Eight out of Ten Owners

"Have you tried Whiskas dried food for Seniors?"

I spotted this on the side of the packet of Whiskas dried cat food when I was feeding the feline fiends this evening.


And to be purfectly honest I haven't tried them. I mean I don't eat dried cat food or any other type of cat food for that matter. I have eaten some very strange things but pet food has never featured on the list.



So do the clever creative types that design the Whiskas cat food packaging think that cats can read? Or is it a genuine attempt to lure me away from my porridge or Muesli and have me sit down to a nice bowl of dried herring or beef flavour dried shapes for my breakfast?

I suppose I could sprinkle a few of them into the bag of sweets that Mrs BW has left by the front door to give to the Trick and Treaters that no doubt will be soon beating a path to our door. I mean it couldn't hurt could it? And it would add a certain crunchy frisson to the whole tedious business.

I think we should be told

I saw a sign in a shop window in Buxton today that read "Three Days to Go". Nothing else, just that.

Three days till what?

Friday?

The end of the World?

What do they know that we don't? Or perhaps its just me. Maybe I'm the only one that doesn't know what will happen in three days time?

I'll just have to wait I suppose.

Its a Cats Life

I heard the thwack of the cat flap, followed soon after by that spine tingling feline howl. Tearing myself away from Stephen Fry's new column in the Guardian I looked out of the window. Yo Yo (named after one of Bath Rugby's' greatest wingers Adebayo Adedayo) was standing triumphantly over the cowering and contrite form of a small tabby cat. She was clearly not happy at this trespass into her territory. She must have meant it as normally it takes something serious, like the arrival of a large dog or my singing to get her to move as quickly. The cat flap twacked again and JC (named after Jon Callard ex Bath Rugby full back hero of the 1998 European cup victory over Brive) strolled out to see what all the fuss was about. JC is a coward as well as being lazy. She stopped well short of the tabby which was still on its back. I knocked on the window. This distracted Yo Yo sufficiently to enable the Tabby to make its escape. JC bravely leaped back ten feet to allow it plently of room. Honour had been satisfied and the garden was now tabbyless. The cat flap thwacked a couple of times.When I went to check they were both in their basket, exhausted and sound asleep.

Home Alone

Mrs BW and the fledglings have deserted me for the balmy climes of South Wales for a few days, so I am alone and self catering for a bit. There are times, I have to confess, when I think that the peace and quiet of temporary bachelorhood seems quite attractive, but when it comes to it, when the house is actually quiet, apart from the irritating Moonshine on his wheel, I find that I look forward to them coming back. I'm just never satisfied that's my trouble. Ah well I shall just have to make the most of it. I suppose I will just have to go out for a few beers on Saturday night. I mean it would be antisocial not to really.

Four go missing in Edinburgh

7.40pm Saturday 20th October. Edinburgh. The excellent wedding breakfast comes to an end and we are asked to loiter in the lobby with coffee and small talk while the big room is cleared for the Ceilidh. Mrs BW announced that she was returning to the flat on Old Toll Booth Wynd to change into her dancing shoes. Words that strike fear into the cowardly birdwatcher. I don't do dancing. Especially difficult ones that mean you have to remember things and end up stepping on lots of different peoples toes. She was joined by various other women folk and the Munch (smallest BW) ,I offered to go, but my offer was declined. I was ordered to stay at the reception and mingle. As soon as the taxi was on its way I gathered together a small (four) band of Englishmen and we sneaked off to the pub at the end of the street where I knew that they would be showing the game. (I had happened to be passing earlier inthe day and had popped in to ask them.) I had convinced myself that I would only stay for the first half. That I would be back in time for the start of the Ceilidh. The pub was very quiet but at least the rugby was on. The few Scots that were in were adopting the ABBE philosophy. Half time came and went in a blur. We stayed put. We leaped from our seats and punched the air as Cueto scored that Try and then endured minutes of increasingly forlorn hope as the Video ref played and replayed the try only to disallow it. To my left ,Ed a rugby league fan fought a losing battle against sleep. The minutes counted down, the final whistle went, the Scots punched the air in celebration at the South Africans victory. We slunk out and back to the Ceilidh to face the music in more ways than one.

The Song that has motivated the England Rugby Team.

Just one more effort. I shall be in Edinburgh at a wedding! Do they have televisions in Edinburgh?

Lost on a Thursday Afternoon

She was very clear on the phone. "Its no 12 High Street, you can't miss it, its next to a telephone box." Well that seemed simple enough. I decided I didn't need a map, I knew where I was going, so off I went. I was going to see a client that has a design shop in a local market town in the Peak District. I arrived in the market town. Of course there were road works and it took me a little longer than I anticipated to get through. I parked up and strolled out into the market place. There was no 12 and sure enough there was the telephone box next to it. The only slight nagging doubt was that No 12 was a Mortgage brokers. There was nothing to indicate a penchant for design anywhere. Oh well I assumed that the design bit must be upstairs, so I strolled confidently into No 12. It took a while for someone to come and talk to me. I was a bit put out. No they had never heard of my client. Yes this was No 12, Yes I was in the right market town. I couldn't understand it.

"I can't understand it" I said. " I am positive she said it was No 12 High Street." The nice lady behind the counter smiled tolerantly at me. "Ah well you see that's where you have gone wrong. This isn't the high street" She told me where it was and I beat an embarrassed defeat.

I was sure I knew that little town like the back of my hand! Of course there just had to be two phone boxes both next to No 12 on different streets! Just goes to show you cannot rely on local landmarks.

And another thing!

What on earth possessed our dim witted bird brained council to install ticket machines that make you put your registration number in before you put your coins in to get your overpriced ticket so that you can leave your car in the measly car park and go shopping in what laughingly passes for a shopping centre? People cannot get it. I spend several frustrating minutes waiting behind a queue of people all feeding their coins into the machine BEFORE they had put their registration numbers in and looking askance when the coins came tumbling out. Can't they read? It says in big red letters ENTER YOUR REGISTRATION NUMBER IN BEFORE YOU PUT YOUR COINS IN. And still people do it the other way round. Doesn't the council realise that people are stupid and do not read instructions. Eventually when it was my turn I put my registration number in wrong. I did it deliberately. I am waiting for the day that some shiny trousered car parking Oberfuhrer gives me a ticket on the grounds that I have entered the wrong number, as they are entitled to do if you read the small print. Okay I had a bad day at work! But if they can install machines that require you to put in your registration number then they can install a machine that gives you change. And anyway if I have paid for two hours and only used an hour and I want to give the hour that I haven't used to someone else I should be able to. Fascists!

Back to Reality

It was back to earth with a bang on Sunday morning, as I had to take the Munch (smallest Birdwatcher nick named after Mickey the "Munch" Skinner) and four of his friends to Stockport bowling. Because we don't have a big enough car, we had to throw ourselves on the mercy of pubic transport. There is a perfectly good train service from Buxton to Stockport. It takes about forty minutes and on the occasions that I have used it, it is rarely late. However since time began there have been engineering works on the line somewhere between the two Stations, which means that every Sunday the service is reduced and you have to take a bus from Buxton part way to Stockport and then pick up the train again. It adds considerably to the journey as it meanders through the highways and byeways of the Peak District stopping to pick up from Dove Holes (ugliest village in England apparently), Chapel en le Frith, and Whaley Bridge before returning to the A6 and the extensive road works near New Mills. Of course no one gets on or off and these stops, but stop we do and wait for several minutes just on the off chance that someone might want to get on. The lads were very quiet. I thought they would be. All I could hear from the back of the bus was the sound of gentle snoring. In addition to taking his mates bowling the Munch had what is inaccurately called a sleepover on Saturday night. I vetoed their attempt at staying up all night at around 4.00am, and Mrs BW dismissed all appeals threatening deportation with hard labour at 5.00am. We got them up at 8.30am and they all seemed rather tired.

The Bowling went okay, though being Mr Grumpy I find the loud music and inane cartoon jokes on the scoreboard irritating. Then it was off to Pizza Shed for lunch. Why they bothered to choose toppings for the Pizza is beyond me. We spent hours debating whether to have meat or vegetable toppings and then all they did was scrap the toppings off and eat the Pizza base. It made no sense to me, but then I am old and do not understand the ways of the young anymore.
They seemed to enjoy it anyway which was the main thing.

Superjohnnykicks fantasticbeauxiswasatrocious

Vive les anglais. Awesome bloody awesome. M.Petain,Clemenceau,Louis XIV, Robspierre, William the Conqueror, Foch, Pompedieu, your boys were given a hell of a beating. We are in the final, fantastic, absolutely fantastic.

So this is what a non rugby playing saturday is like?

I couldn't play rugby for the thirds today as we were away and I have to be in Buxton by five to welcome the hoards of the smallest birdwatchers friends when they arrive for his party. So I offered my services for the two's (Stop sniggering! Its not funny) At least it would pass some time before five o'clock and stop me brooding about the real business of the day "Le Crunch". I arrived at the club to find that Kirby "bloody miles from bloody anywhere" Longsdale were still miles from anywhere and were not going to get any closer to Buxton than Blackpool. Hence game off. Leaving me with time to kill. (Mrs BW had unreasonably I thought chosen this particular weekend to go on a course, leaving me i/c re the domestic arrangements. I mean why does she have to chose a weekend when I have a rugby match?)

So the smallest BW and I set off back into town and I decided to treat him to a coffee and a large slice of White and Dark Chocolate Cheesecake. Very good it was to. As we were driving home I remarked to him that we really ought to go and pick the Weasel (fifteen year old daughter) up from her drama class. So you can imagine my surprise when who should we see strolling towards us, but the Weasel with friend in tow. The Drama class had obviously managed to go ahead without her. My surprise was nothing to the look of surprise, and shock on her face when I stopped the car. Needless to say she will have a bit of explaining to do, indeed the matter may have to be passed up to a higher court, especially as it involves financial deception. (Lifting a tenner off me for her drama class!) Mrs BW takes a very dim view of such matters. Of course it has to happen on my watch. It all adds to the now weighty file of evidence that I am seen as a soft touch and am weak on disipline.

Ah well, only two hours to the hoards come knocking on the door wanting fizzy drinks and crisps and entertainment and five hours to "Le Crunch". I might have to go and have a lie down,

Bird Update

Yesterday as I set off for work I noticed a buzzard being mobbed by four crows. Its a strange sight and how irritating for the buzzard. I mean there you are a majestic, large bird of prey minding your own business, lazily soaring about looking for dead carrion, when all of a sudden your set upon by a bunch of thuggish crows. It doesn't seem right really but I guess that's nature for you.

While we are on the subject of birds, in addition to the Blue tits that I saw yesterday, I spotted a couple of great tits hanging around the bird feeders this morning and Mrs BW has cleared a patch of ground and put some seeds down so the Dunnock is back.

At a loose end

I realise I have not mentioned the Goyt for a while. Its still there. I know because I drive past it everyday and its very tempting to pop down Goyt Lane pull onto the car park and have a stroll. But now I'm management I can't do that sort of thing. Well obviously I can't. And of course I don't. Anyway all the curlews have gone. So the Goyt is silent, waiting for spring and that first glorious liquid cry when they return. Which they will in about seven months from now. So only seven months of mist, fog, damp, cold, frost and who knows even snow to put up with. Good job I like autumn and winter. Its the variety you see. All those different shades of grey and different types of wet and damp.

Big day tomorrow, and then England play France in the Evening.

Moonshine

This is Moonshine, the worlds most annoying hamster. At the moment he is annoying me. He and I are sharing what I rather grandly call the study. He is with me because Mrs BW has decided that the small ones need underlay under their carpets because it gets cold in the winter. I think she has gone soft. A bit of cold never did anyone any harm. I can remember when I was a lad waking up and scrapping the frost off the inside of the bedroom window and breaking the ice on the surface of the glass of water by the side of my bed. But this is now and that was then, and if Mrs BW says they need underlay whom am I to argue. (Its pointless anyway!) It means that all the furniture and stuff has had to be taken out of their rooms and loaded into the spare room, and Moonshine has been relocated (temporarily) to the "study". At least its a chance to get their rooms cleaned. We thought about getting our friendly local archaeologist in to sift through the debris from the smallest BW's floor.

Anyway round and round Moonshine goes on his wheel. He stops occasionally to peer at me through the bars just to see how much he is irritating me.

On a more positive note ,I noticed as I was washing up the breakfast things, a wren, a robin and a couple of blue tits. The Sparrows seem to have gone though. Odd!

Just couldn't resist it!

Australians assuming the position.

How did I get home?

One of the drawbacks of playing rugby and enjoying the social side is that most Saturdays nights are a bit of black hole as far as memory is concerned. And after last Saturday I must of crossed the event horizon earlier than normal. It means that Sunday mornings are spent trying to reconstruct the previous evening. I get little clues from my mobile phone. I noticed that I phoned Mrs BW at 9.52pm 9.58pm and 10.02pm, and then phoned my brother, presumably to gloat over the defeat of the oh so modest All Blacks. Have they stopped their clock yet or have they added four more years to it? I also woke up in the marital bed and not the spare room. (Always a clue to the sort of evening I've had)

Anyway its Tuesday and things are almost back to normal. I've retrived my rugby kit from the taxi firm that bravely took me home late on saturday night, and established that I did not have any takeaways on route home and am just about feeling normal again. Can't wait for Saturday really.

The Postal Strike is a Blessing

Mrs BW has discovered Ebay.

This is bad news for two reasons. Firstly she takes up valuable blogging time checking to see if she has been out bid, or searching for stuff to buy. Secondly, we keep on getting packages through the post. This irritates our postman. He has to ring the door bell and get us to sign things. I fear he will start redirecting our mail elsewhere like he did the last time he got irritated with us.

A lot of the stuff is horse riding gear! I could get excited but its for the smallest BW who has discovered a (un)natural talent for riding horses. So far we have had two pairs of jodhpurs, riding helmets, and boots.

I hope you can't buy a horse on ebay. That really would piss postie off.

The Wheels on the Bike go round and round.......

I suppose the man that invented the quick release mechanism for a bicycle wheel was rather pleased with himself when he thought of it. So pleased in fact that he forgot to invent a quick put it back on mechanism. I have just spent a frustrating hour trying to put my front bike wheel back on, (alone and without a leader I should add). I have read misleading instructions that purport to be in English, studied diagrams that bear no resemblance to the bits I have in front of me and done a lot of swearing and stomping about. Well its back on. Sort of. It makes a funny scraping sound when it goes round. But I guess the big test is tomorrow, when I take it out for a spin. Um!

Nothing is ever easy!

"You're rear nearside stop light is out mate."

I thanked my neighbour and inwardly cursed. Having had to admit defeat and take my bike tyre to the bike shop (Well actually I got Mrs BW to do it) it looked like I was going to suffer another blow to my manhood and have to take the car to the garage.

But we Bird watchers are made of sterner stuff! I was not going to be beaten by a bulb and a few screws. I went to our local garage and asked for a bulb for the rear stop light for my car. He disappeared into a back room and a few minutes later emerged clutching two bulbs and an explanation. He started explaining. So I switched off, surfacing as he uttered the words "So you see its very important that you get the right one."

Well I mean its only a bulb, how difficult can it be?