Not a wheelie bin, not a cat, but nearly

I am an eternal optimist and still have a scout around the paddock in the hope that Bar-Os has managed to right himself and is back to normal in the bum department. I do find the odd dropping or two and thought I'd spotted one in the field shelter. As I went with bucket and trowel to scoop up said dropping, I was somewhat startled by the fact that it moved! Upon closer inspection, said dropping was in fact a rather large hedgehog. As it was time to take Bar-Os home for the evening, I left the hedgehog where I'd found him, knowing that Bar-Os wouldn't accidentally tread on him.

The next day I found the same large hedgehog upside down in the hay partition of the field shelter and told Barman that it must have been poorly and had obviously crawled into the field shelter to die. Barman set about digging a hole in the paddock to bury the poor thing. He scooped up the corpse and put it next to the place where he was digging. Having now dug a decent sized, deep hole in which to place the hedgehog, Barman scooped the hedgehog onto the shovel, ready for the burial. Hedgehog wriggled his toes!

It would appear that the hedgehog had tried to climb onto a bale of hay, fell over backwards, got stuck and played dead when it heard us coming.

Nearly!

Seemed like a good idea...

Best friend is getting married next week. The wedding has been organised on a shoe-string, so BF has set about being 'creative'. All the guests have to wear fancy dress, the theme being Hollywood movies. So far there are several Marilyn Monroe's, a Clint Eastwood, a Mary Poppins and muggins here is thinking of being Uma Thurman as she appeared in Pulp Fiction, with Barman as Vincent Vega/John Travolta.

It gets worse...

BF decided that the ladies are to do a dance routine. Ten of her favourite songs (all cheesy). I've just about cracked the first bit, but with nine left to master I'm in a panic, not least because my knees are creaking and my back aches:-) The Thriller section looks cool, but things go downhill fast and the Armand Van Helden section looks like something out of a very low budget porno. And as for the Footloose bit, it's a pitiful sight.

On a different note, I didn't hear back from the hoteliers regarding the fireworks, so following a very noisy firework display on Saturday night, I got in touch with Environmental Health. My previous dealings with the 'back of beyond' local authority haven't been at all worthwhile, so I fully expected a battle. I was pleasantly surprised! Having explained that Bar-Os has been poorly on several occasions and that the fireworks are but a stone's throw away from his stable and are terrifying him, the lady on the end of the phone said that a letter would be sent to the hotel forthwith and if things haven't improved in 28 days, I should get back in touch with the reference number provided and they will take matters further. I'm not holding my breath, but there's a glimmer of hope.

My parents haven't been so lucky with the local authority. Following a long running saga with the LA and a neighbour, over a previously unauthorised change of use of agricultural land to garden, the LA have granted retrospective planning consent, despite the neighbour's garden extension contravening much, if not all, of the region's policy on garden extensions. It looks as though the matter should have gone before the Planning Committee, but it didn't and was granted under delegated Planning Officer powers. As far as I know, the only avenue open to my parents is Judicial Review, and they just don't want the hassle and expense involved in the JR process. How frustrated I feel. Having spent 8 years studying law, there's nothing much I can do to help them. And even more annoying is the fact that some snotty woman at the LA wrote and told my parents that my carefully drafted letter was incorrect and Halsbury's Laws definition of 'agricultural land' was wrong.

Last Sunday I took Bar-Os on another trespassing expedition across a particularly large stubble field, got back home early evening, washed him down and sat in the garden supping coffee. Bar-Os was busy 'mowing' the garden (I know, but it's quite normal in the country, honest), when I saw a plume of thick, jet black smoke just over the hotel. There is a God thought I, then realised that the smoke was coming from further away, from the direction of my paddock! Barman went to investigate, only to find the Fire Brigade, many cars and several locals in situ. The locals had gone to rescue Bar-Os, bless em, not realising that he was munching away on my lawn (if you can call it that!), oblivious to all the fuss.

The owner of the field next to mine had decided to set fire to a couple of caravans which they used to use for storage. Following an early morning fright, when neighbour discovered half a dozen hungover teenagers squatting in one of the caravans, it was decided that the best thing to do was to get rid of them (the caravans that is:-)). Tell you what, looking at the large blackened area of grass where the fire took place, I reckon my neighbours got more than they bargained for when they struck the match.

Fraudulent and deaf, but chuffed!

Well, what can I say! Winner of the Best Design Blawggie, yay! Of course the brilliance and accolade is all mine, mine, mine Andro's, who gave Barmaid a much needed face lift earlier this year. Ta Andro, any chance you can also fix it for me to get a pupillage? Oh well, it was worth asking anyway:-)

Been a bit busy this week and haven't seen much news. Barman was talking to me and said "Have you heard the news about that vicar who's gonna burn a thousand grans this weekend?"

"No" said I, wondering where a vicar would find a thousand grans at such short notice; particularly ones willing to be burnt. It was only when I was listening to the radio earlier today that I realised I'd mis-heard Barman.

Thanks to everyone who voted for my blog, it's cheered me up no end. Have a good weekend.

I don't very think so!

I'm busy over the next few weeks and will be working some funny hours, which has led to a dilemma. Big Boy's Bum. As you may have read in my previous posts, Bar-Os has partial paralysis of his rear end, so needs help in that department - help several times a day as it happens, because horses go about 8 - 12 times a day. Barman, who is secretly looking for a scive off work, has volunteered to 'do' Big Boy's Bum.

Yesterday got off to a poor start and I wasn't quite sure whether Barman was going to faint or not, and that was before we'd even got started! So today he decided to have another go.

Some of my favourite books are the James Herrriot vet stories, one of them is called If Only They Could Talk. Well let me tell you, the look on Bar-Os' face as Barman approached with sleeve rolled up, orange gloved and gelled up to the elbow, said it all -'I don't very think so buster'. There was much huffing and puffing on Barman's part, lots of soothing words from me (to Bar-Os of course:-)) and very little progress! Eventually I took over the reins, so to speak, more out of pity than anything else. I have a funny feeling that I won't be hanging up the lubrication gel just yet. Men eh!

In accordance with the vets advice, I have continued riding Bar-Os and he's in fine form, so much so that I mis-laid the brakes the other day. The fields are mostly clear of crops now and some of them haven't been ploughed yet, so I have been busy trespassing on the stubble fields and exploring new locations. A bit of new territory always gives Bar-Os a spring in his step and it's nice to see him enjoying himself. The faster exercise seems to help in the bum department too, as he's managing to go to the loo himself a few times a day.

So, that's enough about rectums! I haven't got a pupillage yet, but have a couple of applications outstanding. One is provincial and local, the other in London, both are entirely different to one another, but each look interesting. Having gotten through the Situational Judgement Test with the GLS, I went onto fail the following psychometric test thingy. It's obviously not my thing, as I failed the same type of test last year. I feel very thick!

I now have to sort out an email (which I've been meaning to do all week) to the hotel at the back of my house. The hotel featured on one of those trouble-shooting programmes last year and is owned by a pair of clueless, absentee, Americans. Having spent over £6m on the place, it stands mostly empty. The health spa is unfinished, the restaurant is unfinished, the kitchen is no larger than a decent domestic one, yet is meant to be able to cater for hundreds? The only activities which take place are weddings and parties, which are run by outside caterers and which brings me to the email. In their wisdom, the hoteliers offer firework displays, the 'industrial' ones that are loud, very loud, and are right at the back of Bar-Os' stable. Poor lad is terrified every weekend, refuses to eat or drink and then gets colic. I've had 2 weekend vet visits due to the said fireworks and am just about fed up with it all, not least the hefty bills that accompany the vet visits. So, I'm getting myself psyched up to rattle off a snotty letter and just hope that something will be done about it. A few other villagers with pets are also complaining, so I'm not alone in my plight, but it's very annoying that people can be so thoughtless about these things and have to be told time and again... I did stand and watch some Chinese lanterns going over, from the hotel, a few weeks back when the ground was dry and full of crops. I can't imagine that the local farmers will take lightly to those and I did notice one or two lanterns burning up and falling into the nearby fields. I can see an opening here, a Chinese lantern and firework litigation specialist, mm, bet there aren't many of those around!

Anyway, that's enough moaning from me, I'm going to clean the house have a kip and go for a hack later. What a gorgeous day:-)