Gareth and Bugs sat in front of the fire, the warm glow of the embers reddening their faces, not that Gareth’s needed it, Bugs raised his dram toward the fires glow and starred at the golden amber whiskey as he gently swirled it around the glass. Gareth watched pulling gently on his clay pipe as he did so.
Outside, the wind had picked up and was now drifting the snow into the corners of the garden, the corners that only a short time ago had displayed the blooms of summer.
“You know Gareth, we don’t lead such a bad life do we?”
“I’ll second that Bugs, now put a drop more of that fine malt in my glass , and while you’re at it, I’ll have one of those delicious goat’s cheese and pesto tartlets you’ve baked please.”
Bugs obliged then placed a fresh log on the fire, it started to smoke and hiss a little as the heat drove out the last of the moisture. The old friends sat and starred, each, once more lost in thought in their own little world.
The other side of the window pane things were different, the snow now fell left to right instead of up to down. The howling wind singing it’s eerie song around the cottage.
“A few more hours of this Gareth and we’re snowed in mate, but fear not, I have provisions for a month, and if after that it gets worse I’ll eat you.”
You would’nt,would you Bugs?”
“You can bet your feathery little ass I would, you look finger lickin good.”
The clock chimed 1, time to do the rounds and feed the animals. The two friends made ready for their icy task, Gareth sported a tweed overcoat and a pair of Dunlop wellies, Bugs on the other hand opted for a more rural approach and donned his Barbour.
The two horses, Kracker and Poppy, were well rugged up but still stood against the hedge, their backs to the wind.
As the duo trudged through the snow toward the duck pond, they heard Harry, the goose, calling, rallying the ponds residents.
“Gareth, grab that brush and clear a feeding area.”
Shouted Bugs, as he lifted the tub of food from the feed bin. The pond was’nt frozen and the snow flakes melted instantly on touching it’s surface. The wind searched for ways into the winter attire but found none.
The horses, ducks, geese, chickens and wild birds were taken care of, helped, helped to survive, after all, that’s what it’s all about, survival. A little thought and a little effort, that’s all it takes and everyone and everything feels better for it.
Tune in next time to see how Gareth the helpful Turkey sacrifices himself to save a stranded community.
Gaffers up, brew time, bye for now.
Month: Sep 2017
Home sweet Home.
This is my Gaff, my Pad, tucked away in the Staffordshire countryside away from all of my dislikes, well almost all anyway, can’t have our cake and eat it can we.
It is here we enjoy the Summer Sun and go hand in hand with the Seasons.
 As the Seasons change we have to follow suit and change with them. Some of the old sayings ring true to this Day, a stitch in time saves nine is one of my favorites, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and many more.
Even  as I write a light rain falls and saturates the colors of Autumn, I may have to close the door and seal my little cocoon, oh no, someone is comming up the track, I can tell because the Birds have gone quiet, someone is opening the 5 bar gate, can’t see them yet, to many leaves on the Forsythia, a little Stoat just ran across the path spooking a feeding Woody. There’s only one, should be in view any second now, they are safe as long as they stay on the path.
Well I’ll be damned. Look who it is, it’s Gareth the helpful Turkey!
“Bore Da Bugs, you in?”
“P’noun Da Gareth, c’mon in, mind that trip wire”
Best put the kettle on, see you later.
THE MOTHER OF ALL TABS.
After a light English and a cup of tea I stepped out into the Northumbria’s Indian summer, bales of golden straw lay in the misty field, their presence revealed slowly, a bit at a time, like a stripper seducing her audience. The resident Barn Owl, glided above the silver veil on silent ghostly wings searching for it’s survival.
Even surrounded by this natural beauty my thoughts could not be distracted from the task ahead, the walk, the wall, months of planning and preparation.
I sat in silence staring out of the car window soaking up every detail of this golden moment as we headed for the urban sprawl of Newcastle and my start point.
The rising September Sun bathed Geordy Land in it’s golden glow, reflecting off the roof tops of the rows of terraced houses. Traffic lights stood guard over empty streets, a Man held a limp leash and watched us pass as his dog marked it’s territory  with squirts of steaming waz.
The industrial north slept, enjoying it’s brief release from the mundane, it was as if we were the sole survivors of some apocalyptic dawn.
Signs of life, we passed a milkman’s cart, a cat ran across our path, a Herring gull called as it warmed itself on a cracked chimney pot.
After several lefts and rights we were confronted by SEGEDUNUM, no longer a name or picture in a book, but the Mcoy, the point of no return.
Tune in next time when Bugs Bruton will reveal the ancient art of Stotty troffin whilst under effective enemy fire.
Time for a brew before the Gaffer gets up, take care.
Cuckoo Land.
Greetings, as promised, I’ve returned. Once again I find myself sat at an angle of 45 Degrees, lolling on the table finger poised trying not to dribble on the keyboard.
The day before Yesterday I went on a trip into Cuckoo Land. That’s anywhere past our gate, my God, what’s gone wrong out there. The pace, well, it was as if every one was out to get their dramatic driving license. I observed a bit of professional interaction between two truck drivers( almost put truckers there). Apart from that it was a selfish free for all, road signs and markings ignored, no indication and the list goes on.
We drove past several Pubs, once the centre of the community, now, just abandoned shells awaiting the wrecking ball. Surrounded by metal fencing, Ragwort growing through cracks in the never to be used again tarmac of the car park. Invisible tears ran from the boarded eyes.
Even the Pub we visited, and I use the term Pub loosely, lacked atmosphere, ambiance and character. My past their present. Sad.
Even the local shops, a dilapidated row of outlets selling everything from Kebabs to Kebabs looked grimy and uninviting. ENGLAND our England, how I despair.
Anyway, I’am going back down to the greenhouse to see who’s won the race.
I’ve been watching two snails thrash it out on a lettuce leaf. The clock’s saying they’ve been at it for 2 1/2 hours now.
What ever you get up to today, behave yourself, keep well, bye.
Storkwrite 
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