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Wednesday, 28 July 2021

Two bluebottles were ganging…

up on him. The squeaks even I could hear.

Ellie alerted me to our latest visitor to the Wrenery.  I heard a scuffle and thought the frog that had the audacity to sit in her water bowl was back.  I couldn’t see anything so with my alter ego Insp. Clouseau found hiding in the closet(where else would you expect?)I decided with magnifying glass clapped in my left hand to go investigate.  All I can say at this juncture is… a ruddy good job I had this excellent additional appendage to the fore.  After tiptoeing around, not easy for a fat lass in a trench coat sort of macintosh.  I spied through a glass darkly a teensy-weensy little ball of fluff, making the most awful racket and for one so petite, who would have thought it?  The bluebottles were closing in for the kill, pretty much like billionaires with not much else to do having got bored with counting their squillons, going on safari to shoot the hell out of a brace of rhinos’ssss, an odd giraffe and rounding off with a lion for good measure.  That sort of behaviour.  Well, I don’t mind telling you the field vole who had purely by chance got lost finding himself in the barren plains of the wrenery and weak with lack of seeds, roots and other nourishment of the field vole kind was in a very sad state.  Until that is Lettice Leaf and sidekick Hubs rode to the rescue.  The poor wee mite was rescued and promptly captured (too weak to run) and taken across the road to the sunny uplands of the the allotomentoes.  Where seeds a plenty awaited the 50p piece size tiny muchly weakened beastie. 

Not the man in question sadly.

BIg pink knickers…

 eat your heart out. Those of you who on occasion have been tempted to plough through my ramblings might remember my horror of dahlias and m...