Something nasty in the woodhenge

Well we just be back from another long roundabout journey. Took the short cut round the top of Salisbury plain. Thought I seen a great bustard but it were only a seagull.

Then we passed sign saying woodhenge. Be cheaper than going to stonehenge I said 'Let us go and treat ourselves to a look round before winter sets in and we have to keep oursells indoors' And who knows, there may be an odd henge of wood just laying there unwanted that we could borrer for the burner or even take back to replace the dear departed woodshed.

But twas a lying sign cos when we did arrive was no woodhenge at all, twas all made of concrete posts like some primeval pinball set up. I was so cross, I could barely contain mysell. Woodhenge indeed! Concretehenge more like.

I blame the National Trust, lying so and so's one and all.

Since Records began

I did hear today tis been the coldest summer for a score of years. If we could only get the hottest winter for a score of years then we could sleep sounder in our beds. Still lacking the woodshed, what empty promises some folk do make.

The dead blackbird be gone leastways.

Summer is a goin out

Nearly thought I would of drownded in all the flash storm floodings last week, I never known anything like it. Tis only today we be feeling dry enough to emerrrge.

So we took off on a bit of a jaunt to Anglebury afore winter starts crawling up the hill. We were walking down the street when a stranger do come up to us and says 'Where be the main street?' Well, quick as a flash, Amos turns round and says 'Why here, this be the main street we on now.' Like there be more than one streed in Anglebury. n

At Last

Well I be pinching mysell to make sure I be awake. They do say that they will be restoring the woodshed to us soon and taking down the ole wicked ash tree that did undermine with its nasty creeping roots.

But I be worritted as I canna help but wonder and wonder will the nastiness return once it has an abode again.

A Day of Sadness and Mourning

Well I be up at starbridge today when I got the message from our nearly neighbour young Miss Stephanie. Her cavey has shuffled off the mortal coil and is no more. She done ask if she can come over and bury the poor sad carcasse in our garden as her own is not big enough for the guinea pig remains.

Of course I canna refuse such a sad requirement. But I do worry that the badgers might .. Oh I darn't think of what they badger folk might do.

A Lengthy Trek

Well tis so long since I get the time to write being as Amos and Effie and me just been on a trek all the way to the fenlands and we only just staggered back this night. But I never been so amazed in all my born days as when I did spot the sign to Husborne Crawley. See I never did think that it was so real a place as to have a signpost. I thought to myself that it was another made up never there place like antatlas or nervanna, or sandbourne.

Whither Goosey Gander?

Well the geese have gone an got me all in a right ole tizz. The young goose been foolishly sitting on a whole heap of eggs since April Fools. Too many to hatch we thinks and then today I goes down to the pen and thereby a gosling running about like a right little mommet. Then the old goose takes against the gosling even though it could be their gosling that the young goose hatched on her behalf.

So we have to get the old goose and the gander into the shed where the guineapigs used to live and that be a right palaver, I can tell you, not even the umbrella did the trick.

Amos is unusually cheery, I sense trouble brewing.