The Slimiest Creature On Earth

Image: SusanAlisonArt

Question from 5-year-old granddaughter:

“Do you know the slimiest creature on earth?”

Thinks: Sleazebag Guy where I worked in the 1970s — antediluvian 1970s attitudes. But don’t cross swords with women who work in a 1970s lab — scant safety regs, access to electric shock devices, indelible ink, and nasty chemicals. Sleazebag Guy came to regret knowing us.

“I might have met him.”

“Are you thinking of the Atlantic hagfish?”

“Er… no”

“A hagfish can make a bucketful of slime in one minute. That’s slimy.”

Thinks: sounds nicer than Sleazebag Guy.

“I’m thinking of a slimier one.”

“Mine’s got an amnesty day.”

“OK, you win.”

Thinks: who’d want amnesty for mine?

Fish Amnesty Day — even for hagfish — 4th Saturday in September.

***

Originally published in The Daily Cuppa.

A Week In A Spin

 

The week began with a spin on the bike, and was to end — not that I knew it at the time — with something more centrifugally challenging.

Although warm, it was not reliably dry at the start of the week, and taking off on my bike was a risk, as evidenced by the pools left from recent downpours.

For the rest of the story, CLICK HERE.

Catching A Thief

 

I arrive home.

A dapper, rotund chap, in a brown suit, is rummaging inside our porch.

Seeing me, he gives a start of surprise and dives behind the umbrella stand. It’s nowhere near big enough to hide him, so he sidles out whistling, with a look of studied unconcern, edging towards the open doorway, then dives out and legs it. I see a clean pair of heels and a blur disappearing into the bushes.

“Should’ve been armed,” says a neighbour.

Nah, bad idea. We’d have ended up with a 50,000-piece umbrella stand and he’d have shown me that clean pair of heels just the same.

He’d been helping himself to a newly delivered sack of corn and was the sleekest, shiniest rat I’ve ever met. I admired his aplomb, but won’t be welcoming him back.

***

Originally published in The Daily Cuppa.

Wide, High, Long, & Boundless

 

We live in an area of big skies. I guess everyone does really, but we get to see a lot of ours. No mountains blocking the view, no skyscrapers. We live on a large clay plain. 

There’s always a different picture painted on the sky. In the one above, I see a giant version of a standard died-while-changing-my-duvet-cover ghost looming over the fields.

It’s not always see-forever flat, the land undulates, sometimes deceptively. We are up to our necks in ancient archeology, much of it unexplored, as a neighbour found out to their cost when digging out for a kitchen extension:

For the rest of the story, CLICK HERE.

Tomato Anxiety To Tomato Serenity

I wrote about tomato anxiety a week ago. It’s a thing in our house because we grow too many. Growing fewer isn’t an option. I know, I know… sounds such an obvious solution, but as with so many things, there are nuances…

I really wanted a tomato Tardis, but obviously there’s no such thing… There’s that ‘obviously’ again. Life’s taught me never to close the door on anything just because it’s ‘obvious’.Not only does such a wonder exist, but after I’d written about it, Uvebruce popped up in the comments with a wonderful recipe for tomato sauce — less bulky than chutney, doesn’t take freezer space, and keeps. We’ve made our first batch and it’s delicious.

The lesson: If it’s obvious, dig deeper.

***

Originally published in The Daily Cuppa

Indecisive Weather — Assertive Plants

 

It’s that time of year when we have some red-hot days and think it’s summer, only for the weather to cry “Fooled you!” and drench us with a sudden downpour. It has been a week where we tried to get into all corners of the garden to get things in order.

The Indian Bean tree (which we grew from a twig) is unfurling its leaves. It’s always later than the other trees and we used to despair of it every year, but here it is again, showing that it’s full of life.

Hot on the heels of the tree, the pond plants have come into flower. The pond never did recover from the geese.

For the rest of the story, CLICK HERE.

Sitting Under The Cloud

Naughty children at my granddaughter’s nursery school are punished by “sitting under the cloud.”

Today, I found her drawing on my office wall — not a major infringement, to be honest; I once plotted a whole novel on my office walls before I got my giant whiteboard, however, it is a forbidden activity.

I told her, “I’m going to find a cloud for you if you do that again.”

Later, following a microsecond’s inattention on my part, I discovered her back in the office. She’d drawn a cloud on the forbidden wall and was sitting under it, painting her nails with a lipstick.

I silently applauded the creative thinking but withdrew from the field. I know when I'm beaten.

***

Originally published in The Daily Cuppa

You Can’t Escape Friends Like These

 

We set out today to see a trio of old friends we’ve not visited since the covid pandemic started. Not that they have the least interest in seeing us, but we were regular visitors up to a couple of years ago.

After the meridian line (zero degrees longitude) leaves the Arctic Circle, it doesn’t hit land until it comes ashore on nearby Tunstall beach. We were heading into an area that takes wind direct from the Arctic with little to get in its way. Even on a warm spring day, several layers of clothing are needed.

We could see our old friends long before we could reach out and touch them...

For the rest of the story, CLICK HERE.

Diving Into A Different Creative Outlet

It wasn’t planned, but Tom Daley and I prepared for winter together.

Being seized by an overwhelming desire to knit came out of nowhere, unless it was the subconscious thought that knitting can’t erupt into political controversy and never figures in the news. I’ve not knitted in decades, and I never had the least aptitude for it, but hey, have-wool-will-knit — and I had wool.

A forensic search of the house turned up a knitting needle — just the one — but I’m not a creative type for nothing, and my scarf began life on one knitting needle and a chopstick.

An online marketplace purchase later, it was on proper knitting needles — not the same size as the original, but then the original wasn’t the same diameter as the chopstick.

It was an exhausting fortnight-long project that rooted out any urge to knit for another few decades, and I was still glowing with a sense of achievement when knitting popped up all over the news; Tom Daley was knitting an Olympic cardigan between dives.

Wow! Knitting round corners and a gold medal for diving. It’s hard not to be impressed.

Tom Daley and I prepared for winter together. He came out champion for fancy footwork, both in the knitting and the diving, but I wonder how he’d have fared if his cardigan had had to start out on a chopstick. Or indeed if he’d worn it for one of his dives.

Mine might not have made the medals, but it’s a good scarf. Bring on winter!

 

***

Originally published in The Haven

Mysteries, Blue Skies, And Visits

 

A busy week has left mysteries unsolved but had good weather in which to mull them over.

A Sign With A Number Of Anomalies

Walking through an unfamiliar town, we came across this sign:

For the rest of the story, CLICK HERE.