Dust in the wind

It's been snowing here, on and off over the last two days.  Well, sleeting.  Heavy rain, with lumps in.  Mindful of the poor starving birds in the garden, I thought I'd crumble up the last remaining bit of the loaf I made on Sunday.  It was a wholemeal granary one, with loads of seeds in it, so I thought it might do the birds some good.

We feed them with "real" birdfood too.  Mr WithaY has a whole system of nut feeders, seed feeders, fat ball* feeders and a birdbath, which he keeps a close eye on, replenishing as required.  We get all manner of small birds in the garden:  finches, tits, song thrushes, blackbirds, robins, and sometimes a spotted woodpecker, which is lovely to watch.  Oh, and a pair of ducks the other day which seemed to be looking for a nice spot to build a nest.

However, yesterday I thought that the birds could have some tasty homemade bread as well as the regular free-for-all buffet we normally provide for them.

I carefully crumbled up the bread, which was still fresh - before I get hate mail accusing me of palming off rock-hard crusts onto the poor defenceless birdies.  None of that nasty stale shite for our birds.  Oh no.

I made a neat little heap of crumbs, lots of nice sunflower seeds distributed throughout, scooped them up into my hand and opened the back door to toss them artfully onto the lawn where I'd be able to watch the birds enjoying them.

In future, I will check which way the wind is blowing before I toss a large handful of small breadcrumbs out of the door.  Top tip there.

I spent about 20 minutes picking seeds off my clothes and out of my hair, and the birds got bugger-all**.






* I know it's juvenile, but I can't help it.  I snigger every time I see the display of Fat Balls in the supermarket.  And when we spotted the Fat Peckers I had to be helped away.

**Unless they were watching, and enjoyed a good laugh watching me shouting "Oh bollocks!" and brushing myself off vigorously.

Wildlife

Ahhh, winter.  The time when all of Nature seems to slow down and sleep for the colder months.  The time when even the little birds in the trees seem sleepy and lazy.  When the plants in the garden furl up and die rest.  Even the light is washed out and tired, pale and disinterested. 

The only exception to this bucolic placidity would appear the be the bastard rats in our garden.  They are getting extra-specially busy.  Perhaps they are swept up in the excitement of the pre-Christmas rush.

I bet they have made"to do" lists:

1)  Run out from under the shed and frisk round the garden (Note: only do this after Mr WithaY's Landrover has left the drive.)
2)  Climb into apple tree and gnaw on remaining apples. 
3)  Remember to glare into the kitchen window while doing this.
4)  Avoid the rat traps.  Especially the one in the top of the compost bin.
5)  Continue with Project S.
6)  Ignore the bread spread with peanut butter outside the shed.  It's another trap. 
7)  Buy kevlar vests.
8)  Get in touch with the mole and remind him that he is spending the rest of Winter with us.
9)  Have a word with the robin about the meaning of the word "Sharing".

I have broken their code.  I know what Project S is all about.  It's about gnawing a hole in the floor of the shed from underneath so they can get in there and play with all our stuff.  I fully anticipate seeing a team of rats riding my bicycle* round the garden before Spring. 

The garden, incidentally, which is being gradually converted from a moss-infested dank wilderness to a tidy, fertile home for all manner of fruits and flowers.  I planted raspberry canes the other weekend, before I went down with the Black Lung.  I also planted up the big stone trough with Spring bulbs, so with any luck we will have tulips, irises, crocuses, hyacinths and narcissi.  Assuming the resident wildlife doesn't start using the place as a snack bar, of course. 

I saw a squirrel in the apple tree again, he was tucking into the peanut feeder we hung there for the birds.  He stopped stealing nuts for long enough to stick two fingers up at me, then went back to his thieving.  Mr WithaY recently saw a rat in there too, calmly eating one of the apples without a care in the world. 

Earlier today I saw a woodpecker on the same feeder, tucking into the nuts.  We've also had blue tits, coal tits, great tits, wrens, sparrows, jackdaws, greenfinches, pigeons, collared doves, starlings and a crow.  Oh, and the scary robin.  He is a terror.  All the other birds seems to be afraid of him, and I can see why.

Other news:  I am on the mend.  Hurrah.  I am still coughing like a pauper from a Victorian workhouse, but the pain in my chest has lessened and I don't think I have a temperature any more. 





*And, to be honest, that would be the first time it has been ridden in 8 years.  Anyone want to buy it?

Snail

The snow is turning to a nice mixture of hail and snow, I shall call it Snail.

I took some photos, as did everyone else in the UK. Look:


Our bin, last night. I spoil my readers.


Look! Footprints vanishing into the darkness! It's almost as if a big bloke walked into the garden and was then made to stay there while his over-excited wife took a picture.


A daylight shot of Mr WithaY's truck, please note the proliferation of overhead lines. Most artistic.


The back garden in daylight, full of grumpy cold blackbirds and scary robins. We have since refilled the bird feeders and put an apple out for them. If you don't placate them, the robin god comes in the night and pulls out all your feathers.

...if you want to rock and roll

Did it. Sang with the band. Just one song, not especially brilliant, but not dreadful either.

Hurrah for me.

Next time (assuming they let me do it again) I will play guitar as well, and see how that goes.

Mr WithaY came along to offer moral support, which was great. A few of our neighbours were there as well, so it was nice to know there were some friendly faces in the audience.

Mind you, I did get the impression that everyone who was there knew the band in one way or another - parents, workmates, friends, fellow guitar pupils. So it was always pretty unlikely that the chickenwire stage* protector would have been needed.

Their lead singer is superb. He's very young, like still at school young, but has a voice and a half on him. And real stage presence too. I like to imagine that in years to come when he is headlining at Wembley I can say "Oh yes, I sang with him when he was just starting out."

Heh.

Other news: Work is still hectic, and looks set to continue that way, but at least I have some more people in the team now.

Mr WithaY and I are on an "Eat less, you greedy fat bastards" diet, which is working. We are now using portion control when we cook, rather than just using huge quantities of everything, and both of us agree that we are not hungry, and are probably eating about 2/3 of the amounts we were.

I need to be very strict about getting out of the office in time to get to the gym after work though. I get hooked up in late meetings, so by the time I get away it's 6pm and the last thing I feel like doing is waddling and wheezing on the cross trainer for 30 minutes.

Excuses, excuses. One day at a time.

Ooh yes - the rooks are back. Within about 2 hours of Mr WithaY filling all the bird feeders in the garden we were inundated with many, many birds, which is excellent. And shortly after that, a gang of rooks turned up and sauntered about under the apple tree, eyeing up the fat block**. And the next time I looked out, the fat block had gone.

Whilst buying bird food in the pet shop, Mr WithaY had a chat with the pet requisite vendor. Apparently another customer had asked him "Why would anyone buy food for birds they don't own?"

I can't imagine what kind of mindset you would need to ask that question. It's like saying "Why would anyone smile at people they don't know?" or "Why would anyone take part in any kind of voluntary work?"

Left us all rather bemused.


*Front of pub alcove

**Block of fat, in a little metal cage thingy. In case you were wondering.