My apologies, I have been neglectful of this blog which is a bit rude: especially after all that “Oh wow. I have been doing this for six years” stuff in which I indulged last time we met. I have been fearfully busy doing RHS things, normal things and this revolutionising of the garden media about which I dropped a hint the other day. I am still remaining a little reticent as there is not much I can show you here but, various people have now seen the fumbling beginnings and have been kind.
So that is a good start. Suffice to say it involves iPads and gardens and is extraordinarily gorgeous. If you want to see it then come and find me.
In the meantime, we have had a bit of a mammal-fest in the garden. This is, mostly, a good thing as it makes things more interesting as we sweep frostily into February.
First, we had a visiting cat. I know that, to town dwellers, this is a real “Whatever!” moment as no day is complete without a string of neighbouring moggies relieving themselves in your geraniums, but we have not had a feline visitor for a while. Our most recent cat died about two years ago (during a rather ghastly month when we lost one cat and two dogs) and has not yet been replaced. This visiting cat was not, I’m afraid, a very attractive specimen. Gingery black with a face like a cheap bouncer. I rapped on the window and it paused, slowly turned to look at me, lifted a disdainful eyebrow, uttered a stream of unrepeatable profanities from the corner of its mouth and sauntered off: no manners, cats.
Secondly, a large fox appeared (again this is not news to those of you who regularly have your dustbins rifled by mangy specimens). We have had previous visits from foxes – the most obvious being the couple of times when we have found all the chickens slaughtered – but not often within the garden. This fox just wandered in during the day, shat on a plant and went again. It then reappeared later at the same time as the previously mentioned cat. The following conversation ensued:
Fox: “Who you lookin’ at?”
Cat: “You, you spindle shanked, bushy tailed poltroon. You fluttering coxcomb. I spit in your wobble. You hopper arsed trullibub. You whoreson buck fitch. May your galligaskins split and the huckle spill from your table. ” (I warned you the cat was foul mouthed but I had not realised until that moment how archaic is the average cat’s vocabulary)
Fox: “Oh. Alright then”
Exit Fox.
Thirdly, a whole lotta mice. These had taken up residence in, among and under a load (or perhaps drift is a more apposite description) of Panicum. The little blighters had eaten most of the roots and built themselves cosy little houses. They scattered when the things were cut down like a cartoon version of the Three Blind Mice. Carol, who was doing the cutting, did not stand on a stool and scream which was disappointing for those of us who particularly enjoy a cliche coming to life.
Fourthly, a hibernating hedgehog which was discovered by Carol’s dog curled up in a ball and dug into a flower bed. He was very carefully rehoused by Simon. We often see hedgehog poo, but seldom the hedgehogs although I did find two babies living in the compost heap a few years ago which was very charming. It is odd how baby hedgehogs are cute, baby rats are not: public perception relies so much on good PR and rats definitely employed the wrong company.
Fifthly, various moles which have been caught on a reasonably regular basis since Christmas. These have seen fruitful post-death service as my dear daughter has been rather taken with the idea of taxidermy so has been practising by skinning any dead mammal that comes within her reach. She has become very efficient and can whip the pelt off a squirrel in minutes. We have had a selection of mole pelts pinned out on boards in the kitchen. A mole skin is a very soft and lovely thing, I am hoping for, at the very least, a singlet.
I am listening to Leonard Cohen singing Different Sides. For him, it is almost jaunty. The picture is of the Sarcococca hookeriana outside my office. I took the photograph using a very neat little macro lens that clips onto my iPhone, tricky to hold still but interesting.There is also fish eye attachment.
I moved my compost heap last week and was relieved not to find any baby or adult rats/mice/shrews in it – didn’t want them to jump out at me but also worried I might hurt one.
I’m looking forward to the revolution in garden media – sounds very exciting
Baby squirrels are particularly unappealing. I had some that fell down the back of my neck once.
And I’d like to see ‘it’ please.
Of course you may.
I inadvertently acquired a very large, very dead racoon last week, which, I believe, plunged to its death from my roof (unless it fell out of a passing airplane or was hurled by catapult).
Unfortunately, this opportunity to procure a truly thoughtful (if kept well frozen) Christmas gift for your daughter has passed, as I have smuggled it under cover of darkness into the large garbage container in the municipal park across the street.
A dead racoon would be extraordinarily welcome and is wasted on the public sanitation service.
Shame on you!
What does hedgehog poo look like, I wonder….
I too would like to see the ‘it’
Hedgehog poo looks much the same as any poo. But differently shaped. It has no prickles or anything remarkable.
I want to see ‘it’ too and I don’t want to be last in line to see ‘it’ either.
Nearly all Leonard Cohen’s stuff can be sung in a jaunty manner – try an up tempo version of ‘So Long Marianne’ very cheering.
You may see it anytime you wish, Ms Sock.
You need only present your cashmere self at any time of the day or night.
Leonard is quite perky on his live albums: witty and interesting.
I worry, however, that he might have slightly smelly feet. Don’t know why.
Will you come back to us when ‘it’ is finished? We miss you! And I must make sure to track you down before Arabella does. Well done for being Mister finger-on-the-pulse.
But I have to take you up on the fate of the poor, lovely moles. How could you? They would be much more suited to a jerkin.
I am still here and available.
In the words of Carole King “You just call out my name and you know, wherever I am: I’ll (possibly) come running…” (or at least sauntering once I have finished my sandwich and made a couple of telephone calls).
You need a lot of moles for a Jerkin: even a backless evening jerkin.
You will break my little cashmere heart if Lia gets to see ‘it’ before me. And you don’t want to break my little cashmere heart do you? In any case all the little fluffy birds in my garden are starving because Lia told me to cut off the shrivelled grapes… so not the sort of person who should see ‘it’ before me at all.
Every part of your cashmere self is precious to me, Ms Sock.
But possibly just the one for a merkin.
I’ve seen ‘it’. But it did cost me a flapjack (and my first born). Just wanted to let people know that there is a cake-based bribery scheme in operation.
Dawn has indeed seen all of ‘it’.
Not purely because of the Flapjack but also because she had a silver cake slice with which to dish up said flapjack.
It is not just about the cake but the accessories.
Your visiting cats vocabulary sounds similar to my cat who is also a very proficient mouser and ratter – maybe you need a new cat to solve your mouse problem. I have considered hiring my cat out but I suspect customers would ask for a refund given the level of verbal abuse they would get from her.
I would request a mole skin waistcoat – would look most splendiforous at your RHS Committee meetings
I too have seen it and contrary to popular perception it seems that you are capable of something useful and nice looking. Who’d have thought. And i have a dead duckbilled playpus here – if yr daughter wd like to skin it, my seamstress will fashion it into a garment that means i shall be able to cut quite a dash poolside this summer
I am plagued by squirrels, and rats from time to time, but not permanently as a Cairn Terrier can find rats an endless source of fun. The squirrels though, cock snooks from the fence, and the dog can do nothing about it.
A propos of nothing, except relating to mammals (albeit of the more primitive style), I was delighted to find out that a baby echidna is called a ‘puggle’. This far exceeds in cuteness my previous favourite baby animal name of ‘hoglet’ for hedgehog babies.
Loved the photo of the plant at the top. What sort of plant is it?
The picture is of the Sarcococca hookeriana outside James’s office. He took the photograph using a very neat little macro lens that clips onto his iPhone, James finds this tricky to hold still but interesting.There is also fish eye attachment.
My goodness. Turn your head for two minutes (okay, years) and there’s no telling what becomes of the world. Foul-mouthed cats and virtual cat-fighting amongst various feline females (mostly, at least), cashmere-hearted or otherwise, over who gets to see James’ “It” first. My mother would not approve of this conversation.
Change of topic: are you paying byrnesunit, or does he/she just translate out of the goodness of his/her heart? (Nicely done, either way.)
–Kate
Kate, how very lovely to hear from you.
Yes, standards have slipped massively round here since the heady days of the Sock Wars.
I am sorry.
Will tidy up.
x