Water Cannon.

In 2014, when Boris was Mayor of London, he purchased 3 second hand German Water Cannon, after rioting Anarchist mobs had left parts of London severely damaged.

He paid £320,000 for their purchase and renovation, but their use was instantly banned by Theresa May, and they remained, unused, in storage.

Now that we have a Socialist Mayor of London, a certain Mr Sadiq Khan, they have been sold for scrap for just £11,025.

Personally, like Boris, I think a good soaking of unruly rioters is quite a reasonable method of crowd control; but the snowflake generation think not. Maybe there should have been a referendum on their use.

So, well done Khan; I hope the rate-payers loss of over £300,000 is coming out of your own pocket. 

The sudden cold.

It was the great Alfred Wainwright himself who said "There's no such thing as bad weather, just unsuitable clothing".

From our glorious late Autumn sunshine, we have now had several days of early morning frost. It has been down to -4 C, and that suddenly feels VERY cold.

'Suitable' clothing has definitely been brought out from its Summer quarters.

However, it's not all bad, and at the base of my old faithful scrumping Apple tree, it's still strewn with fruit. Some show signs of having been nibbled by Deer, others came complete with a Hornet or two, but there were plenty to bring home. This interesting variety appears frost-resistant, they will remain edible well into the new year. 

The fire is lit at 4 pm sharp. I'm beginning to look longingly at my unopened bottle of Winter Single Malt. And the electric blanket is back in use.

Europe's Winter has arrived!

Black Bloody Friday.

How on earth can Europeans be so stupidly gullible?

People are so easily manipulated by commerce. Offer them €10 off a new TV, and they'll buy it even if the don't need one, or can't afford it; and all because there are advertisements, ad infinitum, telling them that it's something called BLACK FRIDAY; and they would be crazy to miss a 'bargain'. How idiotic.

Well, I for one will be staying home on Friday; I'd prefer to buy that bloody TV on SENSIBLE SATURDAY, even if it cost me £50 more.

And if this foolery wasn't bad enough, we'll now be having nothing but bloody back-to-back Christmas adverts for the next four weeks. Give me strength!

Iceland’s Banned TV Christmas Advert.

Just in case you haven't seen it, here is that now famous Iceland advert.

It was banned for TV because of the link to Greenpeace, which is seen as a political organisation; and therefore verboten.

Amazing the extra publicity you can achieve by having something banned! At the last count it's had over 30 Million viewers; let's make that a few more.

Cake.

I must say, my mother made a very good Chocolate Cake; but I suppose that all mothers do.

It was always a good day when the old-fashioned beige mixing bowl came out from the pantry. We would crowd around the big breakfast room table, desperate to put our fingers into the mix, as soon as her back was turned.

She made it look so easy. She put in a bit of this, and a bit of that, maybe some butter and Cocoa powder, then mixed it all together. 

Whilst it was in the oven (a dreadful old thing called 'Radiation New World') the icing would be prepared. It always seemed like hours before the cake was cool enough to accept its topping

I'm pretty sure that my mother only iced the top, which was always given a wavy pattern with the back of a fork. My sister and I fought over the right to do the art work.

But, of course, a cake is all about taste, and hers became the cake by which I judged all others. It seemed impossible that one of her cakes would win anything but FIRST PRIZE in the annual village WI produce show. I no longer remember if they did; possibly not.

I still like Chocolate Cake; Lady Magnon makes a very good one. I'm no longer too keen on the icing, but she always leaves part of the cake un-iced, specially for me. 

Chocolate Cake has been a life-long friend, as I'm sure it is for many!

Horses.

Photo © Lady Magnon.

Lady Magnon enjoys the company of  horses much more than I do. She used to be an avid rider, but since her quite recent rib-cracking fall, has hung-up her jodhpurs and spurs. Now she restricts herself to feeding them carrots and photographing them, rather than climbing on their backs.

The last horse I rode myself was a lovely ex-London rag-n-bone man's Horse called Joe. 

Joe was a Welsh Cob, who arrived chez nous pulling a Gypsy caravan, owned by Anthony Wedgwood-Benn's niece and her boyfriend. They stayed for about a month, then continued on down to the South coast. 

Whilst here, I used Joe to pull our old farm two-wheeler trap, and also for a bit of bareback riding. As an ex-rag-n-bone Horse, he did everything by word of mouth. You didn't even have to hold the reins to give orders. He was the perfect ride for someone like me!

I've always been a bit wary of horses, ever since my sister's horse, Misty, used to eject me on a regular basis. However, it's always me who has to catch escapee horses and return them to their fields; which occasionally includes the one above. 

We don't have enough land to keep horses, but if we did I'd quite like a big Shire or Percheron. As long as it was big, slow, and had shaggy feet; I'd ride it. 

No frisky thoroughbreds, thank you.

RIP Freddie; aged 14.

                             

He'd not been eating for several days, just hanging around his water bowl. Not a good sign.

Poor old Fred just faded away. No fuss, no last requests; he simply wanted to die peacefully. He wished to die as I suspect all Cats wish to die, at home in the place he loved, and by the side of those who loved him.

So, goodbye Fred. I'll bury you alongside your old friend Monty, at Haddock's. I'll put a few Cat treats in with you, and maybe your broken black clockwork Mouse (that you never played with).

The local Mice/Voles will now rejoice, that nasty Cat next door will no longer spit flames when he sees you, and in future I will sleep without that furry scarf beneath my chin.

I'll miss you terribly. Your favourite perch in the Quince tree (above) will now remain empty. Life will never be the same again.

Cheerio old friend. xx