Phill Cook
@drphillc
Elder statesman of underachievement; brand ambassador for laziness; case study in evolutionary dead ends. Someone once told me I "sound like a fucking Wurzel". This pleased me.
27 years. 27 years of "why are you keeping that crap?" washed away as I smuggly return old faithful to the shelf for safe storage until 2081.
I lost mine somewhere so we'll have to make do with a generic picture from the interwebs 2.0:
This is Blue. She's just won 3rd place at the Umberleigh village fete dog show - dog with the waggiest tail category. Never more proud. Great foundations to build on for next year.
This is Penguino. As you can tell, he is Spanish and loves football. "So, why the sad face?" I hear you ask. Well, Penguino had his heart set on Spain thrashing England 27-0 in the final. Sadly it is not to be. Next time Penguino, next time. For now, just enjoy Spain beating Argentina.
Little things in life: Admiring what is now a single dwelling and saying "I think it was originally two, built at different times in ~C18, with the now central chimney originally on the end wall of the earlier dwelling which had a hipped thatched roof" then seeing this in the loft ...
I've done the hard yards so you don't have to: It's in the Sun the Daily Mail, the Sun, GBNews, ... (not yet checked the Express). I now need to go and rest my eyes.
Just taken the dog for a walk and the consequences of this look devastating. If the oak mentioned is the obvious one, it's dead. If this was Arson: Wankers. Yet another stolen motorbike abandoned and torched: Wankers. Global warming: Nature's telling us. www.instagram.com/p/DN037Dj2C8P/
In case anyone is thinking "I wonder what that path looks like from the other end?" Don't worry, I've got your back.
Our mulberry tree is small (anout 3 metres tall). It is, however, covered in fruit this year. My luck is in. Everyone else in my household hates mulberries. Not me. I've never yet managed to top out my mulberry gluttony.
If I have a skill to pass on to my son, it's stone skimming - careful selection of the right stone, the explosive whip of arm and wrist as you spin it flat across the sea. My youth was comfortably double figures but now flab replaces strength. 7 or 8 will do. My son hit 5 - he'll best me by autumn.
By now the tree peonies have done their thing and the tulips and forget-me-nots are beginning to fade. But, for me, the garden year never truly begins until the big copper beech breaks bud. And, we're off ...
If anyone wants to see some photos of tulips - here are some photos of tulips.
It's been a dry spring, so much so that the underground rainwater tanks are only half full - even with only modest watering of the borders in the greenouses. 10,000 litres will be nowhere near enough for summer and falling back on tap water is a big no-no. I'm praying for rain. Lots of rain.
I'm no photographer but I do love the woods on a bright crisp January day. Next question: Where did my dog go?
Dog enjoying a walk in the frost (it's -1 here). After 3 years of owning her, sunny = yes, snowy = yes, cold = yes. Rainy = I'll stay in.
For all those saying how January is just dull and grey, this was the sky a day or so ago:
My primary age son's science experiment is complete. The pond is *just about* frozen enough to support a jar of sugar.