I think I've mentioned 'Chickoland' before, haven't I? The bit of land at the top of the garden which is in the field and is traditionally attached to our house and rented for twelve first class stamps a year? I've been clearing it recently following a long period of neglect and overgrowth - it used to be where we kept our chickens: Doris and Dilys (the bantams) and their cockerel Dave (who sadly died and was replaced by a mean son of a b**** called Dennis, who had to go as he chased me out every time I went in there...), Esther and Ethel (the white ones) and Myrtle and Mildred (the evil black ones, especially Mildred). We had a good couple of years with the birds in residence, and having fresh eggs every morning was a real treat; it also proved a good bartering tool as we would swap eggs for fresh veg which our neighbour grows, when there was an excess of either. However the chicken population slowly declined, due in part to Monsieur Reynard and his family who have been known to sneak over the Down for a scout round for an easy dinner (cheeky bugger's even come into the back garden on the off chance), some to unidentified illness when C found a couple of them dead in the coop one week - personally though I put this down the the evil Mildred, who always looked like she was sizing everyone up to see if she could 'take' them, including me! More than once she got a swipe from my broom/rake/whatever I had in my hand at the time when she chanced her arm (or should that be wing?). As Mildred was also the last remaining chicken it reinforced this view. It may seem weird to some people, but we actually buried each chook under the apple tree; I refused to consider cooking them, and I don't think C or Romilly could have eaten something we'd named. So under the tree they all went. Hence Chickoland....
Anyway, this morning I decided to do some more clearing and spent a good couple of hours tackling the overgrowth with a pair of shears, which C had kindly sharpened for me. You may think it would be easier to smash around with the strimmer - well, you'd be right, but using the shears is better for me for three reasons: (1) they're not noisy and don't use petrol or electric, (2) I don't need an in-depth training course on how to use them and manoeuvre them appropriately (courtesy of C - the strimmer's his toy and he would stand and watch me flailing around, not good), and (3) they are a fantastic way of toning up the old bingo wings! Marvellous. Of course the upshot of all this activity was that I had a huge pile of stuff that needed to be disposed of, which I choose to do in the traditional manner and have a bonfire; it doesn't go down too well when it's smokey and blows in the wrong direction however. I always try to leave it until early evening, when most people have got their washing off the line, and usually on an evening when the weather is not brilliant for sitting out, to avoid spoiling anyone's barbecue/garden party/quiet time in the garden. It's even better for me if it's raining as well, so it practically guarantees there's no-one to annoy. So I set up my fire - started it of with dry wood and built it up with old logs that we can't burn indoors (pine etc which is a bit spitty and the chimney sweep has a fit about if they go anywhere near the lounge). It was such a nice fire, so beautifully and artistically built by yours truly, that C came up and sat to admire it. Hence today's blog title - I do confess to being utterly beguiled by fire, in its role as a comforting source of heat I hasten to add; I am not about to go round setting fire to things just to see the effect, no 'arson around' here thank you. And once the base was all hot and the wood had burned down, on went all the cuttings...which produced the most smokey fire I've ever set; and right on cue the wind turned and started blowing it down across the back gardens and into the village, instead of up the field and across the Downs. Bloody typical; I only hope I didn't annoy anyone. Very satisfying for me - fire, outdoors, burning weeds - not so satisfying for any poor soul down the hill!
C had ordered himself a new basic mobile phone to use as when he got his Ipad he sent his HTC phone back; he only needs it for texts and calls as the magic Ipad does everything else. It arrived today - the Parcelforce chap arrived with it while C was out and had the pleasure of me opening the door in full gardening gear, plus sweaty face/wet hair/bits of plant attached in various places. No wonder he took a step back. So C was a happy bunny, with yet another new toy to play with; it's worth noting that this appears to be a genetic trait as all the kids are the same and go into paroxysms of ecstasy at the thought of the latest phone/computer/games system etc. Not my thing at all.
I spoke to Sonya this afternoon - she's the Macmillan Nurse Specialist who is our contact. She rang to say that she hasn't managed to speak to anyone at Southampton General Hospital about C's operation - they're all in meetings this afternoon, but she's going to try on Monday and get back to us. I told her we're going away Sunday morning so it's good in a way not to know what's happening (for a change) so we can pretend nothing is (which it isn't in terms of action plans, but is in terms of illness, if you catch my drift...). C was out at Esplanade collecting this flash car they're kindly lending us to go away in - having seen it and Googling how much it's worth I shall have no problem whatsoever refusing to drive the thing; it looks lovely, and has every kind of button for things you can imagine (C was extremely excited about this, as was Rom when she went up to have a look) which make me petrified to touch anything in case I set off the rocket boosters/ejector seat/underwater power system or whatever else it's got. Am I alone in this?????
Rom was home tonight, and sat down with us to have dinner and watch TV - this may sound boring but it doesn't happen very often as she's usually ensconced in her room using the laptop and watching American comedy programmes. We had the open fire lit (told you I love fires - I had candles lit too...) and watched the new New Tricks - a nice easy programme to sit in front of; so easy that C dropped of a few times! Ah, bless...
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