Some people make a very pleasant living by describing in various magazines and journals the delighful antics of wildlife. "Through my kitchen window" they say "I marvel at the red red robin, who is indeed bob-bob-bobbin' along, as per instructions. Oh, and here comes Mr Badger, looking sleek and pleased not to have been gassed.."
Well let me tell you what I can see in the garden this morning, and why I do not write for "Country Life; Nature Notes". Actually it is my Mother's garden. This morning, someone sent her a box of assorted meerkats. On the box it says "Lifestyle Solutions". I suppose if the original problem was that one lacked four bobbing figurines of meerkats on springs, then they have indeed solved it. The Giant Boy was called into action to insert the wobbly devils into the ground. Of course, he had no trousers or shoes, he never does. I spend my waking hours buying him trousers and shoes, every week in a bigger size, it seems. And yet, when called upon to pitch in with an activity traditionally requiring trousers (paying the milkman, chasing the postman up the road, preventing the Dog from throwing itself under the wheels of the icecream van), he is ALWAYS trouserless and shoeless. It didn't save him this morning. My Mother wanted those meerkats in position, and she wanted them there now. So out of the window I can see a large daft teenage boy, wearing his school shoes and a pair of droopy underpants, plus Rob Zombie teeshirt, moving four meerkats around. "Here, Nana? " "No, that's too far away, I can't see his little face." Huge advantage, if you ask me. These four eldritch things have been painted to have four different faces,each capturing a particular emotional state in the no doubt eventful life of the meerkat. To wit; Suicidal, Murderous, Insanely Cheerful and, my favourite, Massively Shifty. I like to imagine the face-painter, bored beyond belief in the excruciating heat of the "Lifestyle Solutions" Filipino factory,conjuring up the fizz-ogs of the last four serial-killers to have made the front pages of the Daily Reaper, and painstakingly recreating them in meerkat form.
So eventually Mum decides that they be positioned around the statue of St Francis of Assisi, who in turn lurks around the base of the birdbath/buffet table. When new, he resembled Peter O'Toole in a cassock. But weather and time have taken their toll, and now he looks like Freddy Starr. He was touched up with brown Airfix paint a few weeks ago;his gown had become leprous-looking as the paint had peeled away. Previously, St Francis had stretched a benevolent arm out towards a squirrel,( which had it stood up would have towered over him), a camel, a gloomy otter, and a brace of swans with pansies inserted into their undercarriages, appearing, understandably, very bad-tempered. He seemed to take control over this peculiarly ill-assorted menagerie with suitable gravitas. But now he has four new additions to his flock, and they look like trouble to me.
Inside the house, Ma has continued to signal her fondness for animals. As I look around the living room, I am surrounded by a dozen or so robins, perched on picture frames, leering down from the curtain rail, balefully beady-eyed. It is like one of the more sinister bits of "The Birds". I sleep on the sofa when I stay here; and my pre-bed ritual now includes robin-removal, as well as smothering three ticking clocks with crocheted cushions and spraying Spider-Discourager in the murkier corners. She has a Victorian oak cabinet which is from " MY Grandmother's Old House in Ireland". It holds many curiosities and ornaments, but is known in the family as "Death Row" due to the large number of framed likenesses of the Dear Departed it holds behind diamond-panelled glass doors.
In another corner is the pared-down remnants of what was once a collection of over 400 owls.The largest is made of rubber. Who on earth gave it to her? It looms over the china likeness of the late Queen Mother, like Godzilla with a beak. Another cabinet is dedicated to "Animals No Longer With Us". I do recall most of them,unfortunately. Particularly the Scottish Terrier that was so spectacularly inbred that it was its own Grandfather. It used to conceal itself under the dinner table. When all were engrossed in light chit-chat,or negotiating a tricky kipper it would begin to snarl, bite itself, and speak in tongues: prior to running up the curtains and collapsing in a frothing fit.
As I have mentioned, the Giant Boy wishes for a dog. He is going the same way as his Nana, I fear. Fortunately, I am able to stall for a little longer, as Downturn Abbey is unfit for pets. Keeping so much as a vole there would amount to cruel and unusual punishment, so short of space do we find ourselves. The wildlife to be observed from my kitchen window(which is also my living room window) tends to be human, and going through the bins. The sound of growling and howling commonly rends the night round here, but tends to eminate from homecoming student drinkers rather than from foxes. There is a three-seater leather sofa in my back garden; I think it was placed there in the hope that a couple would nest there , with a bottle of wine and a DVD, perhaps. I am not sure that it is bio-degradable, but we shall see. As everyone in Britain must own at least three sofas by now;if the amount of money spent advertising them works at all, I suppose it is inevitable that the unwanted ones will appear in unusual contexts. And it looked awfully pretty,covered in snow.By spring,it may sprout little pouffes. I shall do a wildlife film, and David Attenborough will beat a path to my door.If he can get past the pizza boxes and the wild herds of trollies.
Well let me tell you what I can see in the garden this morning, and why I do not write for "Country Life; Nature Notes". Actually it is my Mother's garden. This morning, someone sent her a box of assorted meerkats. On the box it says "Lifestyle Solutions". I suppose if the original problem was that one lacked four bobbing figurines of meerkats on springs, then they have indeed solved it. The Giant Boy was called into action to insert the wobbly devils into the ground. Of course, he had no trousers or shoes, he never does. I spend my waking hours buying him trousers and shoes, every week in a bigger size, it seems. And yet, when called upon to pitch in with an activity traditionally requiring trousers (paying the milkman, chasing the postman up the road, preventing the Dog from throwing itself under the wheels of the icecream van), he is ALWAYS trouserless and shoeless. It didn't save him this morning. My Mother wanted those meerkats in position, and she wanted them there now. So out of the window I can see a large daft teenage boy, wearing his school shoes and a pair of droopy underpants, plus Rob Zombie teeshirt, moving four meerkats around. "Here, Nana? " "No, that's too far away, I can't see his little face." Huge advantage, if you ask me. These four eldritch things have been painted to have four different faces,each capturing a particular emotional state in the no doubt eventful life of the meerkat. To wit; Suicidal, Murderous, Insanely Cheerful and, my favourite, Massively Shifty. I like to imagine the face-painter, bored beyond belief in the excruciating heat of the "Lifestyle Solutions" Filipino factory,conjuring up the fizz-ogs of the last four serial-killers to have made the front pages of the Daily Reaper, and painstakingly recreating them in meerkat form.
So eventually Mum decides that they be positioned around the statue of St Francis of Assisi, who in turn lurks around the base of the birdbath/buffet table. When new, he resembled Peter O'Toole in a cassock. But weather and time have taken their toll, and now he looks like Freddy Starr. He was touched up with brown Airfix paint a few weeks ago;his gown had become leprous-looking as the paint had peeled away. Previously, St Francis had stretched a benevolent arm out towards a squirrel,( which had it stood up would have towered over him), a camel, a gloomy otter, and a brace of swans with pansies inserted into their undercarriages, appearing, understandably, very bad-tempered. He seemed to take control over this peculiarly ill-assorted menagerie with suitable gravitas. But now he has four new additions to his flock, and they look like trouble to me.
Inside the house, Ma has continued to signal her fondness for animals. As I look around the living room, I am surrounded by a dozen or so robins, perched on picture frames, leering down from the curtain rail, balefully beady-eyed. It is like one of the more sinister bits of "The Birds". I sleep on the sofa when I stay here; and my pre-bed ritual now includes robin-removal, as well as smothering three ticking clocks with crocheted cushions and spraying Spider-Discourager in the murkier corners. She has a Victorian oak cabinet which is from " MY Grandmother's Old House in Ireland". It holds many curiosities and ornaments, but is known in the family as "Death Row" due to the large number of framed likenesses of the Dear Departed it holds behind diamond-panelled glass doors.
In another corner is the pared-down remnants of what was once a collection of over 400 owls.The largest is made of rubber. Who on earth gave it to her? It looms over the china likeness of the late Queen Mother, like Godzilla with a beak. Another cabinet is dedicated to "Animals No Longer With Us". I do recall most of them,unfortunately. Particularly the Scottish Terrier that was so spectacularly inbred that it was its own Grandfather. It used to conceal itself under the dinner table. When all were engrossed in light chit-chat,or negotiating a tricky kipper it would begin to snarl, bite itself, and speak in tongues: prior to running up the curtains and collapsing in a frothing fit.
As I have mentioned, the Giant Boy wishes for a dog. He is going the same way as his Nana, I fear. Fortunately, I am able to stall for a little longer, as Downturn Abbey is unfit for pets. Keeping so much as a vole there would amount to cruel and unusual punishment, so short of space do we find ourselves. The wildlife to be observed from my kitchen window(which is also my living room window) tends to be human, and going through the bins. The sound of growling and howling commonly rends the night round here, but tends to eminate from homecoming student drinkers rather than from foxes. There is a three-seater leather sofa in my back garden; I think it was placed there in the hope that a couple would nest there , with a bottle of wine and a DVD, perhaps. I am not sure that it is bio-degradable, but we shall see. As everyone in Britain must own at least three sofas by now;if the amount of money spent advertising them works at all, I suppose it is inevitable that the unwanted ones will appear in unusual contexts. And it looked awfully pretty,covered in snow.By spring,it may sprout little pouffes. I shall do a wildlife film, and David Attenborough will beat a path to my door.If he can get past the pizza boxes and the wild herds of trollies.
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