Mr M.

A medium sized rooster, Mr M was everyone’s friend, always perfectly turned out and a shining example to all dwelling in his magical garden. He strutted around with a natural grace and dignity that made him shine. Others were always put before himself, and he guarded all, warning of danger, always alert.

He shared his pad with his hens, they were his pride and joy and by his side they accompanied him on every adventure.

There was Mrs M, short and chubby and always into mischief, Old English, a colorful chicken of advanced years, well behaved and very wise, then there was Margo,loosely feathered and scatty as they come.

A whole host of other characters live in and around the cottage garden, we’ll meet those later, but today it’s all about Mr M.

“Cock a doodle doo” squawked Mr M. Nothing. No one moved. I said “COCK A FUCKIN DOODLE FUCKIN DOO, now move your feathery little ass holes”.

Mrs M raised an eye brow, it was still dark. “Will you pipe down a bit you noisy git”, she demanded.

Mr M paraded to and fro along his perch cock a doodling for all he was worth. The entire Parish was awake now but old Mr M carried on regardless.

The farmer, a placid chap, red faced and plump, awakened and rubbing his tired eyes he turned to his loving Wife. “You know my little Pumkiny Wumkiny, one of these mornings I’am going to ring that bastards neck”.

“Oh leave him be and put the kettle on.” Said the farmers wife.

Outside in the garden things were starting to stir,” c’mon everyone, lets have you up, hands on socks and all that”. Mr M’s enthusiasm was slowly rubbing off onto all.

From over the hedge came a voice all recognized “Will some fucka come and help me with this please, I’am mauling my bollocks off”. Yes, it was Billy Bluetit, struggling on his own to raise the gazebo for Kev’s party.

Yes, today was Kev’s birthday, and all the animals were getting together to prepare a bash. There was going to be jelly, icecream, music, and rumour has it 6 prostitutes off Commercial Road were attending, ding dong.

Kev is a grass hopper and he lives next door in the meadow, so space won’t be an issue. That’s why no one invited Brian Cox.

.Kev has been sent to the seaside for the day, to keep him out of the way while his bash is prepared.

Tune into the next gripping episode to find Kevs secret cure for crabs.

The treasure of Tara.

Bugs Bruton ran across the golden sand that was still firmed by the receding tide, heading for the gently lapping waters of  his tropical island. As he entered the shallows he went from running like a God to looking like a pissed up Flamingo, but he cared not. As soon as the depth was adequate he lunged forward with out stretched arms and like a dart he entered the the alien blue world, scratching his sack on the jagged coral of the hidden reef.

The momentum of his dive now lost Bugs found himself in 20ft of crystal clear water doing a fine impression of a Hump back. Ahead in amongst the rocks was a large wooden chest, omitting a golden glow, shoals of brightly coloured fish swam in it’s brilliance. Then! As if by magic, a Mermaid appeared, lilly white tits and long blonde hair and a bottom half that looked like something off Grimsby fish market. She beckoned, and Bugs, like a dog with two dicks, swam toward her and the mystery chest.

Every muscle ached as Bugs looking every bit the profesional pearl diver swam towards his riches, the key to a new life, the end of all problems. Bugs soon found himself looking into the Mermaids eye’s, the chest of treasure between them. She lifted the lid slowly and the glow brightened.

The aquatic beauty spoke to Bugs telepathically offering him a life with her under the sea, or the chest of Tara. Bugs pondered, oblivious to the trickle of blood from his injured sack tainting the water. Bugs opted for the treasure, and as he drooled over the contents of the chest the tearful Mermaid swam away.

Bugs was engrossed in the magic of the moment, all his prayers answered, he failed to notice the monsterous Great White torpedoing toward him from the gloom. It struck home, and in a ferocious frenzy it ate Bugs. What a bastard aye.

Free Bird.

The dawn chorus may have finished for another year but the early dawn is far from silent, even as I type a Raven croaks, calling to it’s young to stay close no doubt, yes, as I thought, two juvs and one adult just flew by.

As soon as I open the cottage door at first light I’am greeted by a cresendo of twittering from the stables. The Swallows. Now with two broods on the wing and their numbers in the low 20’s, they complete the summer scene, sunshine, golden corn and feeding Swallow’s.

I leave you now as I must water the baskets, listening to the goings on as I do so.

By for now, bis gleich.

Moth on…..Shamone, HEE HEE!

Mid summer, the mercury vapour lamp illuminates the garden, moths are drawn to this false moon that I’ve provided and fill the trap to the brim. Don’t worry none are harmed.

As day breaks I shall feed the birds, chickens, ducks and geese. while I’am doing this the moths will settle down in their egg box shelters and remain inactive for me.

Privet Hawk-moth (David Green)_1

To catch one of these beauty’s ( Privet Hawk Moth) is a very strong possibility. As impressive as the larger species are my real joy and satisfaction comes from the Micro Moths, some only as big as a pin head. Although most, if not all are common and well distributed throughout the British Isles, they are new to me.

I’am only 45 mins away from getting out there, I know for a fact there will be at least one in there that will take my breath.

I’am just off to put the kettle on for a brew.

Bis gleich.


I’ve spent so long pressing buttons I’ve had enough, so i’am going outside to frazzle my sack in the summer sun.
I’ll mow the lawns later, maybe.