Allsorts Saints Eve

Well tis that witchy night of the year and the clock did go back. As ever year I tell the tale of Amos great great great forefather who did never change the clock as he did always turn round and say twas the devil's own work to be meddling with the times and the seasons.

We do praise our Maker that we get no trixters up here because we be more scary than they by a very long way. Even more now we have the owl of death passed down to us from the ancestral shack. Effie do want to get shot of it as she does say it give her the screaming nadgers but I just say that she will get used to it in time.

A Difficult Questions

The bee man come round arter noon today to feed the bees. He tells us that the wasps nesting n the chimbley stack could be bees arter all as the wasps would have perished in the cold by now. So they could be honey dripping down the chimbley all winter.

The pen I did find under the gooseberry bush still writes but I starting to fear that our gosling be a gander.

Harvesting the sheaves

Well tis harvest home time and what produce do we havc to bring forth to the festivities -

- two white strawbs
- six scrappy titchy tomaters
- loads and loads of unripe figgs
-a tree load of tastless scroggins that turn brown afore one can finish eating
-suspect fungals Amos keeps fetching home from the woods
- scabby taters
- a walnut

Best get down to the market and spend our last pennys on some pomygranites.

There be weird drumming noises through the whole woods today.