ENGLAND
I recently returned back to England for the first time in twenty years, mainly because my Dad sent the family some money and the family decided that it would be a good idea for me to go back and see him before one or both of us croaked-it.
As I am one of the most invalid (as in not valid) Invalid Pensioners in existence (In my opinion, anyway!) It was decided that I should go over there with my 14 year old daughter Ness, as a Carer, Hmmh!
I didn’t particularly want to go over there as a tourist and only wanted to go and see my old hunting grounds (walking, pubs and chip-shops) and my Old Man and do boring old-farty things. My sister, in England agreed with this and said that she would pay for Nessie’s airfare and look after her over there while I did my own thing.
I arranged to stay in a cottage in Little Hayfield for the first and last weeks and stay with my sister in Swadlincote for the middle two weeks. This is an an edited account of our trip. Ness can give her own version. We left at the beginning of November, which was not an ideal time from her school’s point of view, but they reckon that travel broadens the mind and I thought that a month in England would be a better education, than a month doing trig and Religious Education in North Melbourne.
ENGLISH WEATHER
As an expatriate Pom I was a tad disappointed in the weather, November is supposed to be cold, wet and miserable. I was expecting snow, hail, frost and gale force winds. I was expecting to get chilblains on my extremities fingers, toes and possibly testicles (maybe not!). I was expecting to be slipping and sliding on icy pavements.
My Good Lady Wife (GLW) had bought me a padded jacket (parka, not strait-jacket) that would have kept Oates warm and saved him from farewelling Scott and staggering to his demise in the Antarctic wastes. I had to carry it through Changi Airport in Singapore (which boasts of being 3 degrees north of the equator and is consequently bloody hot) because it was too bulky to fit in my suitcase. My daughter said it looked like I was carrying a very large baby or a very small midget, so we called it ‘Midge’ and took a photo of it sitting in a seat with it’s arm around my shoulders.
I wore it once at Manchester Airport when my nephew picked us up, but I had to take it off to get into the car to fasten the seat belt. After that, I never wore it again and gave it away to my 87 year old dad. While he thought I wasn’t watching, he gave it away to my brother-in-law and that was the last I saw of dear ‘Midge’.
To get back to the point, ‘English Weather’, it was either exceptionally mild or maybe with ‘global warming’ that sort of weather has become the norm. It was quite cold on our first day there on 30th October and as I was staying up near the Peak District, we did experience snow when we drove a little higher. This was promising, not exactly ‘Midge’ weather, but getting close.
I spent a week up in the hills and got wet once, but apart from that, nothing. I then spent two weeks in Swadlincote, where it was even milder before returning back to Little Hayfield in the Peak for another week. I did get a little flurry of snow while I was there, it lasted for about five minutes.
After we returned to Aus (26C) I checked the weather in the UK the next day and it was a min -6C, max 3C in Stockport and would have been even colder in the Peak. I thought, bugger this, I’ll go in February next time.
Cheers for now,
SkyBlueSkull.
Showing posts with label Environment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Environment. Show all posts
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
How not to covet your neighbours assai. (Trees).
When we moved into ‘Chateau Skull’ fifteen years ago after buying it on the spur of the moment. It was an ‘impulse buy’, so impulsive that I only had fifteen dollars in my wallet when I put in the winning bid at the auction. I was a little taken aback when the auctioneer asked me for a deposit. He was, however, a very trusting person and arranged for me to get the money on the Monday, that being a Saturday.
I suppose that I should have noticed at the time, that the Chateau was situated next to a two storey block of twenty four flats. However, caught up in the euphoria of the moment and overwhelmed by my own audacity, I think at the time I was the only bidder and bidded myself up another couple of thou.
When we bought the place there were quite a few trees around the place which hid us from the neighbours. There was an old Sycamore tree and another type of English style deciduous tree and two Cherry Trees in the front and a Peach, Plum, Apple, Fig and a Lemon tree in the back with some assorted Australian Evergreens scattered along the border.
At first we had a few problems with the neighbours, because some of the flats were government owned and let out to an assortment of what can best be described as misfits and loonies. Eventually though, the government decided to sell them off to private owners, who mainly bought them for their own use or as investment properties.
For a few years everything went swimmingly, the trees grew taller blocking out the flats completely from our view, the neighbours were happy picking the overgrowing fruit and having greenery to look out on. We were happy with the fruit and the privacy to sunbathe in the warmer months and dine al fresco.
Then along came the dreaded ‘Global Warming’, which has resulted in a drought lasting for over a decade, this area is mainly clay and basalt rock and the drying out has resulted in the buildings foundations moving. The flats next door were built on shonky foundations and had inadequate drainage in my humble opinion. This has resulted in large cracks, so large in fact that herds of Wildebeest could charge through, if they so desired. Luckily for the flat dwellers, such herds do not exist in Albion.
Armed with an engineers report, representatives of the body-corporate arrived, stating that the cracks in the flats were caused by the roots of the trees sucking up all the moisture and demanding their removal. I considered fighting this, but it would have cost thousands, getting alternative reports and court costs etc. So we decided to allow their removal, provided they paid for it and replaced the trees with others with less intrusive roots.
Looking on the bright side of things, some of the trees were forty foot weeds, the figs, pomegranates and lemons were inedible, the apples weren’t much better and I was sick of plum jam. The leaves were blocking the gutters and we have got a new landscaped garden with Acacias, Japanese Maples, Magnolias and other such exotica and I’m too old to worry about getting a suntan anyway. Not to mention the fact that I’ve been getting fit working my mattocks off weeding and barrowing cubic metres of mulch.
Cheers for now,
SkyBlueSkull.
http://keith-skellern.blogspot.com/neighboursparttwo
I suppose that I should have noticed at the time, that the Chateau was situated next to a two storey block of twenty four flats. However, caught up in the euphoria of the moment and overwhelmed by my own audacity, I think at the time I was the only bidder and bidded myself up another couple of thou.
When we bought the place there were quite a few trees around the place which hid us from the neighbours. There was an old Sycamore tree and another type of English style deciduous tree and two Cherry Trees in the front and a Peach, Plum, Apple, Fig and a Lemon tree in the back with some assorted Australian Evergreens scattered along the border.
At first we had a few problems with the neighbours, because some of the flats were government owned and let out to an assortment of what can best be described as misfits and loonies. Eventually though, the government decided to sell them off to private owners, who mainly bought them for their own use or as investment properties.
For a few years everything went swimmingly, the trees grew taller blocking out the flats completely from our view, the neighbours were happy picking the overgrowing fruit and having greenery to look out on. We were happy with the fruit and the privacy to sunbathe in the warmer months and dine al fresco.
Then along came the dreaded ‘Global Warming’, which has resulted in a drought lasting for over a decade, this area is mainly clay and basalt rock and the drying out has resulted in the buildings foundations moving. The flats next door were built on shonky foundations and had inadequate drainage in my humble opinion. This has resulted in large cracks, so large in fact that herds of Wildebeest could charge through, if they so desired. Luckily for the flat dwellers, such herds do not exist in Albion.
Armed with an engineers report, representatives of the body-corporate arrived, stating that the cracks in the flats were caused by the roots of the trees sucking up all the moisture and demanding their removal. I considered fighting this, but it would have cost thousands, getting alternative reports and court costs etc. So we decided to allow their removal, provided they paid for it and replaced the trees with others with less intrusive roots.
Looking on the bright side of things, some of the trees were forty foot weeds, the figs, pomegranates and lemons were inedible, the apples weren’t much better and I was sick of plum jam. The leaves were blocking the gutters and we have got a new landscaped garden with Acacias, Japanese Maples, Magnolias and other such exotica and I’m too old to worry about getting a suntan anyway. Not to mention the fact that I’ve been getting fit working my mattocks off weeding and barrowing cubic metres of mulch.
Cheers for now,
SkyBlueSkull.
http://keith-skellern.blogspot.com/neighboursparttwo
Friday, April 17, 2009
An update on naked bog hopping in the Peak District
Well, the Summer Solstice has come and gone, with no great surprises. Despite, or perhaps because of, a considerable police presence, in the form of Constable Paddy MacGillicuddie, formerly of the RUC but now with the Royal Cheshire Mounted Police (RCMP, Motto ‘We always get our person’) (Yet another example of Political Correctness gone wild).
Constable MacGillicuddie, a splendid example of a British Bobby, standing 6ft 3in in his size 14 Bobby boots and Bobby helmet, but actually 5ft 6 3/4in without them, reported that he had made no arrests.
He did however sight ‘a bevy’ of naked women skipping through the bogs and gave chase, but lost them as he became bogged down and sank into the bog, up to his strategically positioned, police issue truncheon. It should be mentioned here that the Constable was only attired in the aforementioned boots and helmet in order to blend in with the expected crowd of revellers.
When questioned about how many women constitute ‘a bevy’, he admitted that he was unsure because he had his whistle in one hand and was holding his truncheon strategically with the other, thus rendering him unable to count them all, but stated categorically that there were more than two.
Senior Detective Sergeant Mullet of The Police Association (Well known for his cameo appearance on ‘Dixon of Dock Green’ solemnly intoning “ ‘ello, ‘ello, ‘ello, there’s something fishy going on ‘ere”) has subsequently stated that he will not have his members exposed to that kind of thing in future.
He has since released funds from the Association’s ‘Slush Fund’ to provide knitting needles and wool to Gladys MacPlebian and the spinsters, along with the ‘Vital Statistics’ of Constable MacGillicuddie and asked them to knit a ‘Willy-Warmer’ for future events.
When she saw the ‘statistics’ Phyllis Arkwright gigglingly suggested that the Sen Det Seg’t had failed to take into account the ‘Wind Chill’ effect on the high moors and that perhaps a Man City Blue would be a better colour co-ordination. Mullet told her “Shut your gob! and start knitting, or else!”. Constable Paddy quietly informed her, that Mullet was a ‘dyed in the wool’ Man U supporter and to use the red and white skeins.
Cheers for now. until the Autumn Equinox.
SkyBlueSkull.
http://keith-skellern.blogspot.com
Constable MacGillicuddie, a splendid example of a British Bobby, standing 6ft 3in in his size 14 Bobby boots and Bobby helmet, but actually 5ft 6 3/4in without them, reported that he had made no arrests.
He did however sight ‘a bevy’ of naked women skipping through the bogs and gave chase, but lost them as he became bogged down and sank into the bog, up to his strategically positioned, police issue truncheon. It should be mentioned here that the Constable was only attired in the aforementioned boots and helmet in order to blend in with the expected crowd of revellers.
When questioned about how many women constitute ‘a bevy’, he admitted that he was unsure because he had his whistle in one hand and was holding his truncheon strategically with the other, thus rendering him unable to count them all, but stated categorically that there were more than two.
Senior Detective Sergeant Mullet of The Police Association (Well known for his cameo appearance on ‘Dixon of Dock Green’ solemnly intoning “ ‘ello, ‘ello, ‘ello, there’s something fishy going on ‘ere”) has subsequently stated that he will not have his members exposed to that kind of thing in future.
He has since released funds from the Association’s ‘Slush Fund’ to provide knitting needles and wool to Gladys MacPlebian and the spinsters, along with the ‘Vital Statistics’ of Constable MacGillicuddie and asked them to knit a ‘Willy-Warmer’ for future events.
When she saw the ‘statistics’ Phyllis Arkwright gigglingly suggested that the Sen Det Seg’t had failed to take into account the ‘Wind Chill’ effect on the high moors and that perhaps a Man City Blue would be a better colour co-ordination. Mullet told her “Shut your gob! and start knitting, or else!”. Constable Paddy quietly informed her, that Mullet was a ‘dyed in the wool’ Man U supporter and to use the red and white skeins.
Cheers for now. until the Autumn Equinox.
SkyBlueSkull.
http://keith-skellern.blogspot.com
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Naked Bog Hopping in The Peak District
I read a very short piece (about one column inch) in the Melbourne Age, about this degradation of the peat bogs, (not the naked bog hopping part) and sent this off to The Buxton Advertiser as a tongue in cheek review. I got a rather stern reprimand, stating that the bogs in the Peak actually soaked up more CO2 than all the forests in Europe.
Further research showed that the original piece was based on an article written by the Ecological Reporter for the Manchester Guardian. I received a grudging apology and although this was written for a very localised readership, I shall include it here. All the characters in this load of the old proverbial, are figments of my imagination and bear no resemblance to anybody who ever walked in Britain's very first National Park.
THE PEAK DISTRICT PEAT BOGS
I read recently that the Peak District Peat Bogs were a major cause of the dreaded Global Warming, this was a trifle distressing to find out that the bogs were causing more emissions of methane/carbon dioxide than the entire bovine herds of Argentina and ovine flocks of Australia plus rain forest clearing in Brazil and Indonesia.
It has been suggested that the peat bogs be ‘bombed’ with bales of heather, so far nobody knows how she feels about this invasion of privacy, but it has gone ahead regardless, with bales being flung, hither and yon, over the bogs of Bleaklow and subsequently Kinder Scout. This will, they hope, end up with the bogs covered in newly sprouting heather come spring time. In effect draining the bogs and turning them into virtual meadows.
I then discovered that if the bogs were drained, that 17 different types of lichen, found only in that part of the world would be lost for ever, according to Gerald P. Greenbotty the world renowned Lichenologist from Warwick University.
If this was not enough, amateur ornithologist Phyllis C. Heaps said that the the yellow bellied, lesser spotted, great tit, (which had been thought extinct until her husband Arnold stumbled on a nest, literally rather than metaphorically, in the great fog of 1987) was still flittering around in rather depleted numbers.
This is confirmed by Gladys MacPlebian, a well known Scottish eremite, who in traversing the Pennine Way down to Salford to see her sister, fell up to her neck in a bog just south of Kinder Scout. Taking this as a sign from ‘God’, she decided to build a bothy there. She states quite unequivocally that she has heard the plaintiff cries of the great tit quite frequently.
This claim is disputed by Hubert Thistletwaite of ‘Thistlethwaite Bean & Broccolli Growers’, Lower Strange Lane, Edale , tel No 156 472, who requested to remain anonymous. Mr X claims that ‘the plaintiff cries’ heard by Gladys Mac, are in fact the throttled screams of Dan D. Rough the lead singer of local punk band ‘The Hairy Nits’ playing at the Disco in Castleton.
NAKED BOG HOPPING
There are also local concerns about the behaviour of Gladys Mac, who having seen ‘God’, has now introduced ‘Bog Hopping’ to the local spinsters, this apparently involves naked rites at the solstices and equinoxes, where the participants frolic, tits akimbo in the bogs, hopping from tussock to tussock and immersing themselves in the slime.
According to Cyril Neptune of the Manchester Institute of Reptilian Studies, this is seriously affecting the reproductive patterns of the local fauna, specifically the legless shit-brown lizard, which is listed by the RSPCA as being endangered.
Gladys, however, remains unrepentant and claims that Bog Hopping has improved the complexions of the Glossop, Hayfield and Buxton Ladies Ramblers Society (GHABLRS) to such an extent that five of their number have attracted spouses and a few others report fighting off toyboys and gigolos.
She also states that this came to the notice of Maggie T, who joined the GHABLRS at the spring equinox in 1989 and was joined by her adoring hubby Dennis in the bog, (this in itself is unusual, as males generally stay away, as a cold northerly wind does nothing for the proud properties of the male danglers).
However, it is reliably reported that Maggies shrieks drowned out the great tits plaintiff cries, when Dennis gave her a ‘Damned good Rogering’ in the shower afterwards. Subsequently it has been noticed that when Maggie fondly fondles Dennis’ family jewels, his eyes glaze over and his tongue lolls out rather alarmingly.
Rumours that Betty-Nancy Brush, wife of ex-US-president Basil H. W. Brush upon hearing of this miracle cure, has instituted something similar in the peat bogs of Pennsylvania, for the use of the upper echelons of Washington society attending her clinic, are as yet unconfirmed.
Locally however, Lucille Throgmorton of the Little Hayfield, ‘Olde Alternative Pharmacology Store’ has reported record sales of her vials of ‘Peak Peat Bog #5 Slime’, she also expects a record turn out for this year’s ‘Summer Solstice Bog Hop’. As it is expected that this event could rival Glastonbury in years to come, tickets should be purchased early at the store, or other major retailers.
Cheers,
SkyBlueSkull
How could any rational person have taken that lot seriously?
http://keith-skellern.blogspot.com
Further research showed that the original piece was based on an article written by the Ecological Reporter for the Manchester Guardian. I received a grudging apology and although this was written for a very localised readership, I shall include it here. All the characters in this load of the old proverbial, are figments of my imagination and bear no resemblance to anybody who ever walked in Britain's very first National Park.
THE PEAK DISTRICT PEAT BOGS
I read recently that the Peak District Peat Bogs were a major cause of the dreaded Global Warming, this was a trifle distressing to find out that the bogs were causing more emissions of methane/carbon dioxide than the entire bovine herds of Argentina and ovine flocks of Australia plus rain forest clearing in Brazil and Indonesia.
It has been suggested that the peat bogs be ‘bombed’ with bales of heather, so far nobody knows how she feels about this invasion of privacy, but it has gone ahead regardless, with bales being flung, hither and yon, over the bogs of Bleaklow and subsequently Kinder Scout. This will, they hope, end up with the bogs covered in newly sprouting heather come spring time. In effect draining the bogs and turning them into virtual meadows.
I then discovered that if the bogs were drained, that 17 different types of lichen, found only in that part of the world would be lost for ever, according to Gerald P. Greenbotty the world renowned Lichenologist from Warwick University.
If this was not enough, amateur ornithologist Phyllis C. Heaps said that the the yellow bellied, lesser spotted, great tit, (which had been thought extinct until her husband Arnold stumbled on a nest, literally rather than metaphorically, in the great fog of 1987) was still flittering around in rather depleted numbers.
This is confirmed by Gladys MacPlebian, a well known Scottish eremite, who in traversing the Pennine Way down to Salford to see her sister, fell up to her neck in a bog just south of Kinder Scout. Taking this as a sign from ‘God’, she decided to build a bothy there. She states quite unequivocally that she has heard the plaintiff cries of the great tit quite frequently.
This claim is disputed by Hubert Thistletwaite of ‘Thistlethwaite Bean & Broccolli Growers’, Lower Strange Lane, Edale , tel No 156 472, who requested to remain anonymous. Mr X claims that ‘the plaintiff cries’ heard by Gladys Mac, are in fact the throttled screams of Dan D. Rough the lead singer of local punk band ‘The Hairy Nits’ playing at the Disco in Castleton.
NAKED BOG HOPPING
There are also local concerns about the behaviour of Gladys Mac, who having seen ‘God’, has now introduced ‘Bog Hopping’ to the local spinsters, this apparently involves naked rites at the solstices and equinoxes, where the participants frolic, tits akimbo in the bogs, hopping from tussock to tussock and immersing themselves in the slime.
According to Cyril Neptune of the Manchester Institute of Reptilian Studies, this is seriously affecting the reproductive patterns of the local fauna, specifically the legless shit-brown lizard, which is listed by the RSPCA as being endangered.
Gladys, however, remains unrepentant and claims that Bog Hopping has improved the complexions of the Glossop, Hayfield and Buxton Ladies Ramblers Society (GHABLRS) to such an extent that five of their number have attracted spouses and a few others report fighting off toyboys and gigolos.
She also states that this came to the notice of Maggie T, who joined the GHABLRS at the spring equinox in 1989 and was joined by her adoring hubby Dennis in the bog, (this in itself is unusual, as males generally stay away, as a cold northerly wind does nothing for the proud properties of the male danglers).
However, it is reliably reported that Maggies shrieks drowned out the great tits plaintiff cries, when Dennis gave her a ‘Damned good Rogering’ in the shower afterwards. Subsequently it has been noticed that when Maggie fondly fondles Dennis’ family jewels, his eyes glaze over and his tongue lolls out rather alarmingly.
Rumours that Betty-Nancy Brush, wife of ex-US-president Basil H. W. Brush upon hearing of this miracle cure, has instituted something similar in the peat bogs of Pennsylvania, for the use of the upper echelons of Washington society attending her clinic, are as yet unconfirmed.
Locally however, Lucille Throgmorton of the Little Hayfield, ‘Olde Alternative Pharmacology Store’ has reported record sales of her vials of ‘Peak Peat Bog #5 Slime’, she also expects a record turn out for this year’s ‘Summer Solstice Bog Hop’. As it is expected that this event could rival Glastonbury in years to come, tickets should be purchased early at the store, or other major retailers.
Cheers,
SkyBlueSkull
How could any rational person have taken that lot seriously?
http://keith-skellern.blogspot.com
Friday, March 20, 2009
Cockroaches, Good Guys or Baddies?
I’ve written about these little buggers before, see ‘Local Warming’. Back then I was informed that there were three distinct types, Australian, American and Asian. However, a recent article in ‘The Newspaper of the Year’, a rather dubious claim at best, but who am I to argue with the august Melbourne Herald Sun?
This article was over half a page long, if you include the photograph, which could have been anything, from a common bed bug to a blue-ringed octupus. If you don’t believe me check it out on the net, page 7, Friday March 7, 2009. Written by Karen Collier (consumer reporter), under the headline Cockroach Invasion. You’d have to be a fool to argue with someone with those qualifications for cockroach research.
To save you the trouble of looking it up, I’ll give you a quick precis. Big, ugly cockroaches are invading Melbourne (quick, get me a Hollywood script-writer, this has great potential). Hold on though! “Before you panic, that intruder in your kitchen sink, bathroom or barbecue (?) is probably a harmless native“. Thank any Deity you prefer for that, I was just about to pack my bags and catch a slow boat to Wales.
It goes on to say “Unlike the nasty little German roaches that thrive on filth and food scraps, hide in the dark and carry disease” (remind you of any Germans you know? No, me neither!) “the common shining (black) cockroach munches on organic matter and breaks down leaf litter”.
It then quotes an entomology expert as saying “These ones seem quite stupid and don’t run when they see you” What do they do then? Rear up on their fucking back legs and challenge you to a fight? “They are not as cluey as the pests that use the cover of darkness” (Remind you of any Aussies you know? nor me!)
“if you can, try to return the natives outside, rather than killing them because they help return nutrients to the soil”.
I won’t go into the ‘Smoky Brown’ variety, as I have to keep my blogs short and interesting (which is an oxymoron, if you ask me, so don’t bother). But according to the article they are "yet another introduced pest", along with rats, rabbits and the British?.
Anyway, for what it’s worth, I for one, am not going to try to interrogate any roaches in my bathroom and kitchen to find out if they speak German, Mandarin or ‘Strine’. I shall continue stomping on the bastards or karate chopping the little shits. Although, I might throw their corpses into the vegetable patch, to add nutrients.
Cheers,
SkyBlueSkull
http://keith-skellern.blogspot.com
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Local Warming, When you live in a place called Sunshine what can you expect?
LOCAL WARMING
Everybody has heard of Global Warming since Al Gore invented it, but that is ‘The Big Picture’, so it is now time to contemplate ‘The Small Picture’, how it affects me personally right now, not in 2040 when I’ll be dead anyway.
So this is a look at ‘Micro Meteorology’ as opposed to ‘Macro Meteorology’. Just remember that you read the term here first. Maybe I’ll appear on TV with a ‘cherry-picker and a pointy stick and make a big swag of money.
How is this warming phenomenon affecting me, you might ask? That was a rhetorical question meaning you, not me as in Skull. Well to be honest, I couldn’t really give a flying frolic how it’s affecting you, because this is about how it’s affecting Chateau Skull.
First off, the Chateau is now infested with cockroaches for nine months of the year. These horrible little beasties never used to be seen in the Chateau ten years ago, they always stayed north of the border in NSW because it was too cold for them down here in Melbourne.
This may not be strictly correct, we used to have ants, but then we got mice and the ants disappeared and perhaps the mice were eating them along with the baby cockroaches. We then got a cat (not through any pleading on my part I might add, I’m a bird and dog person). The cat has never been allowed inside the house, but it must have caught the mice when they went outside to get a suntan. This keeps them out of laboratories to be tested with all sorts of horrids, because labs prefer white mice, which is a bit racist if you ask me. But nobody ever has.
Anyway, I blame warming on both the profusion of cockroaches and shortage of white mice. Incidentally, I read somewhere that there are three different types of cockroach, Australian, American and Asian. Now this may be a bit of Nationalistic Jingoism, but the Aussie variety are apparently black and as far as cockroaches go are relatively clean. On the other hand the Yankee and Asian ones are brown and filthy. Make of that what you will.
To get back to ‘Local Warming’, here at the Chateau we have been experiencing a drought for the last ten years. Not a total drought you understand, but a distinct shortage of drizzle let alone persisting down rain. This means that the State Gov’t has passed an edict saying that we are only allowed to water plants (not lawns) twice a week before 8:00am. You are also not allowed to wash your cars and need a permit to fill your swimming pool.
As the Chateau is odd (in more ways than just the number) I get to water on Wednesdays and Sundays. I usually do this around 10:00am and if anybody asks, I tell them my body clock is permanently set to West Australian time. I also don’t drive and if my spouse’s car is dirty, I tell her to take it to the car wash. As for swimming pools, well! to be honest, we don’t have one.
When it comes to ‘lawns’, I have two, one at the front and one at the back. It does of course depend on your precise definition of a lawn. Mine do have some grass, but consist mainly of weeds. If they are mowed regularly they look like lawns, if you squint into the sunlight.
I must admit that I prefer summer when they turn brown and if you kick the weeds, clouds of dust rise up. This is basically because I’m a lazy sod when it comes to sods.
At the moment here at the Chateau we’re supposedly in the middle of winter, but somebody forget to tell Thor or whichever God is in charge of these things. (Might as well blame the Gods, nobody else is going to shoulder the responsibility). We keep getting a splatter of rain during the night and then a sunny day with temperatures in the low teens. This is perfect for weeds and always too damp to mow the buggers.
Cheers
SkyBlueSkull
PS. This is supposed to be the middle of winter and today it’s been sunny all day and the temperature has reached 18C. Luckily, I’ve taught the Good Lady Wife (GLW) how to mow and she decided to mow the front ‘lawn’.
http://keith-skellern.blogspot.com
Everybody has heard of Global Warming since Al Gore invented it, but that is ‘The Big Picture’, so it is now time to contemplate ‘The Small Picture’, how it affects me personally right now, not in 2040 when I’ll be dead anyway.
So this is a look at ‘Micro Meteorology’ as opposed to ‘Macro Meteorology’. Just remember that you read the term here first. Maybe I’ll appear on TV with a ‘cherry-picker and a pointy stick and make a big swag of money.
How is this warming phenomenon affecting me, you might ask? That was a rhetorical question meaning you, not me as in Skull. Well to be honest, I couldn’t really give a flying frolic how it’s affecting you, because this is about how it’s affecting Chateau Skull.
First off, the Chateau is now infested with cockroaches for nine months of the year. These horrible little beasties never used to be seen in the Chateau ten years ago, they always stayed north of the border in NSW because it was too cold for them down here in Melbourne.
This may not be strictly correct, we used to have ants, but then we got mice and the ants disappeared and perhaps the mice were eating them along with the baby cockroaches. We then got a cat (not through any pleading on my part I might add, I’m a bird and dog person). The cat has never been allowed inside the house, but it must have caught the mice when they went outside to get a suntan. This keeps them out of laboratories to be tested with all sorts of horrids, because labs prefer white mice, which is a bit racist if you ask me. But nobody ever has.
Anyway, I blame warming on both the profusion of cockroaches and shortage of white mice. Incidentally, I read somewhere that there are three different types of cockroach, Australian, American and Asian. Now this may be a bit of Nationalistic Jingoism, but the Aussie variety are apparently black and as far as cockroaches go are relatively clean. On the other hand the Yankee and Asian ones are brown and filthy. Make of that what you will.
To get back to ‘Local Warming’, here at the Chateau we have been experiencing a drought for the last ten years. Not a total drought you understand, but a distinct shortage of drizzle let alone persisting down rain. This means that the State Gov’t has passed an edict saying that we are only allowed to water plants (not lawns) twice a week before 8:00am. You are also not allowed to wash your cars and need a permit to fill your swimming pool.
As the Chateau is odd (in more ways than just the number) I get to water on Wednesdays and Sundays. I usually do this around 10:00am and if anybody asks, I tell them my body clock is permanently set to West Australian time. I also don’t drive and if my spouse’s car is dirty, I tell her to take it to the car wash. As for swimming pools, well! to be honest, we don’t have one.
When it comes to ‘lawns’, I have two, one at the front and one at the back. It does of course depend on your precise definition of a lawn. Mine do have some grass, but consist mainly of weeds. If they are mowed regularly they look like lawns, if you squint into the sunlight.
I must admit that I prefer summer when they turn brown and if you kick the weeds, clouds of dust rise up. This is basically because I’m a lazy sod when it comes to sods.
At the moment here at the Chateau we’re supposedly in the middle of winter, but somebody forget to tell Thor or whichever God is in charge of these things. (Might as well blame the Gods, nobody else is going to shoulder the responsibility). We keep getting a splatter of rain during the night and then a sunny day with temperatures in the low teens. This is perfect for weeds and always too damp to mow the buggers.
Cheers
SkyBlueSkull
PS. This is supposed to be the middle of winter and today it’s been sunny all day and the temperature has reached 18C. Luckily, I’ve taught the Good Lady Wife (GLW) how to mow and she decided to mow the front ‘lawn’.
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