Wondering if the banjo man still be coming round. Don't get many folks coming round here. Maybe they be feared of the dark as still no light on the cow shed. Maybe the mud pits put them out.

Maybe tis the fact that we do have no door bell. So even those who do find the way to the back door through the black mud and dirty dark have no means of gaining entry.

Anyone who tries the front door are obviously town folk who have no idea of us country ways and we sneak up on them from behind and give them that wild 'Don't make me reach for me sawn-off' hill billy stare. They soon learns, they do indeed.

The woods be so thick with mud now that riding to work be closer to a battle re-enactment.

Icestorms

Out pruning the shrubbery when ice grains the size of lentils started falling from the sky. Noted another dead frog in the pond, Amos must have overlooked it or it has just ascended from the murky shallows.

Fire hardly burning in the grate, fear it has been iced out.

Ashy Wednesday

Amos heroically removed all the decaying amphibians from the pond - seven all told - and placed them on the bonfire pile. It being Ash Wednesday attempted to ignite the heap of brushwood and consign the remnants of our pond life to the flames. It having rained extensively on Shrove Tuesday, failed to get the whole heap aflame, just a tired smoulder on the windward side.

Eventually resorted to covering over the tiny remains with more rubbish. RIP.

Darkness Visitable

The light outside the old cowshed has failed. Amos attempted to power up the wind up torch and broke the wind up handle in two, too windy to use candlelight.

Discovered debodied mouse on the hearth this morning. Amos scooped up remnant and flung it over the hedge. Avoided hitting any passing dog walkers, unfortunately.

Effie has spied a single snowdrop.

Saturday Night - not what it used to be.

Morning spend smothering the weedy soil with dead holly chippings.

Amos preaching on Sodom and Gomorrah tomorrow. Off to pay a visit to the sick in hospital now before catching up with the ironing.

Bleakness Abounds

My hands were so frozen yesterday when I eventually arrived at the place of toil that I could barely detach them from the handlebars.

Passed my lunch time today at a funeral. Gander getting exceptionally hissy and can only get him to enter the night hut by resorting to the Aged P's umbrella. As she is confined to her bed she has now further use for the umbrella.

Have resorted to burning pine logs. Think that all the geraniums have perished through the coldness.

The Golden Dead Duck

The Duck Remaineth

The dead golden duck still stays suspended in its metal frame in the woods. Perhaps it has some mystical shield to protect its carcass from the ravenous beasts of the darkness.

Two dead amphibians now under the ice in the great pond and the gander is coughing.