28th March 2019 Lovely waders! Get your waders here!

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Thursday 28th 45-60F, dark grey, slightly misty but calm at first. Sun or no sun? That is the question.

She made me do it! The head Gardener demanded I traipse out to Her garden to capture an excess of sunbathing Ladybirds on a poppy plant. 

The Head Gardener was a bit embarrassed yesterday. She hates wood pigeons almost as much as Miss Trotwood disliked donkeys. She was hurling verbal abuse at a dark blob huddled at the top of our fifty foot willow. When she suddenly realised it was actually Lord Phozzy. Unlikely as it might seem, for an almost flightless bird, our resident and almost regal pheasant, was roosting up there. 

Probably to avoid all the neighbour's cats. Which see our garden as a natural playground for all things cattish. I must say my sympathies lie with the pheasant. No matter how absurd that it should choose the highest tree in the neighbourhood to spend the night, THG's invective was decidedly uncharitable.

No doubt the NRA would enjoy hearing the Good Lady's demands for the latest WMDs which might be turned against the innocent pigeons. Perhaps we should get a new cat? The last one kept things "tidy." But He went walkabout after suffering a still unexplained head injury. Which cost us several years in advanced cat food expenses in veterinary bills. Life is all swings and roundabouts in these parts.

A walk to the lanes to watch an everyday story of country folk getting under way. A gigantic, 7 axle, shiny, stainless steel [stealth] tanker was loading pig's muck to share with some other locals. A tractor had been busy stirring the slurry in the huge concrete tank for a few days. With its extended "outboard motor" being driven by the tractor engine running flat out. Despite it being nearly 50F there was a decidedly cool wind blowing from the NW. It's an ill wind..

It was 60F warm in the afternoon but I was too busy for a ride.

Friday 29th 45F, bright and breezy. Stinking of pig shit. The independent TV channel weather wins again, against the supercomputer "rocking" meteorological establishment. Don't you hate that expression? "Rocking" does not describe anything useful except [perhaps] quarrying activities and soothing babies and grandparents in purpose designed furniture. It does  not [remotely] refer to the wearing of garments.

Talking of which: 2018 was warmer than ever and more CO2 is being stacked up in the atmosphere than ever before. 4.5 billion people have been affected by climate induced weather events so far. Fortunately our lords and masters of the Beloved 1% were not affected. So its "Business as usual." and "Greed works."

I really ought to invest in a pair of fisherperson's waders before prices soar. My insurance company keeps asking if I need "extended" flooding protection. And I'm well over 50 meters above sea level! The council keeps digging flash flooding storage ponds and road drainage schemes. Is there something "they" haven't told us?  😲

Following on the theme of excessive and/or unwarranted inclemency: I thought I had spots before my eyes as I ambled off towards the lanes. The local obsession with drainage has now been carried over to the roads. Each drain was neatly marked on the carriageway by a 75mm/3" painted yellow square. The question which occurs to me, is whether such spots can be seen while under brown water?

My neighbour cut his lawn yesterday and this has resulted in a bounty for the birds. Wagtails and even a pair of brightly embellished starlings had turned up for breakfast. It's ages since I saw a starling. So I suppose they must be added to the endangered list by now. Blackbirds are meant to be suffering from a deadly disease but it seems nobody has told them. Because there are literally hundreds of them out there. All over-playing the drama queen part at the first hint of a pedestrian OAP perambulating. Meanwhile the sky is full of lark song despite none of them holding a candle to Vaughan Williams. The hedges are full of Chaffinches and sparrows.

Heavy shopping in the car. The supermarket chain crooks are still advertising non-existent special offers. They shoud be chained up!

Saturday 30th 48-59F, mild and sunny again.  Walked to the village and back in bright sunshine and light traffic. Full sun all day.

Sunday 31st 38F bright with cold wind from the NW. Full sun promised. Despite having reached 43F the strong wind made my eyes water and my hands cold. Spring has definitely sprung with lots of blossom and leaves bursting from the bud. The clocks have gone forwards which the EU is supposed to end if they ever get a roundtoit. It was sunny all day but windy and cold at 48F max.

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27th March 2019 Another 10 liters of bike chain oil, please?

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Wednesday 27th 43F, dark grey with light winds. D'y'all want sun or no sun, with that forecast? I'll take the sun, please? Coming right up! And so the battle of the "seaweed feelers" continues for another day.

The wind was at my back so I felt safe enough. Until I get home and drink the water. Walked to the lanes as very light rain began to fall. Nobody mentioned rain! I want a refund.

Does my bum look big with these spray bars? 

In breaking news: The EU is talking about compulsory speed limiters on all new vehicle by 2020. No doubt VW will find a way around another "silly" restriction. What about the 98% of secondhand cars on Danish roads?

Most Danes can't afford new cars when the import taxes are 250% to pay for vast fleets of Chumpy's fighters jests jets which are far too noisy to use. So that the taxpayer has to buy up whole villages and farms to demolish them around all the air bases.  At least it gives them an opening for increasingly unpopular, wind farms. Ironic that the jets are to preserve the Danish way of life against Pootin's drunken hordes, isn't it?

Meanwhile, Danish emergency service crews are wasting hours filling out forms to confirm they were on "a shout." When they accidentally passed one of the three new speed cameras in Denmark at only average traffic speeds. Speeding is a basic human right here. So I don't know what all the fuss is about.

The warmer weather has brought the Teslas and motorcycles back out on the roads of Denmark. Presumably they dissolve when fed on a liquid diet of Danish, road de-icer? My trike chain begins to rust within a few minutes of winter tyre spray. Did I tell you I have to buy my chain oil in 5 litre cans? No discount for bulk, either! It's no wonder I am often the only one on the road except for a few other, doolally OAPs. It's a good job I have a stainless steel trike! I only chose that material to avoid cleaning it. The foresight of Solomon, I call it.

These winter road treatments are so strong they even make big name, German white goods rust out from the inside! My 1990s car gives daily thanks for my very low mileage. Though it needed new sills at the last MOT. Beginning of the end? While my 1954 Higgins hangs and shivers in the draughty shed. I'm constantly praying to Odin that the spring gales won't be blowing off the nearest road today.

Click on any image for an enlargement.

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26th March 2019 "Wot he wrote."

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Tuesday 26th 39-46F, dark grey with a light breeze. Today's weather will be all day sunshine. Or all day grey. Eeny meany miney mo. TV2 or DMI? Off we [jolly well] go. A walk to the lanes in a cold north-westerly was closely followed by a ride to the village to shop. I trundled at an effrortless 20mph into the village and crawled back with rarely a sign of 10mph on the flight deck.

I do have one word of cycling advice: Don't take advantage of a vast, pig's muck spreader on a dusty road. Not even if you fancy a bit of uphill pacing while sheltering from the headwind gale! If the stench doesn't get you then the dust certainly will! I topped out at 14mph before admitting defeat.

I was just thinking: If the NSA is monitoring my "seriously doubtful" content, I do hope, for their sakes, and their genocidal god, that they aren't following my key strokes. Even after 50 years of constant typing, with 3-4 fingers, the number of typos per sentence does not diminish. Imagine the torture of following my virtual progress across the page? Snail racing at least has the element of competition. I compete with myself to finish a line.

I tried to learn to touch-type years ago but could never manage it. At least the levers don't cross and get all tangled up any more. As they used to do on my old typewriters. For those still in any doubt, my scribbling is a life-long habit. I used to scribble endless, illegible essays at school. 11 sides of riveting stuff was handed back to me with raised eyes. Without so much as a minus mark to my name.

In one exam my paper was returned, unmarked, as indistinguishable from an accidental scrawl. Any plans to ue this skill to become a doctor were [fortunately] hampered by my inability to remember anything from one moment to the next. It seemed that doctoring was mostly based on a good memory and sorting facts. I seriously doubt that anyone was less qualified than I at these tasks.

My handwriting never recovered from the change over from pencil to what passed for a scratchy, dip pen and ink pot back in the middle of the last century. Biros came later and were not supportive of any, deeply hidden, latent talent I might ever have had for forming words in a readable form.

"They" invented the typewriter just in time to save me from myself. Though my colleagues in the office, who suffered my painfully slow and deliberate typing, should have been knighted for their tolerance. It was no wonder I was never very popular.

Writing illegibly is a heavy burden on life's progress where quantity always outweighed understandable content. On the rare occasions when The Head Gardener read any of my output she said I left too many gaps in the narrative. It's true. I live the story as it unfolds. I make it up as I go along and entertain myself with my own words. Having the functional memory of a distracted gnat does not make for <cough> "great writing." More like slapstick writing in my case.

Believe it or not, most of "what he wrote" is actually meant to be slightly funny. But, if like me, you can't remember a single jok,e then humour on the page is unlikely to translate into real life. How could it? The things I find funny are rarely shared by others. I try to be funny on forums and nobody ever gets "the joke" and rewards me with a smiley. Or only very rarely. So I tried posting through the medium of emoji and that fell flat too. Why am I the only one who finds a smiley amusing in itself? They often say far more than any hieroglyph. I love the demented grins and loony winks. They, well some of them, have such "character!" They speak volumes I could never manage alone. 😎

If you find my words amusing then do try to laugh with me. Rather than at me. Believe me, I'm pedalling as fast as I can. But writing on a treadle sewing machine would be far more sensible than using any keyboard known to man. As I grow old older I find almost everything funny. It's probably an early sign of dementia. I now accept my weaknesses with good humour. Rather than feeling the need to justify myself over every past failure to perform. My life is basically, just, one, long typo. I am flawed. Therefore I am.

As a trendsetter and <cough> influencer I made a return trip to the village on my trike. 14 miles today! A Danish tax expert says that bloggers who gain financially from their activities should be taxed in full. Fat chance of me gaining anything except bemused onlookers as I trundle down the high street. Even after all these years there are still those who stare. Or actually look afraid. It's a third wheel, Madam. Not Boadicea's chariot!

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