Yes, I know, "Cast not a clout till May is out" but when you are not sure when its going to rain and when not you have to "strike while the trowel is hot" dont you?
I speak of gardening and I spent all day Saturday casting as many clouts as I could.
Very satisfying to see my Bizzie Lizzies smiling at me from the pots and flower beds and the Marguerites in pots gasping their thanks because they were in fact pot bound.
Another neighbour , not Evil Bob who is not evil anymore by the way, cut down the Holly trees that formed a nice privacy screen at the end of his garden and the side of mine.Now it feels like Im in a fish bowl!
I need to find a fast growing evergreen climber to restore my comfort zone.
A pole in the middle of the flower bed formed the highlight of the day.
This pole had come, over the years, to represent the struggle between the dominant male of the species and the local wildlife in the form of a squirrel and its offspring.
Every hurdle imaginable had been put in the way of the little mammal to prevent its access to the bird food hanging in a metal feeder.( Metal was the only material capable of resisting its sharp little incisors).
Still it found ways , each more elaborate and ingenious that the previous, of jumping on to the feeder and hanging there , nibbling through the bars.
I always quite liked watching it and the birds still came and fed.
However, for alpha male, this became a war of attrition.
Man against beast.
David versus Goliath (which was which?)
Samson and Delilah...no thats not right, Ill stop now.
The pole was the last bastion for our furry friend.He would run up it and leap onto the line bearing the feeder, dodge the rolling plastic coke bottles and find his hanging place, no sweat.
So the pole was greased and I mean greased, with axle grease.
Yes, it did stop the squirrel who just jumped from the roof of the shed then, but it also covered me in grease each time I did anything near it.
It aint no joke to keep getting the damn stuff up your arm or in your hair I can tell you.
I asked, ney DEMANDED, that it be removed.
Then the trial really began. Its my belief that the squirrel and the pole had an agreement because it took about half and hour of bashing and digging and rocking, not to mention the swearing and grease covering, to remove the thing.I watched from the safety of the kitchen, where I could have a little chuckle.
Cruel arent I?
I bet the squirrel laughed more than me.
I speak of gardening and I spent all day Saturday casting as many clouts as I could.
Very satisfying to see my Bizzie Lizzies smiling at me from the pots and flower beds and the Marguerites in pots gasping their thanks because they were in fact pot bound.
Another neighbour , not Evil Bob who is not evil anymore by the way, cut down the Holly trees that formed a nice privacy screen at the end of his garden and the side of mine.Now it feels like Im in a fish bowl!
I need to find a fast growing evergreen climber to restore my comfort zone.
A pole in the middle of the flower bed formed the highlight of the day.
This pole had come, over the years, to represent the struggle between the dominant male of the species and the local wildlife in the form of a squirrel and its offspring.
Every hurdle imaginable had been put in the way of the little mammal to prevent its access to the bird food hanging in a metal feeder.( Metal was the only material capable of resisting its sharp little incisors).
Still it found ways , each more elaborate and ingenious that the previous, of jumping on to the feeder and hanging there , nibbling through the bars.
I always quite liked watching it and the birds still came and fed.
However, for alpha male, this became a war of attrition.
Man against beast.
David versus Goliath (which was which?)
Samson and Delilah...no thats not right, Ill stop now.
The pole was the last bastion for our furry friend.He would run up it and leap onto the line bearing the feeder, dodge the rolling plastic coke bottles and find his hanging place, no sweat.
So the pole was greased and I mean greased, with axle grease.
Yes, it did stop the squirrel who just jumped from the roof of the shed then, but it also covered me in grease each time I did anything near it.
It aint no joke to keep getting the damn stuff up your arm or in your hair I can tell you.
I asked, ney DEMANDED, that it be removed.
Then the trial really began. Its my belief that the squirrel and the pole had an agreement because it took about half and hour of bashing and digging and rocking, not to mention the swearing and grease covering, to remove the thing.I watched from the safety of the kitchen, where I could have a little chuckle.
Cruel arent I?
I bet the squirrel laughed more than me.
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