14th April 2017 Blog Brush

There’s funny business going on round at Arthur’s. He’s bang out of hedgehogs. They’ve just gone apparently; poof and away. That’s my exaggeration by the way, Arthur just said that they’d all fucked off. He’s leaving food out for them at night. If it doesn’t turn around on the hedgehog front then he’s got the makings of a cracking cattery.

We’ve been going through some old recordings of our sport commentary days. Some wonderful afternoons work from the many clubhouses that we would broadcast from. There’s agreement between us that they are of a quality enough to be allowed into the archive of my podcast series, Cave Mind. Look out for them on Youtube. If it appears that we know little of the sports that we commentated on then you should understand that we were usually brought in at very short notice. We may have sometimes been more of just an interested party than of professional background to be honest. We never stopped for dead air though. Hope you enjoy listening to them as much as we enjoyed running up someone else’s tab at the bar in recording them.

Elsewhere you might have noticed the trees indulging in that thing they like to do before they go fully foliaged at both ends. They’re going a little bit green, not quite yet enough to grab your attention, just enough so that you turn your head away. That’s when they strike and exfoliage all over the B-Roads. I’m not worried though, I just took ownership of a new Husqvarna hedge trimmer attachment that is very vigorous, although that’s really more of a warning to hawthorn than a copper beech.

While I’m still thinking with my keyboard I’m also going to note that the King Pheasant I saw this morning looked top notch and was well worth swerving across the back lane to avoid. Just passed the next corner I saw a boy and girl pheasant indulging in what they get up to at this time of year. It wasn’t exactly Barry White on the Richter of Romance, and there was an appearance of pecking instead of petting, but boy oh boy that boy pheasant seemed to be enjoying what he could get out of it. I’m not sure how involved the girl was emotionally but perhaps it’s more of a supporting role. They were on top of a hedge for everyone to see, the dirty bastards. Nature at large doesn’t mind though, does it; I used to take an Lusitano stallion to various stable yards so that he could have a kiss and a cuddle with some mares. Only that’s not how it used to go down. I’ll spare you the sordid details (just drop me a line if you want them though, It’s already written down in a detailed catalogue that I’d be happy to send on), just that I was impressed that a single stallion could always steam up an entire stable yard. How big was his thing…? That’s a crude question, bud, and your self-esteem don’t want to have to deal with the answer. Suffice to say that he was all tired out on the way back, and I’m not surprised.

I hope you all have a good Friday evening, or at least a decent one. I’m listening to Corduroy of my own decision this evening so I guess that places me about halfway between the two.

I like the way that your eyes, they come on in the dark… Mini!

JW Bowe xx

P.S. Anna urges me to point out that my detailed catalogue of equine re-population appears to be hastily written and covered in ill-proportioned drawings. They’re not even drawings she says because some of them don’t have any more legs than one big one. I say that she wasn’t even there, and would like to remind her that I got an A for art. Admittedly some are in blue biro.

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