Tuesday, 19 May 2009

Doors, blisters, and mozzies

Hellooo and welcome. This be t' owld doooor that upon a time ago serrrrved to protect t'occupants of t'tall barrrrn. Eet weavered many a storrrrm but ne'er eet failed. T'ole in t'wall eet protected.

Now eet ees no morrrre. Il est mort.





Et voila. Angel Jim did come and wave a magic wand, or rather, his toolbox. With great skill he made and manoevred a new door into place. Et voila!



The 'ole has been feeexed.




"Oooooouuuuucccchhhhhh!" Head Gardener wailed this morning, "I've got a blister on my thumb". And so a blister had grown where before there had been none. Indeed, HG's once white, pristine, office hands are now brown, earthen, and starting to grow baby calouses. Ah bless! And now the advent of a blister, brought about by the moving of the field, not with a tractor nor yet a sit upon lawn mower, but by his ancient petrol lawnmower which has to be pushed over the docks, nettles, wild flowers, old corn stalks, new corn, and other assorted greenery which has made up the field out back of the house. And HG, stirling trooper that he is, has mown a goodly portion of this field, and turned it into a trainee lawn. Hence the blister. It takes hours. He is brown, fit, and has newly made muscles in certain places. Mmmm, lovely!

And so the mozzies have arrived for their summer vacation. They have been floating around for a few days, but in a lazy fashion as if they are still half asleep and wouldn't take a sip of blood out of us even if we offered ourselves up for them to do so. Not now. Last night, with a vengeance they were zooming in to any piece of skin which dared show itself. So that's it for the rest of the year. Never mind, one gets used to them. All windows and doors are shut before they start flying about in the evening and HG is a marvelous aim with his flyswot, and we say Hurrah to the bats and swifts which are zooming about overhead eating them for dinner.




And 'ere beee t'doorrrr!












Things I have learnt today: That sometimes I can speak French, sometimes I can't. So not to get into a flurry if I can't for the life of me understand the French butcher into whose shop I ventured for the first time. Perhaps next time I might.(This is a different butcher to the one I have spoken about in the past). And not to mind if my double chin seems to have vanished. It will probably be back soon.