Once again, it has been a lovely sunny day. LSS has progressed with the garden and planted a couple of rows of King Edward potatoes which we brought over from the UK, and a row of French potatoes whose provenance has been lost in the mists of time. (In other words we haven’t a clue what sort they are). A row of carrots will also hopefully soon be pushing their leafy green foliage above the soil.
A couple of pots of specialised tomato seeds have also been started. Some yellow tomatoes with the unlikely name of “Yellow Stuffer”, and some which are apparently called “Black Russians”. Hey, don’t look at me, I didn’t name them.
I cut some more wood into stove-sized pieces, and then sorted out our outdoor bathroom, installing guy-ropes to keep the wooden posts supporting the army groundsheets upright in the face of the prevailing winds.
We celebrated today’s labours by having a bath in the late afternoon sunshine. It was absolutely great; and the breeze was pleasantly cooling instead of freezing our wet skin like it did recently.
In the dark recesses of the outbuilding-which-will-eventually-be-the-garage, I came across one of the aged FIL’s rifles. It takes .22 short cartridges, which explains the small metal container of these which I found when clearing out one of the cupboards. The rifle is a single-shot type, but the stock is a bit short for me; I guess he’d had it since he was about 14 or so. Obviously, like everything else he owns, it was extremely rusty. I checked that the barrel was clear, inserted a cartridge, held the thing at arms’ length, pointed it into the garden, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Oh dear. Misfire. Surprise, surprise, not. Cocked the hammer again, and squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Sigh. Cocked the hammer again, and pulled the trigger for the third time.
Phut.
Ah, ok. I’m afraid this thing would be more useful as a tool for knocking in fence posts. My .177 Diana air rifle would appear to be more powerful. (And more reliable. And more accurate. And there’s not a spot of rust on it even though my Dad originally purchased it in 1969, and I inherited it in 1980. Did I mention that I look after my possessions?)
The rifle has gone into the pile of other stuff which will be taken back to the aged FIL’s house, for him to do with what he wishes.
Today was finally Bramble Revenge Day. As it had been nice and sunny yesterday and today, I thought the pile of bramble debris was looking a bit drier, so went over to it, checked for any hedgehogs (sadly not) and lit a match. Whoof! They were certainly dry enough! In fact, as I’m typing, I can look out of the kitchen window and the pile of ashes is still smoking.
Tomorrow we’re off to Blois again to have the ST1100 headlight changed. Hopefully it won’t rain overnight – I took a walk along the access lane this afternoon to check if there was any post (there wasn’t) and the road is looking much less muddy and slippery than it was last week.
The thing I like about living in the countryside, especially after sunset, is the silence. Although if I’m entirely honest, it’s not completely silent. Yes, there are no traffic noises or neighbourhood hi-fi systems or televisions. But there is a constant “ribbit-ribbit-ribbit” from the frogs in the pond, the “chirrup-chirrup-chirrup” of the crickets, the occasional call of an unidentified bird, and the “squeeeeeeeech” of an owl as it contemplates whether it should deposit its snow-white guano offering onto the stepladder leaning against the internal garage wall, or onto the garden tools leaning up against the aforementioned stepladder. (This seems to depend on which way round the barn owl is perched on the rafter).
(Note to self: block up the holes in the eaves of the garage to prevent owls entering. There are several other outbuildings they could use quite happily, so it’s not as though it’s Owl Discrimination Month).
There are also a profusion of beetles around at present. Excluding the previously-mentioned Colorado beetle, these vary in colour from jet black, through irridescent browns and greens, to one particularly catwalk-conscious specimen which had an irridescent green body, and a bright, irridescent pink abdomen.
And the swallows have arrived! I saw one perched on our television aerial this afternoon. A couple of hours later one flew in at the open kitchen door and straight out of the open kitchen window, much to LSS’s surprise.