1-Mar-2021: The avian quest for building materials has begun. Thus far the winter gales haven't toppled my pampas grass plumes, which provide sparrows with a perfect nest lining. There's always fierce competition to harvest them, and despite rumours to the contrary, the sparrow population is flourishing round here.
Meanwhile, as usual the magpies spend hours trying, unsuccessfully, to break off
twigs from the lilac and mock orange bushes. Note to magpies: there are plenty of
nice twigs on the ground. Why can't you just use those, and leave my shrubs
28-Jan-2021: According to my dictionary, so many people are unable correctly to pronounce February that the lazy version ("Feb-yoo-erry") is becoming the accepted standard. Rubbish! If you can say "brewery" then what's the problem with putting a "Feb" in front?
My irritation reaches an annual peak when people - including announcers
on our most respected media channels - tell me it's the "fith", or the
"sikth" of "Feb-yoo-erry". Tell you what, let's make one of
those dates National Pronunciation Day, and drive the message home by promoting
Febrewery as a month for serious drinking! In fact, let's give a few
more months indulgent themes, to counterbalance Veganuary...
Augwurst? Septemburger? Bovember?
5-Dec-2020: It's been a great year for berries. Once again I've made more Sloe Gin than usual. And my grape vine, whose crop usually struggles to ripen before the onset of winter, yielded an unprecedented (had to get that word in somehow!) September harvest of sweet, fragrant fruit, which is now well on its way to becoming wine.
It seems that mistletoe's done well too (shame the berries are poisonous). This
tree in Cranham deserves to become a popular stopping-off place for couples on their
way home from the nearby pub. But that's unlikely for several reasons this
7-Nov-2020: Sadly, this Spitting Image effigy, a fixture on my wall since the 1980s, has started to crumble into dust. She lost her nose and began to sag a few years ago, but recently - literally - fell off her perch (a projecting screw head) and refuses to be reinstated thereon. I fear if I pick her up again my fingers will crush her into bits.
Plastic foam from that era seems destined to decompose over time. The front of my Sinclair Q16 speaker went the same way, and now the seat cushions of my 3-piece lounge suite have begun to shed quantities of yellow dust. This is in contrast to soft non-foamed plastics, which do the opposite and become sticky with age. If you miss these changes, they can make quite a mess; my expensive set of technical drawing instruments from the 1970s ended up engulfed in a clinging goo (which I never managed entirely to scrape off) that was once their box lining. And a plastic dust cover which my late Dad put over his Garrard SP25 record deck, to "protect" it in the loft, fused onto the perspex lid making parts of it permanently opaque.
I'll be sorry to consign the 3D Mrs T to landfill. But at least her image still
shines forth from some satirical postcards on another wall!