Dishwashers are Evil.

They day they were invented, the writing was on the wall for the teaspoon fairy.

OK, maybe the picture isn't entirely appropriate, but I don't need much of an excuse to include gratuitous nudity.

Racing Pigeon.

Continuing on the subject of birds. I was recently on a high area of the galvanizing line with Voice or Reason. We found the 'dining table' for what our janitor advised, was a peregrine falcon. Amongst the inedible body parts, was a ringed claw. I kept the ring and checked it out on the net. Apparently it belonged to a racing pigeon based in Stroud. Clearly this racer wasn't fast enough to evade the falcon.
I notified the appropriate society and received an email suggesting, as the bird was dead, I should feel free to dispose of the body. Not much of a body to dispose of, but then again, I could make it into a handy back scratcher.

A few days later I was telling this tale to a friend when he countered with another pigeon tale. He knew of a bird racer who had an incredibly fast pigeon. Unfortunately, it was a bugger to catch, so the clocking in times were nothing special. On one occasion, the bird returned in such an astonishingly quick time, the owner felt he had only one option.

A quick blast with a shotgun had the bird recording it's first and last win.

Well what else could he do with it?

The Glorious 12th.

It's interesting to note, the difference in mentality between townies and country folk.
The grouse season is upon us.
On TV, I watched a land owner, or he could have been the game keeper, acting as spokesperson for the grouse shooters. The interviewer, asked if he could answer animal welfare concerns.

Now he could have pointed out how being shot was perhaps favourable, from the birds perspective, to any one of the natural events, which may beset such fowl in middle age. An age, it must be pointed out, which they are very unlikely to survive.
However, in his mind, it didn't occur to him that shooting birds could be a cause of squeamishness amongst those, insulated from the realities of life. He simply assumed, the conditions under which the grouse lived, were at issue.
He answered confidently, secure in the knowledge that, being un-farmed, no welfare issues could be held as his responsibility.

What follows is not verbatim, but gives a flavor of his answer.

"There are no welfare issues, we don't' farm these birds, they live wild in areas set aside. All we do, is set the hounds on them and blast the little fuckers out the sky when they try to escape."

You're not doing your cause any favours mate.

Another Great Weekend.

Yes, I know, I've screwed up the dates on the camera again.

It’s surprising what can make a cherished moment.

Excellent meal of duck, new potatoes and cauliflower cheese, alfresco, in very pleasant company.

A patio lit only by ‘T’ tree lights and Chinese lanterns.

We drank mead and listened to folk music.

Talked into the night, cutched* on a wicker settee, wearing old dog walking coats.

It was totally charming.

The next day, Sunday, we met up with family for a few drinks, sat outside in the sun at the Hen and Chickens in Abergavenny listening to their jazz quartet.

Life is good.

* Cutched = Welsh word for snuggled.

Great Weekend!

Some of this Edwardian stuff can really shift even by todays standards. Then again, with engines somewhere between 11 and 24 litre, I guess it should.





This weekend we went to see the 'Wacky Races'. The Vintage Sports Car Club's annual hill climb at Prescott Hill and........................








...............a visit to the National Botanical Garden of Wales near Carmarthen. Of course, being a muppet, I left both my dark glasses and camera (freshly loaded with new batteries) in the car. These pictures were taken using my 'phone.

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Update for Awaiting. Somewhere to put the kids. Yes I know the dates are wrong. I was having problems with the camera. These cars were two of very many VSCC visitors in the car park.

Expect Delays

During the night a lorry overturned on the central reservation of the M4 somewhere between Tredegar Park and the Coldra.

Having worked a 12 hour night shift, I'm tired and have a senior moment. I forgot there was an RTA and join the motorway. It takes me two and a half hours to travel the 20 miles home.

I'm not annoyed or irritated. I enjoyed listening to the radio. I also have to thank God I wasn't on the interstate bridge in Minneapolis when it plunged into the Mississippi River.