, back to Friday, I did very little. It was as quiet as Thursday was busy, I took a walk sans chiens in to the village to collect a prescription from the surgery and that was about it. I did also sit out in the sun and tie a few hair rigs* in preparation for next week's fishing trip, but that really was just an excuse to catch a few rays.

The afternoon involved a snooze on the sofa and some watering in the garden before 30% returned from her Spa break.

Not a fascinating read, I will admit, but my pre-weekend** was just perfect.

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* Hair Rig: an item of fishing tackle that is attached to the end of one's line. It allows bait to be presented whilst sitting alongside, rather than attached to, the hook

** Apparently the Yoof  portmanteau this to Prekend.

The Power of the List

I am a strong believer in the power of the list. I find that simply documenting a set of objectives is an incredible motivator, leading to an effective use of my time.

Now this may sound like the introduction to a Manage Your Way to Success self help tome. And, if you think about it, a lot of the management and business process stuff that is spouted is simply based on making a list. The only difference is that the management publications add a lot of posh words and superfluous waffle, taking a chapter to over-explain something that only really needs a couple of sentences.

Let me explain ...

The first thing that needs to be done is to think about the things that need to be done.  In the world of business and projects this will range in description from a Brainstorming Session to Producing a Work Breakdown Structure. Fundamentally they are both just stages in identifying shit that needs to be completed.

Now we move on to documenting writing out the list of things that need to get done.  As soon as we start to prioritise and sequence that list we are  Identifying The Critical Path and when we start to estimate the time needed to complete each activity and what is needed to complete it we are in to Resource Planning and Duration Estimation. Fundamentally we have entered the world of Project Planning.

If we take the aforementioned list and share it with one's partner for their views and input, we have identified a Stakeholder, initiated a Review Process and probably initiated a Governance Process too.

As soon as we start to address the items on the list, crossing them out as we complete them, we are Project Managers and, as we let our signifiant other know how we are doing, we have established a Reporting Process.

I will wager that there are individuals and corporations out there making a handsome living via the medium of LinkedIn on-line seminars that are fundamentally based on just making a bloody list and working your way through it.

As for me, I hit my list hard today and got a lot of shit done.

The incubator was fired up as soon as I got my first cup of coffee down my throat and fingers are crossed for a successful hatching in twenty one days time.

I then hit the internet and completed a click and connect order at Screwfix. After breakfasting I gathered my photo ID and headed off to pick up my order. On the way back I had a minor detour via the polling station to vote.

Back at home I successfully negotiated the NHS App and managed to submit a request for some eye drops before I headed out to the garden.  Initially the weather was cool and breezy and I sheltered in the greenhouse nipping out the tomato side shoots and training the vines. As the weather warmed I headed out to the veg patch and planted another batch of runner beans along with the bamboo teepees needed to support them.

Thursday night is fishing night and the dogs would be home alone this evening, so I took them out for a good walk as recompense, before I headed over to Barton. I only fished until about half past nine and didn't see much action, although Bubbles landed a couple of chub shortly after I left ... Typical!

So, there you have it. A cynical discourse on management bull shit or support for the power of the list. Either way, I got a lot done today.

An early start

 We were out of the house and heading towards darkest Herefordshire shortly after eight o'clock this morning.  

It was a ninety minute drive to reach Pembridge Poultry where we picked up twenty fertile eggs.  We have ten eggs from Cuckoo Marans and Norfolk Grey breeds and these will be rested overnight before being placed in our incubator tomorrow morning.

30% is now praying for a 100% hatch and no cockerels!

On the way back from Pembridge we picked up Jules and headed back home. A quick lunch was taken before 30% and Jules headed off towards Ashby-de-la-zouch for a couple of days of R 'n R at Champneys Spa.

I was left to my own devices, so made best use of my time by having a massive kip on the sofa.* Feeling marginally refreshed, I hauled my backside outside and spent a couple of hours dismantling and de-nailing the pallet that held our new poultry house. My pile of softwood further increases, and is now joined by a large sack of kindling.

As the afternoon drew in to evening I did what any man alone did** and threw a pizza in the oven.***

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* In my defence I will offer that I was awake by half past four this morning and tossed and turned for about forty minutes, before rising just after five o'clock.

** No, not that! You smutty sod!

*** I love to cook, but cooking for one can seem like a massive amount of effort with none of the reward that comes from sharing a meal.

But no eggs

 We had a full agenda planned for today. Well, we did until the 'phone rang before breakfast.

We had arranged to head over to Pembridge this morning to pick up some fertile hens eggs. That trip was abandoned when the poultry breeder called to let us know that "something had come up" and could we, instead, call later in the day.  Unfortunately that was going to clash with a couple of other scheduled appointments, so it looks like we'll be collecting the eggs tomorrow instead.

Our morning was now free, so I filled a bowl with hot, soapy water and headed out to the Store Room and spent a good part of the morning cleaning the bacon slicer and storing it away.

The afternoon's appointments were both of an optical nature. I had a diabetic eye screening test in Redditch and 30% had a post cataract surgery checkup in Alcester.  Her eye is healing beautifully and she can relax and look forward to her planned two night stay at a Spa, starting tomorrow.

All of this excitement resulted in a fairly long snooze on the sofa, before I headed out around the Three Miler with Bobbyn and the dogs.

That just about covers Tuesday's comings and goings apart from the fact that Bubbles has managed to pick up a couple of very inexpensive, but favourably reviewed, Fly Fishing outfits from the Middle of Lidl.  We both had a fly fishing lesson back in April and thoroughly enjoyed it.* We fancy another go, but didn't want to spend a fortune on equipment that will only be used infrequently. The thirty quid outfits seem ideal, so it looks like we will need to plan another trip up to the trout lake.

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* and the trout we caught, which I baked in a jacket of breadcrumbs, chopped smoked bacon and lemon zest. 

Bacon Everywhere

 After a weekend spent smoking bacon, today's mission was to get the loins and belly sliced and packed.

It took me a few minutes to get everything prepared and I was making inroads in to the bacon mountain shortly after 30% headed off for a manicure.  It is a slow repetitive process and processing the meat took the best part of five hours. After slicing the rashers are divided in to 8 oz portions and these are vacuum packed, before being frozen for later consumption.

The final score was 17lb 8oz of back bacon, 2lb 8oz of streaky bacon and just under 8oz of lardons. For the mathematically disinclined that amounts to over 20lb of dry cured, smoked bacon and doesn't include the 10oz of rashers that are wrapped in clingfilm in the bottom of the fridge.

After clearing up*, I took a well earned snooze and then pottered for the rest of the afternoon. Ingredients were thrown in to the bread maker and buttons were pressed,** plants were watered and grumbles were shared about the current, cool, breezy weather after the lovely sunshine in the last days of June.

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* When I say "cleared up" what I really mean is that the kitchen is free of packing paraphernalia and the work surfaces are visible. I still need to dismantle and clean the slicer, but that can wait a day or two.

** Some people would say that they "made bread", but that seems like gross exaggeration to me. The machine does all of the work.

An Ulterior Motive

 This morning I unwrapped the two cured loins and placed them in the tea chest smoker.  It is barely big enough and they hang barely a centimetre above the smoke generating tray.  I got the smoker lit early and 30% and I went about our morning.

30%'s high level plan was for us to meet up with Michelle for coffee and take in a garden centre.  This plan evolved and we took in a local aquatics establishment and this really got us thinking about pond options up in the orchard. They had a large pond with beautiful marginal plants including the quite splendid Gunnera.  This really got us thinking as we have had recent conversations about the options for a wildlife pond up there ... let's see how this evolves.

After coffee, cake and pond viewing we headed over to Golls Nurseries for a wander around their displays with Michelle. She is new to gardening, but very keen and we did our best to impart what little horticultural knowledge we have.

Back at home we lunched and I headed out to the larger of the two greenhouses to fit a couple of automatic openers to the roof vents. Hopefully that will help temper the temperatures, which can exceed 45 ℃ on a sunny day.

In the evening we were joined by Bubbles, Bobbyn and their pack of mini terrorists* for dinner. This is where the "ulterior motive" became relevant.  When 30% invited them over she made clear that recompense for dinner would be sought and that recompense would be assistance with moving the new chicken house up to the orchard.

The orchard gateway is a little over 3' wide and the chicken house is a modern recycled plastic ark that is wider still.  Help was definitely needed to carry the large coop. Bubbles and I manhandled it off the pallet and our initial thoughts were that it looked like it was going to be a bit of a pig to move. However investigation of its interior revealed very clever design and the two perches, once installed, protruded from the front and rear of the ark and made perfect poles to carry it up the garden.

Lifting it over the gateway was also less effort than expected and it now sits up under the Bramley apple tree until we decide where to locate it. We have already decided that we may use a clear tarpaulin in an attempt to keep the run dry in the wetter months.

The next step is chickens and we are off to pick up some fertile eggs on Tuesday.

Dinner was lovely and, like perfect guests, B&B left relatively early allowing us to spend an hour or two relaxing before another hectic week of retirement.

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* Three Parsons Jack Russel x Patterdale terriers; Lupin, Luna and Bellatrix**

** Bobbyn is a huge Harry Potter fan.

You can't have too many tealights

 ... or, perhaps you can!

The recent spell of warm dry weather meant that the lawns looked a little straggly and, having procrastinated for the latter half of the week, I finally dragged the ailing porn mower* from the shed and attended to all but the front lawn. I'm glad I did, as the transformation made the effort worthwhile.

Having attended to the garden, 30% and I lunched and tidied ourselves up for a trip over to The Regal in Evesham to see Susie Dent present her Secret Life of Words lecture.

I hadn't been to The Regal for the best part of forty years and it has benefited from refurbishment and a reimagining and now hosts a variety of entertainments from films through to live performances. The seating is now comfortable and well spaced and food and drink are now delivered to your seat.  It is a really pleasant venue and I was very impressed by the whole experience.

Susie's performance was relaxed, informative and amusing and I thoroughly enjoyed it. As someone who has, perhaps, slightly more than a passing interest in words** I was familiar with much of her narrative, but I had a great afternoon relaxing with a large gin and tonic listening to well presented, interesting stuff. 

On the way out of Evesham we popped in to a supermarket to pick up a couple of essentials and one of these was a packet of tealights.  One might wonder why I regarded tealights as essentials and I have to report that this is massive and recent change in my perspective.

Warning! There now follows a rambling and, probably, uninteresting tale ... 

For almost all of the time that 30% and I lived at The Pile*** there was a Tesco carrier bag hung on a hook on the right as one descended the stairs to the cellar.  In that bag were many tealights and I cannot recall a single occasion when one was removed from the bag and lit. The fact that we had so many of the damned things and never bloody used them was a running joke in the family, as was the decision to throw them out when we did the pre-move clear out in the Autumn and Winter of 2020.

Well! Today I finally needed a tealight as my new cold smoking tray was scheduled for delivery. The cold smoking tray is filled with sawdust and a tea light is used to light it. I was keen to get the recently cured bacon smoked hence the elevation of the humble tealight to an essential item. The irony of the disposal of a couple of hundred of them after fifteen years was not lost on the two of us.

A pack of fifty was the smallest quantity available and these were added to our shopping basket. Back at home I eagerly opened up the new cold smoking tray and read through the instructions. I quickly learnt that the tealight is only lit for about two or three minutes to get the sawdust burning and also that a tealight was provided.

We now estimate that I will be able to smoke foodstuffs on a daily basis until I pop my clogs and I will still not run out of tealights.

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* It's really not sounding healthy now

** Mother Tongue by Bill Bryson is a good introduction to the madness that is the English Language.

*** September 2004 to February 2021

Post Script: The new cold smoker worked beautifully on its first trial and the slab of streaky bacon is now hung bathed in smoke in my little tea chest smoker.

Nothing to see here

 It was another quiet day today.

30% headed out to the hairdresser early, and then on in to Worcester to pick up eye drops from the clinic.  While she was out I grabbed a hoe* and headed out to the garden. I spent some time on the many weeds making an appearance in the veg patch, before heading out around the Three Miler with the dogs.

My return coincided with that of 30% and both of us were starving, so lunch was taken early. I had planned a long snooze on the sofa, but this needed to be abandoned when a member of the coven arrived.  I was required to remove a large clump of plants from the large perennial border at the back of the house and transport them to the back of her car.  This was mutually beneficial as "P" is keen to increase her plant stock and we have plans for this area of the bed. There is a repeat flowing geranium and a "Yellow Popsicle" Kniphofia that are currently sat in pots in the holding area. They will look lovely there.  

Before I could even consider planting, I needed to fill the large hole left after removing the plants. This involved a couple of trips to the orchard to collect topsoil and a few mole hills. Mole hill soil is a beautiful loam heaped up as the they work their way underneath the orchard. It was well worth collecting and adding to the soil in the bed.

That was my day, other than an hour of watering and feeding the plants in the greenhouses and vegetable patch. 

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* Sharp bladed garden instrument for removal of weeds, not a lady of ill-repute sex worker**

** Reviewed and edited by the Thought Police