Friday 16th March, 2012

The trouble, if you are someone who catches pigeons with your bare hands and lobs them at unsuspecting friends, is that all sorts of stories wing their way around about what you have been up to lately. This weeks one was from the mother of a girl at Rugby who bumped into Sophie ...."Oh" she said, "Olivia told me the story about Bob smuggling a dead pheasant into school with him after the last leave out and putting it in one of his friend's bed". Gross, or what. He insists this is completely fictitious, but why am I not completely convinced? Talking of wings, have I ever told you about Humphrey? He had his own Facebook page for a while. He's Hen's miniature smooth haired daschund. Knee high to a grasshopper, but so much better looking than Yoda, the ugliest dog in the world who has died aged 15. Yup, he's sweet, apart, that is, from the fact that he has bitten both the postman and the window cleaner and, when out on a walk, he is inclined to attack other dogs, regardless of size, that come within 50 yards of him. I don't know, its maybe not so funny in the writing, but last weekend, whilst I was quietly weeding and minding my own business, there was suddenly the most horrific and startling commotion. I jumped up to see Humphrey scampering, tail between his legs, and squealing, as though there was a pack of rottweilers after him, up the path from the field where he enjoys snuffling about and feasting on horse poo. It will be a while before Humphrey lives this down. What a loser. Hot on his heels and chasing him for all she was worth, was Penry, our Suffolk white hen. Chicken legs drumming on the gravel, wings flapping I have to admit she was quite a scary sight. I thought I was going to have to lots of interesting stuff to tell you about this week as it was Lotties school play last night, "Arsenic and Old Lace", but alas it was a dull old event. Indeed if wasn't for the fact that I was able to leave early as Lottie only appeared in Scene Three, I would have been quite happy if my couple of glasses of eldeberry wine, washing down three stale sausage rolls, at the interval had been laced with arsenic, strychnine and a pinch of cyanide. I got my comeuppance for my disloyal behaviour though as I ended up stuck in a traffic jam on the A14 for 40 minutes and missed the end of Master Chef. You probably occasionally get the sense in these missives that I consider myself a pretty unlucky person and you would probably be right. Three years ago, when it was our turn to have my parents for Christmas, my father dropped the stopper to one of a pair of beautiful William Yeoward crystal decanters we have whilst he was doing the washing up. It shattered on the kitchen floor, but I kept remarkably calm not wanting to ruin Christmas and anyway I have never really been convinced that you should put a stopper in a decanter. Well, one of the few other things I managed to do during my garden leave, besides building a vegetable garden - HOSEPIPE BAN....aaaaaagh! - was at last to make a trip to William Yeoward where I handed in the remaining stopper and asked them to find a copy to replace the broken one. Still with me? Anyway, four months on and I get home last night in a right bate to find a large cardboard box had been delivered. Inside were two hand cut crystal decanters, almost identical to the ones we already have, and a letter from the nice young boy at William Yeoward apologising for the fact they hadn't been able to find a replacement stopper and would I accept these as a gift with their apologies. There is a God and well done Dad, but no......you don't need to do the washing up again. Sounds like something out of Trading Places. P.S. On the subject of God, I hear the Archbishop of Canterbury is standing down to take up a position as Master of Magdalene College, Cambridge. It all makes sense now. I saw him the other evening on the platform of Cambridge railway station. I thought at the time he had a rather guilty look on his face.