How Now Black Cow

Anyone who knows my grumpy old man, knows that he likes to keep me happy. This includes agreeing with me at every opportunity ... I think this is due to his previous good training as it's not actually one of my requirements. And because of how I word things - being somewhat evil and enjoying watching him cogitate - he often gets it wrong.

I can practically hear the cogs trundling around until he hits on what he thinks is the correct answer ... "Yes!" he'll say - eventually - "No" I'll reply because I'd worded it back to front ... "I meant no, it just came out as yes". And then we'd giggle like the recycled teenagers we are.

However, his worst faux pas are always when he doesn't give himself time to think, his brain must see green lights pinging on and out he comes with his answer ... just like this morning.

We'd been to Gibraltar Point yesterday with my 'bells and whistles' camera to take photos of bods (birds), seals, black sheep, trees, fungi and owt else I spot, whilst also teaching himself to use my old camera ... I mostly find photos of my ar*e when we get back, I really must make him walk in front of me.

Anyway, I woke up itching this morning and discovered two mosquito (whatever) bites on my legs, even though I'd been wearing black leggings.

"Hmmmm - scratch, scratch - the little ba***rds must have thought I was a black cow" ... and quick as a flash he replied ... "yes they must".

So there we have it, I now know that my husband thinks I look like a cow in leggings ...

Come and Hold This ...

Next time Mr Grumpy says ... "come and hold this", remind me to tell him to go and boil his head.

I went and held this ... which was in fact a ladder; so he could put up another bird feeder ... I was holding on to said ladder and standing on the bottom rung as ballast - as per my instructions - whilst watching the blue tits and listening to the babies in the box nearby ... then he stepped down onto my finger ... and it was my fault.

My finger is huge and blue and is most fortunate NOT to be adorned with rings or I'd have needed them cutting off.
 
He wasn't satisfied with this though ... oh no, not by a long chalk:

I had actually rushed out of bed and thrown some clothes on to go and help him with the ladder, because instead of sitting still like a good husband first thing in MY morning, he was pacing up and down with seed, nuts and water for the feeders and just generally hovering at the bedroom door saying things like ... "whenever, you're ready ... no rush". Yeah, right.

So, after assaulting my finger and blaming me for HOLDING the effin ladder, I went back in to have my shower - whilst nursing my oh so poorly finger ... "Oops" he declared from the other side of the shower curtain ... "I've flushed the loo" - an absolute no no in the tin hut when someone - well, me to be exact - is showering. So there I stood, bracing myself with finger held aloft, as my extremities sizzled under the rather hot water ... and I called him a tw*t.

Then shortly after this we went for a walk at Gibraltar Point, he took me down a footpath so he could feed the birds there ... "Ooh, it's a bit overgrown" he declared while I'm battling - still holding my poorly finger up - with the effin nettles. "OUCH! my knees" ...  "Oh dear, I'll find you a dock leaf" he told me, while bustling past me and pushing me against yet more nettles.

I have to wonder how I'd have fared if he wasn't so thoughtful ... 

A Bit of Twitching

Male Sparrowhawk, Winthorpe

If you have read bits of my blog before, you may have guessed by now that I don't go in for thrill seeking hobbies or white knuckle rides. Apparently this doesn't make me boring, just a comfort seeker. Therefore we can assume that I have the required amount of endorphins [whatever] behaving themselves in my brain and plenty of adrenalin whizzing around my body and so don't need to push myself [just as well] into jumping out of aeroplanes, off of tall buildings fastened to a rubber band or to go white water rafting, I'm not saying I wouldn't like to try [yes I am], but I'm quite happy not bothering.

And anyway, I've had a fair few thrills bird watching, you can be minding your own business in one half of Mere hide at Gibraltar Point - the noisy half, seeing as the GOM is usually whispering in mega-decibels - when you get a whispered shout from the quiet, studious, serious side to 'come and have a look at this.'

Well, what is a girl to do with an offer like that? Yes, I went. There were three men all wanting to show me their equipment. One had got a posh digital camera with various attachments, trained on an obliging dragonfly. It was truly amazing, I could see it breathing. I was then nice enough [I can be nice, just not very often] to act dim while they explained 'thorax' to me.

Mystery Bird

I may even have mentioned once or twice before [repeating oneself is an age thing - get used to it], we don't actually have to go looking for wildlife as we've got plenty at the caravan aka 'the manor', including this little chap who visited for three days and was never to be seen again - sorry about the poor photo quality but they were taken with my old, less zoomy camera. My brother in law - a much more knowledgeable twitcher - went back to his very first theory [after a little light research], that it was a Canary crossed with a Chaffinch that had escaped from an aviary.

Back to the thrills of Gibraltar Point ... On one occasion we set off on our way around and couldn't help noticing an over-excited group of people [aged variously between 20-70], all wearing shades of green and khaki. They also sported the obligatory walking boots with thick socks over their trousers.

Female Sparrowhawk, Gibraltar Point

Bearing in mind that the routes most of them took are accessible by mobility scooters and wheelchairs - this bunch made my decision of NOT wearing the proper 'twitcher' uniform so much easier.

They were all carrying binoculars [as was I, plus my camera], half a dozen had spotter scopes set up on tripods and were looking intently at a tree in the middle distance. 'Oooh, must be something good if they're all this excited' methinks, so we asked ...

'It's a Yellowhammer!!!' - yeah, right ... So I have to ask myself 'am I getting blasé in my old age or what?' We'd seen three Yellowhammers a few days before and I don't remember walking around and waving my arms about like this lot - but I suppose they may well be repressed thrill-seekers. We saw lots more of them on our usual route [we do sometimes go on a different route if we need a bit more excitement]. We concluded that they must have been on a bus trip from a bird watching club or maybe just escapees from somewhere not very secure.

Goldcrest

We have seen some - not particularly rare, but hard to spot - birds at Gibraltar Point including a Goldcrest who positively refused to pose nicely, hence the blurred photo. but to be honest we go there more for the walk, change of scenery and fresh air, oh and to see the seals on the sandbank when the tide is out.

I remember one occasion last year that we went to test my lovely new gadget [again]. I took photos of damselflies, dragonflies and even managed to spot and take a few shots of a Whitethroat. Upon looking at the photos in situ, the GOM wasn't convinced.

Whitethroat

As we got back to the car park, he wondered off to look at the information board and when he got back to us [my chum with an equally new, but less gadgety camera and I] waiting at the car, he grudgingly admitted that I could well be right - or in his professional opinion, it was definitely a Sea Buckthorn ... Yes, you and I know it's a bushy plant with orange berries, but I didn't see the point in arguing. He didn't really believe me until a week or so later.

Sea Buckthorn

It was late, but I was in a writing mood so I was sat with my fingers poised - all four typing fingers - above my keyboard. grumpy had just gone to bed to read; when I heard this odd noise. It sounded like a strangled gasp. It turned out to be himself trying not to laugh out loud. He'd found a Gibraltar Point leaflet amongst his pile of books and was laughing at a picture of Sea Buckthorn. I do hope no one was passing our caravan at about 12.30am, it was definitely rocking with laughter ...

Skeggy And Back

We've been to sunny Skegness to open our 'tin hut' by the sea. Of course the first thing we all do - after the boring, de-wigwamming of the seating and mattresses, collecting swimming salt dishes, cleaning and finally hanging three miles of colour coded [so I know which of the nine windows it belongs to] nets - is to check that all our near neighbours are still not dead ... it's what caravan owners do after winter because most are of a certain age and winter is when we tend to drop off our perches.

As luck would have it, we had no losses this year [unlike last] so all's well with our little world.

Our badgers have been visiting again, it only took a few nights of peanuts left out before we saw one. Then a week went by and although the nuts were gone every morning we never had another badger sighting. The fox did pay us a visit but he's like lightening and won't pose for a photo.

A couple of nights before returning home we decided to wait up until a badger came but had to give in about 2.00am. The following night the cat woke me up at 12.30 [we were too tired to wait up again], I went to threaten her with violence see what she wanted and she ran into the living room to look through the window.

There he was - a badger munching loudly on his nuts. They are very noisy eaters who wouldn't be invited to eat at my dinner table [my grumpy old man only scrapes through by dint of it being his table]. I woke grumpy up so he could have a look and apologised to my clever cat who purred her way back to bed.

It took approximately two hours for most of the birds to return once the food was out, including twelve greenfinches, two thrushes, chaffinches, goldfinches, great tits, blue tits, robins, blackbirds, ducks ... and house sparrows - which strangely enough we don't see in our bit of Langley Mill.

We do have dunnocks at home - who stupidly nested in a bush next to our kitchen window, lining the nest with my neighbours cat's fur. You'd have thought the material used would have told them that it wasn't a good idea. Anyway it was sadly abandoned with one turquoise egg dropped in a flower pot below by the time we got home.

Hmm, home, well that's another story ...

Foxes, Cats and Birds

My neighbour told me the Sunday before Christmas that she’d looked through her bedroom window a few nights before and seen a fox on the street. That same night I was gazing at the snowy expanse of Heanor Haulages back yard when I saw what I first assumed was a large cat, then realised it was a fox.

I know foxes are quite common in urban areas so it should come as no great surprise to see them. At my last address - which was described as ‘semi-rural’ we saw a fox virtually every evening at 9.00ish going back towards the fields.

Last night, I was again looking through the back bedroom window waiting for my computer to power down when I saw two foxes together, then one went towards Dean Street and the other turned to go toward the railway lines.

So not only do I have to worry about whether or not the birds are getting enough to eat - and it’s a constant battle on our back yards with the robin chasing away all comers including blackbirds, house sparrows, hedge sparrows, a wren, collared dove, 2 bullfinches and a chaffinch. All, that is except the great tits and blue tits who are too nippy for him, and the pigeons who just sit and ignore him as he keeps dive bombing them, I wonder, does he get enough to eat after all his exercise? - I now have to worry about the foxes starving, oh dear.

I harboured notions of secretly feeding them but that would put next doors guinea pig at risk and anyway the minute our back door opens, next doors cat is in like a flash. Every night just before we go to bed he knocks on the door for a snack and a drink of milk, he knows I'm a soft touch. I usually put my cat's barely touched food out for him or on the rare event that she is entirely happy with the food she’s been offered and hasn’t left most of it in disgust I'll give him cat biscuits.

Cat food that was her very favourite - yum, yum, more - only a couple of weeks ago, now merely gets sniffed at while I receive a glare that speaks volumes about ‘bad cat servant, expecting her to eat such utter garbage’. Garbage which costs 68p a micro-tin for her pussy-ship to turn her nose up at!

She knows that after three days of this ‘why are you trying to poison me with this reject dog food?’ [her thoughts not mine, it smells and looks delicious], that I’ll give in and say the magic word ‘TUNA’ while waving the tin opener at her. I have to give in to her whims because she literally wastes away before my eyes - unless she deliberately breathes in whenever I glance in her direction - she is cunning.

Of course I’ll be glued to the window tonight in the hope of seeing both foxes again, I didn’t expect to see two together as I thought they were loners, just shows you what I know doesn’t it, but I live and learn …