Blue Witch

An explanation

So, where have I been?

The one thing you never forget when you've hit the bottom in the most spectacular way, is the total and utter helplessness and out of control sensation that prevails. Sheer, utter panic. For months. At least. But mostly longer.

101 months (over eight years) down the line, that feeling hit me again on Saturday afternoon. And Sunday afternoon. And come Monday late morning I ran away from the situation. Because I knew it was the only way I was going to maintain any semblance of sanity. I've never, ever, left anything before the end before. Probably because I didn't want to set a precendent. Once I'd been there, it would be too easy to return.

Luckily for me, this time, Mr BW saw it happening, and was there with, and for me. And, 37 hours down the line, I've bounced, I think. Mr BW having 2 extra days holiday this week, plus some nice weather, and accomplishing a few things in the Coven Grounds (plus a large quantity of alcohol) have helped.

But, a long weekend art course in the heart of Constable Country shouldn't have this effect, surely?

Yes, I'm a perfectionist.
Yes, I constantly live on a different plane(t) to most people.
Yes, I don't always find it easy to communicate with large groups of people I don't know, particularly at a superficial level.
Yes, I don't suffer fools gladly.
Yes, I know my own learning style.
Yes, I'm honest in any learning situation about any difficulties I have.

But no.

Having checked in advance that the tutor could cope with a beginner (Mr BW) and an improver (me), I did not expect to have to leave the weekend feeling a total failure.

There were only 7 of us on the course.

4 of the others were clearly very able, and experienced, artists, and one had about my level of experience. That is, I can do small projects, with guidance, but give me something large, or unstructured, and I haven't a clue where to start, and I quickly become disillusioned, and feel I can't cope.

I know what makes a good teacher. And I know how to differentiate an activity. And I know how to support people struggling. Because it's what I do all the time.

So it pisses me off when I'm left feeling the same way that I did 101 months ago.

And when we got home... there was an email message from Mummy BW, who I've not spoken to since December 22nd 2003, when she stormed out of The Coven in a strop, because I'm not the Witchy Daughter she desires, saying that the only remaining member of the BW Clan of a former generation has died.

And that's it.
That's where I've been.
And it's not a nice place.

Colour changes

The electricity man came and went. The problem still isn't fixed, because he didn't have the correct part, but at least he was polite this time. Another BW Special Missive has been dispatched to the offending electricity supply company, who then have to take it up with the local area supply company, who then contract out the work. As work is apparently allocated from India, it's unsurprising that they can't send someone with the correct part. It's called progress...

Today the Ginger Familiar has, yet again, eschewed the nourishing dry biscuit shapes we provide for her, and provided her own alternative diet. So far she has brought for our inspection, a mole, a shrew, a mouse and a rat.

The former two were hurriedly lobbed into the field as she won't eat them, and with the temperature rising (it's currently 28C on the thermometer outside The Coven back door) I didn't fancy the smell and flies if they were left by the back door. The crows soon found them, so they weren't wasted.

Ginger Familiar had just finished the rat and was licking her paws off, when I decided to seize the opportunity to apply some Frontline to her.

I forgot that Gentle Ginger Familiar becomes Demon Ginger Familiar under these circumstances. My left forearm now looks as if I have been slashing myself with a razorblade.

Considering that the last thing Ginger Familiar's claws were in was a rat, it's just possible that I may not return from my art weekend. Weils disease sounds nasty. Plus I'd have to re-name myself Yellow Witch. As yellow is my least favourite colour, I'll have to hope my spells, and the good dose of Savlon Liquid rapidly administered, work.

In case I don't return, au revoir, but, in case I do, please would anyone who's been to Prague tell me the key sights to see and good places to eat etc etc as I've just managed to secure a day's work over there in 3 week's time, and have managed to extend it by a day each side :)

Have a good weekend all.

Chelsea Plus

Right, this is the last of the Chelsea photos for now, as I need to go and do some things in my own garden before the electricity man gets here to sort my meter problems out (remember my previous rant on the subject? - and it's got worse since then, only I forgot to blog it).

I have the full intention of washing the car while he's changing the timeswitch. I never wash the car as a rule (it either stays dirty or Mr BW does it). If he's as rude and incompetent as the last two characters they've sent (about whom I have complained bitterly), he'll get a bucket of dirty water over him. Well, I'll be chucking it over the car, from the other side to where he's working, but I'll over-estimate my projectile strength. If you get my drift :)

This was "Lalique" one of the "Chic" gardens. Influenced by the style of ancient Persian gardens, it used only dark plants; the palette was strictly limited to black, deep crimson, purple and chocolate browns.

And I think they said on one of the Chelsea TV specials that the crystal table 'leg' cost £60,000.

Chelsea Gardens again

This is a side view, showing the planting in one of the big show gardens, "Float", by a 24 year old Australian designer.

One of two of the large gardens to have orange seats in amongst the plum, purple, lilac and grey planting. Not my taste, but, I suppose it will catch on. And I noticed yesterday while in town that Woolies have tables and chairs in that exact tangerine tone.

Chelsea Gardens continued

Here's another garden that makes good use of gabions (thanks to commenters Sue and Tim for the info on those yesterday - I have a cunning plan, but I haven't told Mr BW yet), this time filled with granite blocks.

Greys, burgundys, plums and whites were definitely the colours this year. There was also much more use of still pools of water than I've seen previously, or 'sheets' of falling water, rather than fountains.

This was one of the 'City Gardens', and set out to recreate a woodland glade in an urban setting. More info and another view here.

Even more Chelsea Gardens

This one is the Philospohical Garden. I couldn't get the picture I wanted as this garden was attracting a lot of attention and there were just too many people in the way.

There's a better view of it and more info here.

Thought for the day

Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.

- Voltaire

Recycled Chelsea

People keep ringing me up, so you're getting more pics than anticipated as I can resize images and make the right sounds down the phone at the same time...

The table's a crushed car, the water feature on the back wall is made from wine bottles, and the seats are made from even more wine bottles (this garden should be called 'an alcoholic hides the empties') inside those steel cages that usually contain rocks to hold back escarpments on the side of motorways. Several gardens this year were using those cages, filled with a variety of different things, to great effect.
Now, where can I get some of those steel cages?

More Chelsea Pics

Sorry Terence, you were never going to get more than a bronze medal for your Peace Garden. I did a spell, see, cos you used plastic D'Oves. I know that everyone is up in arms that you only got bronze, but it was a total insult to my beautiful White Familiars, and not at all environmentally friendly. Next time you want D'Oves, just ask and I'll lend you some.

Chelsea Garden

I'm racing around trying to sort out all sorts of things at the moment, so, much as I'd like to put together a nice little piece about - well, about anything actually, but particularly about the Chelsea Flower Show - it ain't gonna happen.

So, I'll just put up a few pics of the more 'unusal' ideas, planting or colour combinations, as and when I get time.

Chelsea Sculpture

This six foot tall 'objet' would be a very nice centrepiece for my collection of galvanised watering cans, I thought.

Until I saw the price.

Thought for the day

"Pangloss disait quelquefois à Candide: ‘Tous les événements sont enchaînés dans le meilleur des mondes possibles; car enfin, si vous n’aviez pas été chassé d’un beau château à grands coups de pied dans le derrière pour l’amour de Mlle Cunégonde, si vous n’aviez pas été mis à l’Inquisition, si vous n’aviez pas couru l’Amérique à pied, si vous n’aviez pas donné un bon coup d’épée au baron, si vous n’aviez pas perdu tous vos moutons du bon pays d’Eldorado, vous ne mangeriez pas ici des cédrats confits et des pistaches.’

‘Cela est bien dit,’ répondit Candide, ‘mais il faut cultiver notre jardin.’"

- Voltaire

Which I heard badly summarised last night as:

Better to cultivate your own garden than put the world to rights.

Chelsea Man

I know that some of you are waiting for photos from Chelsea, whereas others of you have interests that are anything other than gardening.

Thought I'd try to cater for both sets of needs by posting this (he was for sale rather than part of any of the show gardens) :)

Over to you for suitable captions...

Thought for the day

Never mind the content

This one is for all of you who have ads on your blog pages :)

Rude awakening

Well, we're off to Chelsea today.

Unfortuantely, I failed to apply for tickets in a timely fashion, so we've only got afternoon tickets, but Mr BW is pleased as it means he only gets to suffer 4.5 hours rather than 12.

Actually, Mr BW has never been before, although I've been 5 or 6 times now. I can't help thinking that today I'll be wearing trousers and fleece and taking a waterproof, whereas in past years I've gone wearing shorts and sleeveless tops, or summer cotton skirts or dresses.

We're looking forward to seeing how many of the garden designers have vicariously ripped off the ideas we've had over the years... last night's preview programmes (Ha! my spells are stronger than the strikers) already showed that Terence Conran has a D'Ovecote (with plastic D'Oves!!!) in his Imperial War Museum Peace Garden (a contradiction in terms if ever there was one), and loads of others are using recycled materials. Oh well, imitation is, I suppose, the most sincere form of flattery. But it's annoying because then people say, "I see you copied x from Chelsea!" which we won't have, we'll usually have done it years before them.

If you want a virtual tour of the show, try here or here. And, if you're really lucky, between 3.30pm and 8pm, you may see me and Mr BW on the Chelsea webcam.

And I can't, at time of writing (9.45am), find details of who won what medals anywhere on the net (the only result is from a South African site that says they got a gold). Drat.
(Update: they've just appeared - albeit currently only against each individual garden description, rather than as a list - on the BBC gardening site... not many golds... but nice to see the Chelsea Pensioners' pub garden got Best in Show).

Spot one of our previously blogged garden projects in the background of the photo of The Coven Long Border above (Bonus BW Point for the first person to provide the correct URL).

And you can try to guess how many photos I'm going to take today :)

Thought for the day

In life, the difficult periods are the best periods to gain experience and shore up determination. As a result, my mental status is much improved because of them.

- The Dalai Lama

People who annoy me: Part 1

(This could be a very long-running occasional series ;))

Ex-military bods who insist on using their military titles in their civilian afterlifes.

I met one last week.

Introduced himself to me as "Wing Commander Snodgrass."*
I smiled and said, "Oh, hello - but what's your first name? I find it so much more pleasant to work with people on first-name terms."

He reluctantly told me. I then used it in every sentence I said to him afterwards, just to annoy him.

And he couldn't chair a meeting to save his life. Great to know the country was in such skilled hands I thought.

What is wrong with these people?

* Not his real name, but he may just have a computer.

Bouquet of barbed wire

There are very few programmes on TV that I consider it worth my while to watch. An exception is made for gardening programmes.

Therefore, I was extremely unimpressed to find that what was billed in the Radio Times as a preview programme for this year's Chelsea Flower Show (which starts tomorrow) last night turned into a recap of last year, with absolutely not one millisecond of anything to do with this year's show. What was worse was that there was absolutely no explanation given for this.

This morning I've discovered why.

Members of 3 unions, Amicus, the National Union of Journalists and Bectu, who work at the BBC, think they have a right to hold the rest of the country to ransom in pursuit of ameliorating their employment grievances.

Well, I've got a message for them.

Most people have seen job cuts around them people.

Most people have had to cope with restructuring to improve the long-term efficiency of the businesses within which they work. Otherwise, in future, they wouldn't have jobs at all.

It's part of the modern world.

Sorry your jobs are no longer the cushy number they once were (and, believe me, I've known a few people who work for the Beeb over the years, so I do have a yardstick) but this is not the way forward. You will achieve nothing. It's too late. All you'll do is annoy many people.

I have no sympathy at all, ever, for anyone who uses their professional position as a bargaining tool to the detriment of the recipients of their services. That also applies to doctors, nurses, teachers, firemen, miners etc etc.

As it says on the BBC website, in addition to the news, "If the unions are correct in their estimate of about 11,000 members supporting the strike, then BBC Two's Newsnight, Radio 5 Live, and possibly coverage of the Chelsea Flower Show will be affected."

I want a refund on my TV licence fee.
Bastards.

Thought for the day

Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do that... what the world needs is people who have come alive.

- Howard Thurman

Harriet & Elsie

A cracking story

Almost everywhere I go it's football, Star Wars, Eurovision, Doctor Who, or iPods.

Therefore, in retaliation, I shall return to my favourite subject of late.

Hens.

You bore me, I'll bore you. All's fair then :)

You'll remember that last time I mentioned them (which was Tuesday morning), Elsie Hen and Harriet Hen, my new white and black babies, had been released from the confines of their new home after 2 days, and I was concerned that they might not end up in the correct beds that night.

Well, I'm pleased to report that they've had absolutely no difficulty in identifying their own house, and that yesterday one of them actually laid an egg! The first one. And in the correct place! Young hens' eggs are smaller than mature hens' eggs, and are often referred to as "pullets eggs".

Now, wasn't that eggciting? :)

The Eurofarce song contest

It got to 10 to 10 and we'd just finished eating and watching Doctor Who (a programme that I am increasingly thinking should be moved to after the watershed, but maybe more on that next week). By accident we flicked to BBC1, just as the 10 second clips of each Eurovision entry were coming on. Having had 2 bottles of wine between us, we were incapable of switching it off. Plus, we like Terry Wogan's sense of humour.

If you chopped her head off, did the Ukranian woman presenter look like Seven of Nine, or is that just us? I really wish I'd had my VRS microphone in the back of the laptop, because you could then have had a comment-by-comment account. And it might have been amusing. I'd love you to have heard Mr BW's comments - mostly, "I do hope that [insert female name] isn't going to fall out of that dress!" And we both said, "Yeah, but it's not Abba!" to Sweden's entry, at exactly the same moment. Do you mysteriously mind meld if you live with someone for long enough?

And we were the last ones with null points. Ireland helped us out with 8. Bless them. Well there's a surprise. At least our girlie made her excuses yesterday. "I've got a sore throat!" I think it was. Well, dear, you shouldn't have been [cut for decency's sake] now should you? ;)

50 years and it's stil the same old, same old, crap. I think I last watched it 20 years ago. Apart from the electronic wizardry of the score-board, nothing appears to have changed. Bland, bland, bland. Terry Wogan was the only redeeming feature (particularly "Granny").

And anyone who thinks that it was about which European country could produce the best music is sadly deluding themselves.

The 85th Make Blue Witch Laugh Award

There are 2 contenders, and they will be along shortly. Or maybe longly. Depends how soon it rains.

4pm: It rained and then I fell asleep. It's raining again (torrentially) and the roof tiles are rumbling (they do that when it's very windy and the wind is in the opposite direction to normal), so I'd best get on with it before the power goes off (which often also happens in these circumstances).

Mr BW has just been trying to explain the plot and sequence of Star Wars to me, but it's a waste of his time, because I don't actually want to understand. I have less than zero interest in such things.

Similarly football.

Which brings me neatly on to Contender 1: Silent Pee. Ex-punk (threatening to reform his band though), part-time blogger and brother of the inimitable Mr D. Another blogger in this little corner of the blogworld who has seen the light and left his safe desk in the corporate world to do his own thing. He's bravely exchanged his A4 for a Ford Tranny and is selling rugs from market stalls. As there is a man from what I imagine to be a pretty similar background doing exactly the same in Local Small Town Market on a Wednesday, I am wondering whether Silent Pee is fibbing about his location. However.

Anyway, earlier this week, Silent Pee posted some piece about football, and I'd just about fallen asleep as I quickly skimmed down, until, right at the bottom, he mentioned The Clash, which woke me up again. The comments went like this:

Blue Witch said:

What's football?

*knows what the Clash is*
Witchy likes The Clash :)

Silent Pee said:

BW: - Football is a game played by 22 men or women on a grassy piece of land called a pitch and the aim is to score a goal by putting the ball into the opponents net using any part of the body other than the hands.

It is good exercise and provides endless entertainment, generates money for the economy, keeps journalists in a job and provides work for third world countries who manufacture replica kits and footballs.

Football supporting requires a partisan approach to life and gives the supporter, who traditionally was the male of the household, although this is now not necessarily the case, the opportunity to escape from the house thus avoiding such things as assembling flat pack furniture.

As a consequence the female of the household was either then given an empty house for two hours in which she could productively see to the household chores or watch a soppy movie whilst eating chocolate.

The more modern woman these days has devised her own equality programme by demanding money to carry out what is known as "retail therapy" - and if this involves buying a rug from a reputable market trader then I am all in favour of equality for the modern woman.

Clearer now?

Now, as I said to him, I've asked the "What is football?" question of many in blogland over the past couple of years, and he is the first one who has actually answered. I'll therefore forgive his slightly sexist attitude ;)

Contender 2: dave (y'know, the one who's allowed to look after my dog - the one with me in the sidebar - for most of the year). He linked to something he'd spotted somewhere else about a new craze - iPod boasting. As I understand it (and I've spent no time at all putting together this explanation, so it may not be correct), you have to find someone else with tell-tale white earbuds, flash your iPod's display at them, they reciprocate, and between you, you decide who's coolest. Or something. Anyway, as dave says,

It's the new scissors-paper-rock.

This would be the appropriate time to disclose my secret longing. I get it every time I'm on the tube going into London.

I long to whip out a pair of sharp, BW Blue scissors and cut the cords leading from the ears of Peace Vandals. That is, anyone who is playing their music at a level audible to those around them. There is absolutely no need. It'd be a public service, as well as a service to the person concerned, as it would stop them damaging their hearing and becoming a drain on NHS ENT/ audiology departments' resources in later life.

As it is, I frequently have little words in the ears of the worst offenders. Not many of them do anything other than turn it down a bit. Those who do nothing benefit from Witchy Hard Stares, and me treading on their toes, or bonking them with my carrier bags, if I get off before them.

So, finally, the winner today is... Silent Pee. Well done him. And I think we'll have to schedule a little blogmeet at his reformed band's first gig.

Mr BW has just told me that both football and Star Wars are on TV this afternoon, so I'm not expecting any visitors for hours. Do say 'hi' if you venture by and dislike both of those things... I can't be the only one, surely?

To rant or not to rant, that is the question...

I feel like having a rant today, but I know the subject matter would create controversy, and a looong and demanding comments thread. And probably some flames, and other people ranting on their own blogs.

I know that I'm only thinking of having a rant as a distractionary technique as I have a report to finish. My best rants happen at these times of low motivation.

If I get this piece of work finished by lunchtime, I can have the reward of a trip to a large art store where I can spend lots of Witchy Pennies on lots of lovely new equipment and materials in readiness for our painting weekend, coming up soon (yes, I'm making Mr BW, who is colourblind and has never had an art lesson in his life, but is very naturally artisitic, even though he doesn't appreciate it, yet, go too).

No, sorry, no controversial rant, or opportunities for heated debate, my need for new brushes, large sheets of hot press paper, and tubes of paint is too great :)

Fonts

These links are useful, so if I stick them here, I won't lose them...

On-line tool that immediately tells you what fonts you have installed on your Mac or PC.

Downloadable fonts (Value variety).

More downloadable fonts (also Value variety).

(all nicked form Daisy)

Thought for the day

People are lucky and unlucky... according to the ratio between what they get and what they have been led to expect.

- Samuel Butler

Art Class: Session 24

Yesterday we were doing scraperboard again.

Last week, a feather, this time - a fig leaf (the back side).

I dropped my tool on its point, which blunted it, so the left side is less worked and detailed than the right side.

And gosh, would you Adam and Eve it, I've just noticed that there's a bit that I somehow totally missed, so the surface is just indian ink, with no scratches at all. Can you spot it?

Public Service Witch

Today my mission is to rid the nation of black mould in overflow outlet holes in sinks.

It's a habit of mine (as Martha once said) to make a point of inspecting those little holes in the back of washbasins in guest house and hotel bathroooms. Most of them don't pass my test. Although most hotel bedrooms are superficially clean, most of them forget to train their cleaning staff to squirt a tablespoonful of a suitable cleaning fluid down the overflow occasionally.

If overflow outlets are so grubby as to support black mould, then maybe there is also room for Legionella pneumophilalegionnaires bacteria to flourish somewhere within the same establishment's systems?

I've given up checking the overflows of sinks in public establishments, such as restaurants, motorway services and department stores, because they are invariably black and grungy, and anyway, I don't need to become any more obsessive.

Next time you wash your hands somewhere check the state of the overflow for yourself.

And check your sinks at home - you might be surprised. Although bleach is not good for the environment in large quantities, a tablespoon down each of your overflows every week will not hurt. It will also kill many of the other, more invisible, germs that lurk. If you get lots of sore throats - that might just be where they're coming from.

Thought for the day

Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Talk is cheap

Oh dear, dear, dear.

The Nice Ladies' corner of the local village website has somehow* signed itself up to a rather unfortunate new service.

As recipient of email sent to the Nice Ladies from this website, I have just received the following message:

This email has been sent to confirm that [NiceLadies@c/oBW] has been subscribed to G@Y CH@T.

Soon you will receive messages and pictures from other
users and can even get kinky using your microphone
and webcam!

Your Account no: ******
Your Password: xyzxyz

To unsubscribe, or if you have received this in error,
please call us on xxxxxxxxxxx

Some of the Nice Ladies will be coming to The Coven tomorrow afternoon. I really can't wait to share these messages and pictures... On second thoughts, I'm not too sure that my knowledge of CPR is up-to-date enough ;)

I guess this is more proof to the theory I unveiled earlier today.

* it's OK, I do know how these things work...

Knit one, purl one...

I read somewhere the other day that knitting is the fastest growing hobby in the UK.

A few weeks ago someone suggested to me that knitting was good for RSI, and, the very next day, I co-incidentally saw a book of interesting-looking knitted cushion covers while walking through John Lewis. However, I wasn't about to pay £16.99 for it, so I ordered it from the local library, via the internet (amazingly, they had 3 copies within the county) and, three days later, picked it up, for the much more reasonable sum of 55p (actually, I must remember to renew it, or it will become less Value by the day).

I was then flabbergasted by the cost of wool these days, and how few shops stock it. However, I eventually found some cheap balls in a shop down a side alley.

Since then I've been doing the odd row here and there, but I can't quite find the enthusiasm for it that I once had. And although it does help my hands afterwards it's pretty tough going at the time.

I used to do some knitting and a lot of sewing (when I were a Young Witch, 'twas cheaper to make your own clothes than to buy them, so I did). Indeed, I still have every pattern I ever made up somewhere in The Coven Attic.

Which was why this site appealed to me (via mike).

This one is definitely one for anyone who has ever made anything from a sewing or knitting pattern, or had to (reluctantly) wear grannies' products, to be polite... or who just fancies a trip down fashion lane (it goes right back to the patterns of the 40s)... or who just want a laugh, actually. It's very well done.

How many of you can knit by the way? Mr BW tells me he can.

Yes, but it's not art!

Good Friend BW and I went to the local art group's annual social and competition evening last night. It was held in a different venue to normal, and, never having been there before, we had no idea where to go, and there didn't appear to be any signs.

A helpful lady on the front desk noticed our confusion and asked why we were there. Good Friend BW piped up, "We're looking for David's group?" "Ah," said the lady, giving us a long and knowing look, "that's up the stairs, turn left, and on you right."

We found our way to the room, went in and sat down. I was just saying to Good Friend BW that I didn't recognise anyone there, and that we could be in the wrong place, when a smiling man strode over. "Hi!" he said, "I'm David. Is this your first night?"

"Told you so," I muttered to Good Friend BW, as I gathered up my bits and pieces, realising that this wasn't our David, so we must be in the wrong place.

"Erm, no, we shouldn't be here," stuttered Good Friend BW, "we have to go, sorry!"

"No, it's OK, people often feel like that at first, don't leave... do stay, I'm sure you'll soon feel at home and feel supported..." smiled David.

It was then that I spied the "AA" sign on the door.
We fled.

We finally reached the correct room just as they were starting to serve refreshments. Our David welcomed us with, "Would you like a glass of wine ladies?" We laughed. Oh the irony.

I'm beginning to think that whoever is running this great social experiment they call 'Life on Earth' is inventing these situations around me to provide things for me to blog about...

Thought for the day

People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they're not on your road doesn't mean they've gotten lost.

- Jackson Browne

Medical matters

While attempting to research a particular rare medical condition affecting someone I'm currently working with, I've just discovered a brilliant database for medical terms, disorders and symptoms, drugs, common haematology and biochemistry investigation abnormalities etc etc. So good is it that I've put it in the sidebar under 'Information' for permanent reference.

Calling itself a "medical textbook-like index and search portal", inevitably it is heavily American-orientated, but it does also reference UK sites and link to Wikipedia and Google, as well as other sources that you usually only get to via Google Scholar or luck.

Just don't become a cyberchondriac, will you? :)

Word question

When I cut and paste bits into Word documents, I often put a row of *****s around the extract, so that I remember to rewrite it, or to quote it properly (depending where it's come from).

For some reason, recently, when I close and re-open a document, the rows of *****s have changed into dotted lines (rows of small black squares), that go right across the page and appear impossible to remove by any means. Even copying and pasting the text into a new document won't work.

When I take the cursor near the dotted line, it turns into an equals sign with a northward and southward facing arrow above and below it, which allows the dotted line to be pulled up or down to change the spacing.

I've tried altering the 'view' properties; using 'master document' makes them disappear on-screen, but they still print out.

Does anyone know what's happening here, and if there's any way of removing them?

*whispers* it's actually Word 97 (cos that's the only legit version I've got, plus, I'm used to it and, as I'm a Simple Witch, it does all I need).

Direction

Someone arrived here from a Google search last night and left me a comment wondering what "...a website about chickens or hens... could be doing with [search term]!!!"

A website about chickens of hens indeed. Although... a quick scroll down the page... yeeees, hmmmm, I can see what he means... :)

Not much going on here otherwise though...

If you want something to think about, go and see drD's summation of the nuclear accident in Cumbria (did you know that 20 tonnes of highly radioactive liquefied uranium and plutonium fuel had leaked out of a reprocessing system at the THORP plant last month?)

Or Gert's bit on Kylie's breast cancer. I'm always secretly pleased when a popular celebrity suffers from a condition where more public awareness and money for research could improve the prognosis for the person in the street. Celebrity endorsement of the best kind. Still, it goes to prove that there are some things that no amount of money can buy...

Harriet Hen and Elsie Hen are happily wandering around The Coven Orchard with all the others today. As it rained last night, the grass is quite wet, and the area round the wildlife pond quite muddy, so their nice white feathers are already quite dirty. I'll put them in the washing machine later.

After they went up to bed last night, Mr BW removed the wire that had been keeping them within their own area, in an attempt to teach them where they are to live. As it's light by 4.30am, I remarked that they'd have a couple of hours to get pecked to death before we woke up to referee (hens can sometimes be quite nasty to newcomers as they sort out the new pecking order). For some reason, Mr BW was awake at 5am and rushing up the garden to check them out. I do wonder if they'll end up in their own beds, or in with all the others, tonight?

Thought for the day

The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy.

- John Galsworthy

Eggsactly

Most of the quail are finally behaving themselves and are earning their keep. Did you know that each quail has its own shell pattern, in the same way that each hen has its own shell colour? Very nice fried, too, we've discovered (mine are the ones on the left - I only like eggs flipped over, with broken yolks, and cooked solid).

The evolution of language

A teacher was explaining to his class how a double negative, when spoken, always gives a positive. This, he said, is true in every language across the world. However, there is no example in any culture where a double positive gives a negative! Looking proud, the teacher sat down, and there followed a short silence, followed by a sarcastic voice:

"Yeah, right."

(from this week's Plain English Campaign email)

New broom

Having found Elsie and Harriet on a small ads board in a newsagent's on Thursday (by the way, they have managed to find their own way downstairs this morning, and Esme's eye is fine again), I saw another ad, this time for an "old style ladies bike" on a board in the supermarket on Friday.

Now, whether it was for a bike for old style ladies or an old style bike for females didn't really bother me. It was likely to suit my purpose. That being, transporting one Witch to the post box, to save a mile walk, and twenty minutes, several times a week.

We have a pair of 12 year old mountain bikes in The Coven Garage that were very cheap and gave us a lot of fun when we first met, but I've never really taken to the riding position. Plus, they've not been moved since we moved in here 10 years ago this summer, and The Ginger Familiar has used their tyres as a killing practice area. So, I've concluded that they are ex-bikes, and that I need to find a new bike.

Saturday morning found Mr BW and I taking a trip to a hitherto unknown part of Small Local Town, armed with an adjustable spanner and a rope. The plan was to remove a wheel to get said bicycle in the Blue Broom, but, if it couldn't be removed, to tie the rope to the handlebars of the bike and pull me the 5 or so miles home, water-ski stylee, along the dual carriageway (well, actually, I made that last bit up for effect - the rope was actually to tie the Broom's hatchback down if necessary).

We soon discovered why that part of town was hitherto unknown to me. It was the seedy part of town that hides behind a modern estate that has been cleverly built in front of it as camouflage. On banging on the door of number 24 (there was no doorbell), we were intimidated by 4 rottweilers, plus the husband of the woman seller, who looked like he could do Mike Tyson damage, pacing up and down outside the house, on his mobile phone, all the time we were there. I didn't dare offer less than the £20 being asked, as I normally would, because I value my bodily parts.

The woman selling clearly didn't know anything about the bike, despite claiming to me on the phone that she had ridden it for several years, so I concluded that it was, at best, probably, shall we say, unlawfully acquired.

I handed over the money, and the woman looked happy for the first time. I decided to risk a question. "Does it have a name?" I enquired. "Wot?" she said, incredulously. "You know, a name, bicyles and cars usually have names.." I added. "Er, time to go BW..." said Mr BW, pulling me away hurriedly.

All weekend I've periodically been hearing guffaws coming from various parts of The Coven, every time he's thought of me asking that question to that woman. He thinks that's the funniest thing I've said for ages. I am not amused.

And it does have a name. It's become the third bearer of the Tradtional BW Bicycle Name. The first was an almost antique, very heavy, dark green bike of similar shape, but with no gears, and rod brakes, that saw me through my 3 years in London (all without Mummy and Daddy BW knowing, because they wouldn't have approved - faaaar too dangerous a thing for me to be doing, in their estimation).

When I eventually had to take it home at the end of my course, I pretended that I'd just bought it, ready for my year in Cambridge. Because in Cambridge, one had to have a bike in order to survive (porridge in the morning, and warming up riding into college were all that kept me warm and alive that year). "That thing's a death trap BW!" declared Daddy BW. "The frame's all buckled - it must have been in a terrible accident!"

I'm still not conviced that it was, as I'd had no trouble with it in all the hundreds of miles that I did on it, both in London and down in Somerset where I spent a lot of time in the holidays (keeping away from Mummy BW). In retrospect, I suspect that it was a good excuse for them to provide me with a replacement red folding bike with tiny wheels that only went a fraction as fast as the first bike of that name.

Anyway, it's a good name for a bike, it is.

Thought for the day

The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.

- Eden Phillpotts

Hen update

Harriet and Elsie, the new white hens, seem happy in their new house.

Hoping that the green stain we painted the house with last night had dried, we put them in the top this morning (the left portion has a lid that hinges on the left, and the egg compartment, on the right, has a lid that lifts up) and waited for them to find out how to get downstairs.

They proved to be dimmer than any other hens we've ever had. They just sat, and sat, and sat, up top. After 2 hours, scared that they'd dehydrate in the heat of the day (it's been the hottest day of the year so far - one of those glorious quintessentially English summer days), I had to encourage them down the ladder to where there was food and water for them. Now we're just waiting to see if they manage to make it back up the ladder to bed.

Once we're sure that they know where they live, we'll remove the wire that's currently around the legs of their house and let them mingle with the others. They all seem to be getting on fairly well so far, as you can see.

At some stage during the late morning or early afternoon, Esme (left of picture) got stung by another of the familiars, poor dear. Around 3pm, I noticed that her right eye was closed, and closer examination revealed the remnants of a bee sting. We wiped and rinsed her eye out with Optrex, but Mr BW wouldn't let me give her part of a Piriton tablet as I wanted to. She seems OK, although her eye is still closed.

And us humans? Well, we're happily exhausted. Too much garden work. It's getting there though.

Bad familiar

I fear that someone has been trying to do spells to prove her point.

The Ginger Familiar is under a constant spell to leave birdy things, particuarly of a white nature, alone. Usually it is 100% successful, and TGF feasts on mice, rats, rabbits, and squirrels, but not birds.

All attempts by unskilled others to distort the spell continuum lead inevitably to disasters. Things have to die needlessly (whatever they were - baby pheasants, maybe?).

Not a scrap was wasted though.

Sorry. Hope you weren't eating? ;)

Open letter

Dear Fellow Bloggers,

Please try harder to be funny, then we can have a MBWLA next Saturday.

Love,
BWx

Make another little birdhouse in your soul

From this...

to this...



in a couple of hours.

Elsie and Harriet wil have a new home by tomorrow night.

They're currently in the utility. Keeping out of the way of Mr Bushy Tail. And making a din. I can make absolutely no comment :)

The first picture

Here are the new children in their temporary home (a large muck bucket, covered with the lid of the purple sprouting cage, as I dropped the beeshed key somewhere so couldn't get in there to get out the large BBQ grids to put over the top as we normally do - it's not the first time that key has escaped either).

They're lovely aren't they?

The man I got them from had hand-reared them, and had a very similar garden/pond/vegetable/hen set up to us. But with a few more hens. He had D'Oves too - nesting in an old converted beehive. Spooky, spooky that. Particularly considering that the newsagent's board where I saw his ad usually only has ads for people wanting to do cleaning, massage, or host Ann Summers parties. Twas meant to be.

The new familiars were hatched late last autumn. The breeder let me pick the ones I wanted. He wouldn't let me have the first one that wanted to come home with me when I asked them. Because it was a cockerel.

Grandma BW would have been 90 today, but we've used her name for a hen already (I think she was the bossy one who died prematurely about 3 years ago). So, I've called them Elsie and Harriet as it's their birthday today too.

*congratulates them, and own spells for the revivial of other hibernating bloggers too ;)*

New children

Conversation at The Coven last night:

Mr BW: e's baby guinea pigs are cute aren't they?

BW: Mmmm.
*makes lots of cutesy noises and little hand movements in approximation of a baby guinea pig*

BW: Talking of baby things, I saw an advert in a shop window for some point of lay Light Sussex hens today. The 3 original hens are nearly 7 now. They might peg out this summer. *thinks - preferably not at the same time and in the same circumstances as last year's death*

Mr BW: You could have some.

BW: I could?
*hurriedly runs to get phone number taken from board and written on car-park ticket - the only paper available*

BW: Hello? is that Mr Selling Light Sussex hens? Do you have any left? You do? Where are you? Only 10 miles down the road? Excellent - can I come and see them?

So, now I'm off to get two...
*excited*

And Mr BW will be making them a house. Because it's unreasonable to expect another 2 to squeeze in with the 9 we already have. Well - he said we didn't have much to do this weekend, and I know he hates being bored and inactive, so I was just helping out. It's going to be loosely based on the house bit of the quail enclosure design (step-by-step pics here, in case you've forgotten Mr BW :))

It's all so much easier than the sex-wait-worry-wait-worry-morewaituntil9monthsareup that most people go through when they decide they want more children :)

Thought for the day

People ask for criticism, but they only want praise.

- W. Somerset Maugham

Summer is a comin' in...

We have a mad cuckoo here at The Coven.

Not only did s/he first start singing early in April, but s/he was cuckooing in the pitch black until well after 11pm last night.

I haven't done any spells involving cuckoos, so I'm worried. This can't be normal. Can it?

Speaks Duck with Mr BW, Part 8

This week we have been learning how to buy things. For about an hour we spoke about apples, watermelons etc etc.

At this point I spoke up and said that it was much more likely that we would be buying DVDs or CDs, so the tutor taught us how to buy them.

It goes something like this:

Walk up to dodgy wide boy with fold up table and box of (definitely not pirate, no sir) DVDs.

Me: Yi pan DVD zenme mai?
Literal transl: one plate DVD how much?

Wide boy: qi kuai
Literal transl: 7 Yuan, (about 50p)

Me: Tai gui le
Literal transl: (that's too much)

Wide boy: Na wu kuai ba
Literal transl: in that case 5 Yuan, (about 30p)

Me: hao
Literal transl: OK

Me: buys lots of DVDs.

Last time I tried this (last year before starting my classes), it went along the lines of:

Me: points at DVDs

Wide boy: holds up 7 fingers

Me: amazed at price starts rummaging through pile of genuine (no copies here no sireee) CDs and DVDs, including Windows 2005 (interesting since I am not sure even Billy boy realised he released that version).

Wide boy 2: shouts warning from road bridge

Wide boy 1: picks up box and runs away into crowd

Enter policeman 1 and 2 (big guns, no sense of humour)

Me: saunters away (remembering to be quicker next time).

We also did some revision on directions, which led to a discussion on driving in Beijing (my advice: don't).

So today's question, and this one comes straight from the Beijing Highway code, as a typical question you might be asked during your driving test:

"If you come across a road accident victim whose intestines are lying on the road, should you pick them up and push them back in?"

Hmmm, tricky that one, bonus BW point for the most amusing answer.

Art Class: Session 23

Yesterday we had a stab at scraperboard. Or, rather, a scrape at scraperboard. What I didn't appreciate was that, as well as the well-known black coated card, you can get special white scraperboard card. You draw an outline onto it, then cover just that area in indian ink, then allow to dry before scraping back with a sharp tool.
This wasn't a feather from any of our familiars. It was far too tatty. Our familiars have neat feathers.

Thought for the day

The applause of a single human being is of great consequence.

- Samuel Johnson

Quote of the day

"Oh I do love golden labradors. Especially the brown ones."

The end of an era

Mr BW and I came to a life-altering, sad but inevitable, conclusion last night.

We only like trifle with really set custard.

Thought for the day

To find perfect composure in the midst of change is to find nirvana.

- Shunryu Suzuki

Unnecessary services

Yesterday was the most boring day I have had to endure for a long, long time. Almost 7 hours of complete waste of time during which I learnt absolutely nothing of any use or value, and was quite a Bad Witch (bored BWs are always naughty, particularly when they know more about some aspects of a subject than the presenter, and even more particularly when the presenter herself is obviously dim, but big-headed, and the rest of the audience are willing BW to entertain them, and providing positive feedback for BW's efforts).

More of that anon. I have sorting out I need to do first as I need to make the Inner Coven look like a professional workspace, before I go out at 2pm, so that when new client and her mother arrive at 5pm, hopefully 5 minutes after I get back (if my cunning plan goes according to formulation), it doesn't look like the local paper recycling dump.

One thing that I did discover during yesterday's course is that there is now such a thing as a wheelie bin washing service. In fact, a quick Google has just brought up 7,520 returns. The dim and boring course presenter told us that she has her 3 wheelie bins cleaned once a month for £3 each. "It only takes 2 minutes," she enthused.

"£9 for 2 minutes work! What's wrong with a splash from a bottle of cheappie disinfectant and a yard broom?" someone asked (and no, that time it wasn't me!). "I don't have a broom," she said. We laughed. She scowled.

The council don't provide wheelie bins round here (actually they don't even provide black sacks), but even if they did, I'm not convinced that there'd be too much of a take-up. I note that franchise opportunities cost £28,000 plus VAT, PLUS the cost of the vehicle to carry the equipment. I wonder if anyone other than the people selling the franchises ever make any money?

We have 7 wheelie bins (1 to put our rubbish bags in to keep animals out, 4 containing various sorts of garden compost, 2 with animal feed), and I just cannot imagine ever wanting anyone else to clean them. A couple of times a year I attack the one used as a dustbin by filling it up with a bleach and disinfectatnt solution, which I leave for a couple of hours, before tipping it up in the vicinity of a drain, so getting double-use Value out of the cleaning products, and then rinsing it out.

To me, wheelie bin washing for private householders on a monthly basis is a totally unnecessary and ridiculously expensive service.

Any other contenders for unnecessary modern services?

Thought for the day

Don't play what's there, play what's not there.

- Miles Davis

Pest control

Ever wondered if ladybirds really do eat greenfly the way you always hear they do?

NiC reveals all (in a photographic way I hasten to add ;)).

Follow my leader

I'm nominating Ann Widdecombe as my preferred candidate for the Conservative leadership. Because I think she'd provide the most fun (and yes, I know that she already declined to stand in 2001).

What about you?

Thought for the day

As long as learning is connected with earning, as long as certain jobs can only be reached through exams, so long must we take this examination system seriously. If another ladder to employment was contrived, much so-called education would disappear, and no one would be a penny the stupider.

- E M Forster

Art Class: Session 22

At the beginning of this week's session, Art Tutor gave a short lecture on perspective. And then piled up some battered cardboard boxes she'd picked up at Sainsbury's on the way in. "Just apply the same rules of relating everything to the eye-level line and the vanishing point when you draw these," she said.

I think I was the only one who rapidly twigged that the pile of boxes were in different planes and so consequently the basic, straight-from-a-book, technique that she'd explained wasn't going to work.

Some people have 'perfect pitch'. I don't. But I do have 'perfect line'. Which helped a lot.

Mine was the only drawing that actually looked even nearly correct. "Oh look, BW was obviously listening carefully!" said Art Tutor as she walked round. "Can you explain again to those who haven't quite got it?"

I paused, desperately trying to think of a way of politely saying that I actually was just doing my own thing, by eye, as what she'd told people to do was incorrect. I like Art Tutor, so didn't want to make her look stupid. "Erm, I can explain how I'm doing it," I said, "but I don't think I'd want to try to repeat what you said." Good Friend BW laughed. She knows me rather too well. "Never mind then, I think that would only confuse people more," declared Art Tutor. Soon after, most people decided to do something else instead.

I think I'll be taking future lessons in perspective from Mr BW, who's done lots of technical drawing in his time, rather than from Art Tutor.

Art Class: Session 21

I've got a bit behind with posting my weekly efforts. We had a block of 4 sessions (one of which I missed) to work on whatever we wanted as several people wanted some guidance on producing a picture for the local art society annual competition.

As the last thing I'm looking to do with an activity I'm undertaking as an attempt at stress-reduction/relaxation is be competitive, I got more than a bit frustrated about the lack of structure. I wasn't the only one, and I suspect that Art Tutor won't be suggesting that sort of project again. Some of the OAPs in the class could put most disruptive 14 year olds to shame. Some of the nonsense that spouted forth from their mouths did make me realise just how powerful the effects of the Daily Mail are though.

The final session gave me the chance to try out some black drawing pens I picked up cheaply somewhere. This one of the black and white Ginger Familar was done from the same photo as the watercolour one I did in Session 18. I was quite pleased with it, but Art Tutor wasn't happy with the way I used the pens doing it and told me to spend half an hour doing little lines of varying distances apart on another piece of paper. Something about finding out how to use this technique to make things look lighter and darker.

That played havoc with my wrists, and as I have a boredom threshold lower than a 2 year old's, after about 5 minutes she came to the sensible decision that I'd be better doing a Canada goose from her bird book.

Canada geese are my favourite wild bird, but by that time I was disillusioned with pen and ink and didn't really try terribly hard. As you can tell :)

The 84th Make Blue Witch Laugh Award

Sorry, rather delayed today. There are 2 contenders.

We had to move the hens and quail back up into The Coven Orchard first thing, and then I felt ill and had to go back to sleep. But, making some delicious apricot and honey drop scones has restored me, so I'm here at last.

Contender 1: On Tuesday Alan had some good news.

I had a cunning idea to offload some of our rapidly increasing D'Ove population lovely image in my mind of some beautiful white D'Oves being romantically released at an appropriate moment. The comments went like this:

Congratulations :)

(and could you need white D'Oves on the day please, because otherwise I might need to give some of them to e to make into pies)

Posted by Blue Witch at May 3, 2005 05:05 PM

What a fantastic offer! I hadn't even begun to plan a menu.

Posted by Alan at May 3, 2005 05:08 PM

And then, later in the week, came this post :)

Contender 2: Vaughan provided the perfect closing commentary on the election. Of which, a part:

It's been an interesting evening of election coverage so far. Less than three minutes after David Dimbleby announced the results of the exit poll, the couple in the flat next door reached orgasm extremely loudly. Groaning was involved. Which was nice. I'm not sure whether the two events - the political and the carnal - were linked, but if they were than I assume that my neighbours were simply overcome with sheer delight at the prediction that Labour would be returned to power with a hugely reduced majority.

If this newsflash had that much of an effect on them, just imagine what it was doing to Ann Widdecombe as she sat in the BBC studio being lightly grilled by Jeremy Paxman ("Oh, come on!! How can you call that a resounding success?"). Did anyone notice if she had her legs crossed?

Sorry, that's a horrible thought. I shall cease and desist...

...I've considered putting a note through their front door, but it's a delicate subject to raise, and I just wouldn't know where to start:

"Dear neighbours in Flat 3,

It is with no sense of relish and, indeed, more of a sense of slight distaste that I have to inform you that I can clearly hear your ecstatic moans when you, well, y'know . . . I would be extremely grateful if you could try and keep the noise down in future, as it doesn't add much to the general ambience when I wake up to the sounds of copulating on what should be a peaceful and relaxing Sunday morning. Furthermore, I think you're scaring the neighbourhood cats away.

Yours sincerely,
Neighbour at Flat 3 next door"

Besides, I'm so considerate that I'd probably end up feeling guilty for forcing them into having sex rather more quietly, when it's obvious that understatement isn't really their idea of a good time when they're, er, consumed by the moment. As it were.

Oh, wait a minute. I'm supposed to be writing about the election coverage, aren't I?

So, yes, when my election viewing was interrupted by the sounds of ferocious shagging, I reluctantly decamped from my bedroom into the living-room. It was at that point that I realised two things:

(a) the years when I could make it through an entire election night without a wink of sleep are long gone;
(b) the early results come in very slowly. Very slowly indeed.

I don't know how Sunderland South manages to get its votes counted so quickly at each election, but I wish some of the other constituencies would learn a thing or two from their efficiency. Because I need to get to bed at a decent time and get at least six hours of sleep, but before I do I want meaningful results and I want them now.

Inwardly, I was shouting at the TV screen, "Count faster, you bastards. Give me results. I crave results. How can I get a decent indication of the final outcome when only nine or ten safe Labour seats have declared. I've got work tomorrow, so I need to get to bed, damn you!"

Obviously, of course, I didn't shout this out loud, because I might have disturbed the neighbours as they progressed lustily towards the heights of passion. That would never do.

And the winner is... can't decide, so you can be joint winners this week. Congratulations to you both. Well, to all 3 of you actually.

Firefox has more security vulnerabilities than IE

Just been reading this (and the full source article is here).

Between July 1 and Dec. 31, 2004, Symantec documented 13 vulnerabilities affecting Microsoft Internet Explorer. This is notably lower than the 21 vulnerabilities affecting each of the Mozilla browsers that were documented during the same period. Six vulnerabilities were reported in Opera and none in Safari.

*smug look*

Breaking News

Michael Howard has just said that he is stepping down as Conservative leader 'sooner rather than later' as he'll be too old to fight the next election as party leader. There's hope yet.

I believe in signs

This beast was flying around my Inner Coven yesterday so I was unable to get in there to do any work. That's a 19" monitor to give you some idea of scale...

Mr BW heroically disposed of it last night.

Aftermath

Well, that's 1¾oz or 105g of election leaflets into the recycling bin this morning. If every house got that much, that's - erm - lots - of wasted paper. Most of it will end up in landfill rather than in the proper place.

I wonder what proportion of people who voted actually read the leaflets pushed through their letterboxes? Not many I suspect. And what proportion of them actually read the full manifestos? Miniscule, undoubtedly. And how many people could tell you the key policies of the party they voted for? Hmmm.

And then again, can anyone really believe anything they're told in these days of media driven/contolled semantically negative politics?

68.3% turnout in this constituency. Blue encumbent won again, meaning that we probably still have an MP who is not allowed to vote. Labour lost 6.1% here, although I suspect that is as much down to them putting up an ethnic minority candidate in what must be one of the whitest, most affluent, constituencies in the country. Why did they do that? I overhead someone speculate that it was to give the takeaway and small shop owners someone to vote for. That's what they were up against.

Looking at the map of results (and that's a truly excellent interactive map), it is predominantly blue. Therefore, one could conclude that people who live in cities vote Labour. If they lived in rural areas, they'd vote differently. This has been shown to be true *coughs* by the change in colour (red to blue) of the neighbouring constituency, which has expanded exponentially in the past couple of years due to people moving out from the north and east of London.

So, it follows that all the Tories have to do is move everyone out to the country and they'll win next time. Oh, and get themselves a less arrogant and condescending leader. Simple ;)

People in the most deprived parts of the country have shown themselves to be incapable of understanding the issues. Bethnal Green and Bow. People with brains that small (or controlling religious convictions that strong) are a danger to us all. Ah, no, wait. That latter idea was what Shrub believed, non?

It's at times like this that I'm jolly glad that we are still royalists in this country. At least there's a final, traditional, check on certain people's ambitions. And the Queen's sensible, isn't she? It's been amply demonstrated by her children and grandchildren ;)

And, don't forget, there have been whispers in the last week that Iran have nuclear capabilities beyond what they are claiming is their nuclear power programme. Another war anyone?

Ah well, The Blue Witch Party had better get to work on its campaign for the next election... Maybe next time it will get round to issuing all of its manifesto.

Thought for the day

Spoiling your ballot paper(s) today is an abdication of personal responsibility. It's a cop-out that will serve absoutely no useful purpose and will achieve nothing.

If you don't like what's happening in the world (of politics), then do something about it - get involved yourself, make a difference. Don't moan about what others are or aren't doing if you aren't prepared to contribute. You don't have the right.

Life has many difficult choices. Saying that you don't like the choices available is weak and ineffectual.

Question

Without looking it up, how much do you think it costs to charge a mobile phone?

Update: Well, Elsie's kindly given us the answer (in the comments below):

"Approx 1.4p per charge plus 0.3p for every hour plugged in, switched on regardless of whether you're charging or not."

So, if you leave your phone charger plugged into the mains when not in use, it's costing you 7.2p per day or £26.28 a year.

Staggering, eh? Just multiply that by the number of similar devices you leave on standby (TV, video, DVD, satellite, camera charger, PC etc etc) and is it any wonder your electricity bill is as high as it is?

Speaks Duck with Mr BW: Part 7

Ooops, I'm in trouble. Mr BW is refusing to write any more episodes of his attempts to learn Duck because I forgot to post this a fortnight ago when he first mailed it to me.

Well, we are back after the Easter break to the second half of our course. For a while this week it looked like our little class was down to a meagre 4.

However, it just seems that the room change confused 2/3 of the class as they were found drinking coffee and phoning their mothers to see if they knew where they were supposed to be. That over, we were back to our regular 12 fellow students.

The break does seem to have rekindled some of our enthusiasm, but there are two men who are driving the rest of us nuts.

One has a very annoying habit of trying to speak at the same time as the tutor. So when she says, "Now repeat after me..." rather than waiting to hear how it is supposed to sound he just piles in with his own unique pronunciation in a very loud voice which prevents the rest of us hearing what we should be saying. When reminded to 'shut the f**ck up' (politely of course) he remembers for a while then goes back to his old ways.

The second annoying man just does not listen to how it should be said and comes up with amazing pronunciations that even the worst guess could not touch. At its most basic 'my' is written 'Wo de' and pronounced 'Wow d'. He insists on saying 'Waw Deeeee'. It drives me absolutely bonkers (can you tell). It’s time he either listened or gave up because there isn’t a single China man who will have the faintest idea what he is saying.

Anyway. This week we have been telling the time and date. It’s fairly easy I have to say.

Time at its most basic is just xxx hours (dian) yyy minutes (fen), dead easy.

So, 3:30 is san dian, san shir fen (literal translation, 3 hours, 3 times 10 minutes).

There aren't even any days to learn, since each day of the week is just a number.

Xingqi (pron: shing chee, or, if your name is Annoying Man 1, then its zing qeee) means week.

Monday is Xingqi yi (pron: shing chee eee; literal translation: week 1)
Wednesday is Xingqi san (literal translation: week 3).

You get the idea.
More next week.

Although he said that last bit before I forgot to post this...

Green in Blue Land

That can't have been a Bank Holiday weekend because the weather was glorious during daylight hours. So, we spent the whole weekend enjoying the sunshine and pottering around in The Coven Grounds. It was still 24 degrees at 7pm last night, which allowed for the first Pimm's of summer. Always a good sign.

There was a brief but violent thunderstorm during Saturday/Sunday night, but that just freshened things up nicely. Everything has gone verdantly mad in the last week, which means that the hens have to return to the far end of The Coven Grounds next weekend, so that grass and hedge cutting can commence.

Our little stripey buzzy friends are being very industrious with all this warm weather and are happily making Prize Jars while at the same time pollinating the fruit trees and broad beans. We gave them clean houses yesterday, and two decided to commit suicide by stinging me. One on my right thumb which has made a big improvement to the way my wrist feels this morning, and one between my boobs. By the way, what is that space called? Taking my lead from this, I'll go with 'intermammory space' I think. Although yesterday it wasn't a space so much as a third boob. However.

Mr BW has taken charge of deciding what to do when in the vegetable garden this year, so we are way ahead of where we usually are at this time. Every night for about the last 2 months, he's been busily sowing seeds (in the propagator, greenhouse or cold frame, depending on their type), pricking them out and planting them on.

I'd never really thought about how much space we actually give to things vegetable and edible, but we worked out it's only about 50 square metres in total (ground and raised beds), plus the raised herb garden/seating area nearer The Coven Back Door, which is long and thin and probably another 3 square metres. Almost every bit is covered at the moment (both with growing things, and with fleece as it's still quite cold some nights), until the over-wintering cabbages and purple sprouting are eaten.

Other than potatoes, tomatoes, cucumber, and onions, I now won't need to buy vegetables again until late Autumn (we don't grow onions, other than spring onions, and our own potatoes and tomatoes, although coming along nicely, will be several months yet before they are ready for harvesting).

Most of the equipment we use is either very good quality so that it lasts a very long time, or recycled - corks for the tops of sticks so we don't poke our eyes out, freebie CDs suspended from fishing twine to keep the D'Oves and other birds away, old plastic skylights (middle of the image on the right) and wire supermarket baskets as protection for small plants, plastic bottles as mini-greenhouses and plastic trays and containers as pots and seed trays, prunings from our own shrubs and trees as plant supports etc etc.

The observant amongst you will notice that 'The Wicker Man' is already in use, with runner beans planted at his feet.

And here's our potato patch. In a disused part of The Coven Orchard, next to the raised raspberry/ gooseberry/ tayberry/ strawberry beds (the edge of one is just showing in the left of the picture), where nothing else will grow as it's too wet, we have lots of old muck buckets, stacks of old tyres (they think I'm mad when I ask to keep tyres when they come off our cars at the end of their lives) and compost bags filled with well-rotted home-made compost (whatever kitchen waste the hens can't eat, plus prunings from the garden, all super-activated by hen-house deposits). We only grow the specialist, expensive type, potatoes, as 'normal' potatoes are so cheap to buy. This year we're growing Jersey Royals, Ratte, Yukon and Catriona. Growing potatoes this way is easy, quicker than growing them in the ground, and avoids all the potential problems with potato diseases, plus, they are much easier to harvest, and you can make sure you get every last one out.

Well, that's it for this episode of The Good Life :)

Thought for the day

Politics is perhaps the only profession for which no preparation is thought necessary.

- Robert Louis Stevenson

Thought for the day

I am doomed to an eternity of compulsive work. No set goal achieved satisfies. Success only breeds a new goal. The golden apple devoured has seeds. It is endless.

- Bette Davis

Lunch, straight from the garden

And, drat, just ever so slightly out of focus at that low resolution...
Could play with it, but would rather be outside planting some more...

Decision time...

Here's a much better 'Which Party should I vote for?' quiz from Channel 4.

It uses real election pledges by each of the major parties on each issue, and then gives links to each Party's manfesto, in order that you can check your alignment with their overall stance.

I'm still majorily Green though (54%), and 0% Labour :)

Past perfect

Inside is the place where my camera screen met its death on Thursday (yeah, I'll stop going on about it sometime soon, maybe ;)).

This is to prove that when you've taken nearly 5,000 pictures with a camera in 16 months, you can still make it work without the screen.

You'd think they'd have managed to plant the trees symmetrically though, wouldn't you?

I'm intrigued by those wheel marks leading to the front door too.