Albert the Asthmatic Owl

He's back!

I keep getting fits of dry coughing in the night at the moment, the legacy of a chest infection from hell or Outer Mongolia I know not which. As the coughing and barking subside and I sit there propped up on every pillow in the house I can snaffle without anybody noticing I can hear husky breathing. At first I think its me, and I hold mine - it carries on as I go blue in the face. It's not the gently purring shepherd either. I try a gentle cough, a 50 woodbine a day cough comes back in echo. Then I know - its Albert, the asthmatic owl that sits on top of our bay window on moonlit nights. I hadn't heard him since last autumn and thought he may have croaked his last owl pellet onto the lead flashing. He must be quite an old owl, we have been here twelve years next week and he has been gasping his last for at leat six or seven of them.

Try as I might I have only caught the briefest of glimpses of him as I creep to the window, he knows and disappears into the trees with a swoop and a cough. So I lie there and listen to his awful breathing and wonder if he listens to mine.

There must be a younger one coming to the bay window as well form the size of the pellets left. I wonder if Albert is teaching his successor to smoke as well?

On warmer nights I think Albert spends most of the night watching the woods from our window, perhaps it retains the heat of the day and gives his poor old feet some comfort.

We started the lambing yesterday - well I say 'we' - the shepherd had had the week off from paid gainful employment to oversee the first week, get the pens ready and do what needed doing to make it all run smoothly - bah!

Thursday he had to go in to work but I was only working a half day, home I toddled. Within 10 minutes I am throwing a hissy fit. Where's the gloves? where's the iodine? Where's the marker spray? Elastrator rings? As first ewe delivers large lamb with long floppy ears. Junior shepherd looks quizzically at it and then at me - 'Wing-nut' he uttered as he sauntered off......

Its going to be a long four weeks I just know it.............................

The wheels on the bus......

The last funeral I attended was heart rendingly tragic - it was for a friend's son, late twenties, a clever young man with a future to look forward to, a cruel illness put pay to all his hopes and ambitions. A few weeks ago in February the eldest son of a neighbouring family here on the edge of the woods died in an accident on Snowdon whilst following his photographic hobby, and this week a young mother released her tentative hold on life in the little stone cottage opposite leaving two beautiful little daughters under school age. Even the birds along the woodland edge seem subdued at the moment. Its all so very sad. These three young people would all have travelled to the school down the valley on the same old rickety school bus and no doubt shared their dreams and aspirations along the way.....there are three empty seats on the school bus now. I sat in the sun this afternoon and thought of them and I hope that somewhere they are together sitting on a daisy covered grassy bank in the warmth, discussing art, photography, music, philosophy whatever...until the school bus catches up with them again - God Bless XXX

The first quarter of the year has been a bit of a roller coaster all round in the 'hovel on the hillside'. Following youngest son's revelation that he couldn't see properly when having his driving lessons we were led down the avenue of eye tests and suddenly we were catapulted into the world of corneas, consultants in white coats, dim lights and glass lenses. Meanwhile A levels have to stay on track, University re visited and on we go...a learning curve we never expected........

The sheep fell ill to a mystery illness and started to rack up bills like a taxi with the meter running. 'Inconclusive' was the word bandied about but which was of little help as we paid yet another fee to have a dead ewe removed. They have stopped dying now - well what is left of our flock is standing up and walking about which seems like a really good idea. I think we may have to make some decisions as to whether we carry on with the sheep once lambing is over.

Then somebody in Bolton decided we needed a bit of a jolt and without so much of a 'by your leave' £700 whizzed out of our Bank account without us knowing. The first we knew was when a direct debit bounced back unpaid - quizzical looks and 'whaaaaaaaaaaat?' and 'whyyyyyyyy?'

Telephone calls to the Branch didn't actually make sense we realised with hindsight - wonderful stuff - hindsight! Things got steadily worse and we could make no sense of any of it, then an all illuminating statement arrived 'OK so who do we know in Bolton that needed £700?' - 'Not a clue!'

A particularly clenched jaw and gritted teeth conversation took place and wonder of wonders an admission was made - we woz robbed! Money, charges, oily apologies flowed back into our account too late for one lot of car insurance - cancelled and two phones - disconnected. Spitting furious from Shropshire met with bank manager - if the option had included crawling up our gritty path naked on her belly she would have done it, in fact the amount of slimy apolgetic letters that have slid up it on their own volition make you want to puke - it should never happen!

Just as I was on my way home after having the news that it was the Bank's error and I could sleep for a night without waking in blind panic, I was in a queue at the traffic lights minding my own business when with an almighty bang up the rear I nearly gave birth to twins! I composed myself and got out and met a gentleman coming towards me saying 'sorry, sorry - I was reading the writing on the van!' (What van? - I never saw a van) I gave him some paper and a pen for his details which he gave without a flinch - then he sort of looked at the front of his car - I've got a tow bar - a good one. Oh dear - his frontage was bent and pleated, numberplate in bits. Suddenly his demeanour changed and he proceeded to call me 'A F***ing stupid Cow!' Scuse me like - but who ran up who'se arse round here?? I left!

The OU Course is on track but I think me and her in charge may have different ideas, the word 'whimsical' has been uttered. 'Whimsical' Moi??? B*gger Off! Reading between the lines I get the impression that my final comment will include the words 'if you as an arty person thought you could write you should perhaps stick to art!' Oh well - there's still time - spit!

Following weeks of stress and mayhem I think my physical health decided to give up and the chest infection from hell with horns on has left me sofa bound, weak kneed and lily livered. Eating? Forget it. I fancied some Green and Black's chocolate Ice cream today - the aftertaste was pure Domestos, I had to have a slice of toast and marmite to take the taste away. I am existing on a diet of antibiotics, steriods and weak tea - oh and we start lambing next week - where's the sodding Prozac ?

I had to go to Bishops Castle to pay some bills in the sunshine for my first solo flight off the sofa and I sort of wheezed and shuffled about thought I would just have a peep at the new season footwear available - I sat in a heap as lovely lady brought me sandals of every size shape and colour, she fed me cough sweets and cold water and I bought a pair of black court shoes - very last season - very half price. I wheezed around to the undergarment corner and spotted a couple of nice cotton bras.

'We wont be having any more of them' ...nice lady trilled across the shop. 'they've gone bust!'

Just about said it all really...................

Hibernation is over ...........

The forsythia is opening - just a few buds bursting tentatively - just a toe in the water so to speak. One aubretia floret and a handful of wind-blown pansies - and that is the sum total of the flowers in the garden today. But there is something on the move - pussy willows line the branches above the bird feeders all ready to burst, long tailed tits with pink and grey feathers flit from branch to branch muscling in on the bullfinches and the blue tits. A woodpecker whirrs in the early morning and its staying lighter longer in the evening. I'm on the move ...waking up from hibernation, having a look about, making plans, cleaning the old out to make way for the new. Waiting for the new shed to arrive, a load of topsoil will sort what was once the chicken run into a bit of an allotment - a bit shady but beggars cant be choosers.


We had to venture into uncharted territory today to fetch a load of hay. There are parts of this county I have never explored, always tending to hug the hillsides of the South so it was quite an eye opener to be in the flat arable swathes east of the Severn. Acre upon acre of cultivated land, few hedges, few houses, sparsely wooded. We spotted a field of cows enjoying the watery sun, let out for the day, a few ewes and lambs in paddocks side by side with rather smart horses wearing the latest fashion in designer rugs -( and those were just the sheep - sorry couldn't resist)


This evening found us on our explorations again as we delivered football wounded son to girlfriend's house to a village almost at the foot of the Stretton Hills and taking the opportunity to follow signs we wandered in and out of villages and hamlets of old brick cottages with mullioned widows, half timbered farm houses, beautiful barn conversions and then we saw Pitchford Hall as the dusk fell on the other side of the wooded valley - a fairy tale.

We had left youngest son in charge of the evening meal - getting some culinary practice in for those uni evenings. We arrived back to a perfect tuna and pasta bake - he'll be OK with a few more dishes on the menu besides beanz and pot noodles - one less thing to worry about - phew!

A couple of weeks ago we delivered him to the University for a visit and an interview - we sat in the car park and watched him nonchalantly stroll in - before his hand had touched the door he was talking to another lad and when we returned to collect him he was in a laughing group of Ned's, Joe's and Dan's swapping mobile phone numbers as if they had been on a holiday. While he was otherwise engaged we srtolled along the seafront in lovely sunshine - it was crowded - it was February - there were people with expanses of white winter flesh exposed to the sun - SUNBATHING in February - I give up!

Meanwhile back in the garden.............

The Generation Game

He's been! Every time our gorgeous grandson visits he leaves a little sting in the tail - this time he really hit the jackpot with three of us felled within 12 hours with the vile winter vomiting bug. The snow was up to the back door, the wind howling at the windows and we must have been the only people not attempting to get out. No - we were sitting round the log burner, pasty faced with mugs of weak tea and dry toast.



Make the most of it - I thought - catch up with OU homework - bah! Try writing a 40 line poem with a headache! Not a hope!



The biggest laugh we have had over the past three days was when the cat decided to join me in the bath. There I was up to my neck in Radox bubbles - in swaggers Dudley, never far from me when at home. He decided to jump up onto the bath which is curved and slippy but he has done it before. This time he slipped and jumped straight in - straight from a cartoon comes the tableux of me naked, desperately trying not to get scratched or bitten by very nasty cat, whilst trying to rescue said cat from rather hot bathwater. I grabbed him and hurled him out onto the floor whereupon he hissed and spat at me like a demented cat would do. I yanked the door open and pushed him out whereupon he proceeded to do circuits of the house leaving a wet trail behind him. He jumped on every bed! Two were occupied and the occupants could be heard a mile away cursing one extremely wet and extremely nasty cat.

All attempts at drying him with a towel failed miserably as he threatened to bite anyone with a towel in their hands. He lay in front of the log burner all morning and is now a very glossy if rather tetchy cat!

Somehow I doubt that 40 lines about a sopping nasty cat will be what the OU ordered so its back to the drawing board - big sigh!

I have never really been 'into' poetry. I think I was put off at a very early age - infant class to be precise. We were given the task of writing a poem about the seasons. I can still remember mine - it is etched on my memory for ever -

Spring is when the flowers start to bloom

Summer is when the roses come

Autumn is when the leaves begin to fall

Winter is when the birds have no food at all.

Not bad for a six year old but waspy teacher went right up the wall! I was truly mortified.

a) she was convinced I had copied it from somewhere - well I hadn't

b) that my parents had done it - but we did it in the lesson - I hadn't actually been home!

The only time a teacher smacked me and that was enough to turn me off poetry for life.

It was to be a crotchety english teacher, bless him, some years later that introduced the class to Dylan Thomas, John Betjeman, Ted Hughes and WB Yeats.

Don't think anything I write now will have such an effect as that first little poem in the infants - oh well here goes 40 lines to go and counting.

Still scrapping over one camera

What a beautiful day! The sun shone from a cloudless sky and the air was antiseptic in its cleanliness. I had to make a foray down into the foggy village in the valley for supplies - it was dark and gloomy. An atmosphere hangs as heavy as the fog in the village after tragedy struck in the early hours of New Years Day and two families have to come to grips with the aftermath.

I scuttled around the quiet shops and was soon back up in the sunshine. The frost glittered on every branch and twig and I was itching for my turn with the camera. The juniour shepherd had to relinquish it as he was destined for a logging trip. I was let loose with my own camera - WOW! So under the pretext of breaking a new pair of boots in I set off with the dog around the tracks and paths - it was wonderful. I was out there for hours - until the batteries went flat! As I made for home I realised the boots were rubbing like hell. The intrepid loggers appeared back, whereupon junior shepherd put a fresh set of batteries in and was back outside as dusk fell. He even met the fox who decimated our flock of chickens but all he had was a camera.

I think I lost the plot completely just before Christmas as I find little piles of lists and half written Christmas cards all over the place - I wonder if I could have a personal organiser to sort me out next year because I have decided I am useless at Christmas preparations - we get there - just! Wing and a prayer and tree up on Christmas morning - the turkey will arrive fully clothed one year - I just know it. Oh well bung the half ticked list on the log burner and better get writing letters to those folk whose cards are still here - this is her that fully intended to make her own cards - dont make me laugh! This is her that managed to loose 15 jars of marmalade for goodness sake!

The last two pics are from junior shepherd and we compromised with a shared slide show below!

so its goodnight from me and goodnight from him and if its a nice day tomorrow there will be more fighting over the camera........

As the shepherdess and junior shepherd fight over one camera

A compromise was sought!

New Year's Day 2008

In Northumberland last summer youngest son became inspired by the photography of the one and only @themill. I have had to fight to keep my camera! Anyway he went out today in the freezing cold for a couple of hours and came back with these. Very Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe I thought!

makes me shiver just looking at them ..brrrrrrrr! Oh and this is the photographer dressed up and ready for action!