web analytics

Paging Argentium G. Tiger…!

silverband

Argentium G. Tiger, please go to the white courtesy phone. Someone you (presumably) know is looking for you and, believe it or not, your most recent internet presence with this nick is a comment on this blog. Drop me a line and I’ll give you the deets.

By contrast to the ploughing match I posted about yesterday, here is the house band from the poshest of posh fetes.

How posh? That ain’t a brass band, son, it’s a silver band. Yes, it’s a thing.

They’re very good, actually. It’s particularly amusing when they break into an enthusiastic version of the Time Warp or sech like.

August 15, 2017 — 9:22 pm
Comments: 9

A lady! Driving a tractor!

plough

And she probably has one of those fru-fru British accents and everything.

Ploughing match. We were told that’s her tractor and nobody else is allowed to touch it.

We managed one fete, one country fair and two parties this weekend, because our lives are just that exciting. You?

August 14, 2017 — 8:49 pm
Comments: 12

Chook update

chooksupdate

No, no…these are not new baby chooks. This is the trio from last year, who are now all growed up and doing well. It occurred to me I hadn’t given you an update in a while.

The two millies are fat and happy and each lay an egg every day like little champs. The lavender has gone broody and sits on the nest sulking.

These are by far the most neurotic chickens I’ve had. They haven’t warmed to me at all. Usually, a chicken — by virtue of natural gluttony — will ultimately come to love you, because you represent FOOD. These girls? Scream and run away from corn if you throw it at them.

Run away. From corn.

They’re greedy enough. They come back and eat it eventually. They’re just super, super spooky and neurotic.

And old Mapp is doing fine. She’s seven this year, which is a damn good run for a bantam. And, yes, she’s gone broody this year as she does every year. Poop out three eggs and then go broody. Useless old bird. She and Colette sit on the nest together and scream at the other chickens.

I’ve made her a promise: if she makes it through another Winter, I’ll give her some fertile eggs to sit on. Motherhood would serve her right.

Right! Tomorrow, 6WBT, Dead Pool Round 99! Be here or I’ll give you some fertile eggs to sit on.

August 10, 2017 — 10:26 pm
Comments: 3

Come into my parlor…

house

Remember the feral cat who was making Jack’s life miserable? We hadn’t seen him for ages. In fact, we started to wonder if the Monster that Chewed Charlotte had got him.

But, no. He’s back. And the reason is: the food I’ve been leaving out for the hedgies. I haven’t fed them for two days because Ginge keeps knicking it.

Poor old boy. I do feel bad for him. Because he’s a working farm cat, they don’t feed him, and a skinny rough old thing he is. But he beats up Jack and then Jack beats up Charlotte and…no, we just can’t have it.

So that beehive looking thing in the picture is a hedgehog feeder. Or house. It’s sold as both. The opening is too small for a tomcat.

It’s not weighted at the moment, so I reckon Ginge could get his head in the opening and toss it aside, but it’ll slow him down enough I can catch him at it and shoo him off. I watch them cameras like a demented hawk.

Funny thing: it’s wire covered in twigs and it’s almost invisible, tucked up under the hedge. But it screams out on the surveillance video, see? Another IR anomaly.

August 9, 2017 — 9:33 pm
Comments: 21

Huh. Must be egg bound.

porcelain

This came across my Twitter feed today. Most useful thing I’ve gotten out of Twatter in a long time. Yes, there’s color. I must have this thing.

Still dealing with home-broughten work at the moment.

RIP Glen Campbell. Poor bastard had been dealing with Alzheimer’s for a thousand years. And Uncle Al had ‘im in the Dead Pool. That means you-know-what, here, Friday, 6WBT.

August 8, 2017 — 10:03 pm
Comments: 21

The Ghost of Weasel Hall

mist

Infrared does some very strange things. We figured that out early on. One of the first nights we switched the outside cameras on, two of them showed the most amazing howling blizzard for half an hour. It was an IR gross exaggeration of a light mist. I guess. It was hard even to see the mist with the naked eye and t hasn’t happened since.

Something similar happens at work, where dust or moisture speckles swirl around in a seemingly purposeful way. One of my colleagues watching the recording firmly believes they’re orbs — you know, spirit doo-dahs.

I definitely think it’s just weird IR artifacts. I’m as psychic as a potato, me.

Picture above shows the camera in the garden that has its back to the chicken house. I hope you can make out the swirling mist. I see this many nights on this one camera. It’s a sort of twisty thing, like smoke, seemingly close to the camera. Very spooky looking.

My best guess is, it’s some kind of spider gossamer. Spiders love the cameras and crawl all over them (with B horror movie results). I guess the red lights either attract them, or attract bugs that attract them. They often leave cloudy, milky artifacts when they spin web up close to the lens.

OR maybe it’s some particular kind of mist coming up from the grass, bearing in mind how weirdly IR can exaggerate moisture.

Any other guesses?

August 7, 2017 — 10:28 pm
Comments: 24

Roses are white, violets are…well, violet. Duh.

rose

Somewhere under all those roses is a garage, and the roof of that garage will surely cave in some day if we don’t cut it back. But then it does this, once a year, and we can’t bear to give it the chop.

It’s a rambling rector, though I would take issue with the description at the link. I never noticed that ours is highly fragranced OR that it produces masses of hips in the Fall. It’s a hell of a sight, though.

Have a good weekend, everyone!

August 4, 2017 — 8:43 pm
Comments: 27

Holy shit, I forgot to post…!

I didn’t post yesterday. I clean forgot. First time in the ten years of sweasel.com. What’s more, I didn’t even realize it until I couldn’t sleep and decided to check my own blog on my tablet (note timestamp: 1:24 am. Wait, do you see post times in my time zone or yours?).

Sorry. I’ve been bringing home work. I didn’t think I’d have to do that. Ever again for as long as I lived. But the old dude who used to lay out our annual magazine decided he’s too old, and my boss was all, like, “say, you used to do publication design, didn’t you?”

Yes, yes…that only came up in the context of how much I flipping hated it.

Plus, I’ve got an art show coming up. I stay an associate member of the art club until I show two pieces in an annual show. I decided I hated everything I’ve done and I’ve thrown it all away and started from scratch. I have about a week.

So. Anyway. Excuses are boring. Those are mine. It’s gratifying that you noticed my absence (truly, it is). I don’t suppose it would do me much good if I fell down the stairs, as the emergency personnel would need more than “don’t know her name but she lives somewhere on the South coast of England.” But it’s still good to know if I fell off the earth, it would make a little ripple on the other side of the world.

I should get it all straightened out…in a couple of weeks (sigh).


p.s. Oh, for the record — yes, I have three tablets. Two Kindles, three tablets and an Android phone — and I use them all. HAHAHA! Well, except the first Kindle — the screen broke.

They’ve all been presents from Uncle B over time, but each one has a specific role and a specific place in the house. As you know, the batteries in these devices hate being run all the way down and there’s a constant drain while they search for wifi signal, so I expend a certain amount of daily effort rounding them all up and feeding them. They’re like livestock, really.

August 3, 2017 — 7:27 pm
Comments: 22

Mad as a wet owl

wetowl

Is that a saying? It should be a saying. Another picture from Saturday’s owl deluge.

In the previous thread, Ric Fan says: “I love the Old English name for August, ‘Weodmonað’ – Bede says it means ‘the month of weeds, because they are very plentiful then’!”

I know this! I’m currently working my way through a History of England podcast (from the departure of the Romans to…not sure. Haven’t finished yet). Most entertaining. He listed the months of the year in the old Anglo Saxon (per the venerable Bede), and I thought it was so cool I wrote it down. Rough notes, I’m sorry.

I’m indebted to Ric Fan for the ð – I used the audio ‘th’. Other Anglo Saxon spelling howlers, undoubtedly.

Here we go!

Dec 25th is Modrenecht: “the night of the mothers”. Not sure what that means or if it’s a pagan festival that predates Christmas.
Month 12, 1 Juil: (Jule, Yule). Last month of the old, first month of the new.
Month 2 Salmanac: the month of cakes. Or mud. They made buns.
Month 3 Arethae. Should that be Areðae or something? No further information.
Month 4 Aeostre. Easter you should recognize.
Month 5 Trimicle. Three milks. Cows are milked three times a day.
Month 6 and month 7 Lethe. Something about the moon. He says we know no more.
Month 8 Weodmonað. The month of weeds, as Ric Fan said.
Month 9 Halechmonað. Spelling unk. The month of sacrifice, festivals, harvest.
Month 10 Wintirfirað. First full moon of Winter.
Month 11 Blodmonoð. Blood month. The time when it makes more sense to slaughter livestock than feed it through the Winter. Much feasting.

I’m getting quite addicted to using podcasts to get me through dull, brainless jobs. This one is recommended, if you have any interest in Jolly Olde.

August 1, 2017 — 10:43 pm
Comments: 24

Mmmm…fresh weasel!

owl

Weather in Britain is a crap shoot, emphasis on the ‘crap’, but there’s one fete that always has lovely weather. We joke that the local witches must sacrifice small children to ensure it.

Looks like they couldn’t catch one this year. It was okay in the morning. It was lovely, in fact. And the moment we stepped out the front door, it was like someone twisted the spigot.

We went anyway. We got soaked. I felt especially bad for the booksellers, whose wares likewise got soaked.

At one particularly violent point, we ducked under the marquee of an owl rescue. They are local, we see them regularly, but I couldn’t resist giving this sweet barn owl a skritchie. She gave me a nibble in return. I was assured it was affection, but I wouldn’t like to know just how hard she could bite down if she tried.

I’d love one, but I don’t think the chickens would thank me. Also, no barn.

July 31, 2017 — 10:15 pm
Comments: 16