Foxgloves and Flycatchers

We decided to change/upgrade our broadband provider. I'd been considering it for quite a while so when the pleasant young chap from Fibrus turned up on the doorstep we decided to take the plunge. The only issue was, there was a bit of a waiting list and it might be a month before the engineers could get around to us. Not a problem. We were content to wait. The big day arrived, and the trucks rolled into the yard bright and early. They poked around for a while, established where all the important points were, headed down the lane for a look-see, headed back up again, knocked the door and said,

Bit of a problem . That's a fast road down there.

I could only agree.

60 mph road. Someone should have come out, carried out an assessment. We'll need traffic management lights.

What could I say? It is a fast road. Stupidly fast. In my opinion, there is no need for anyone to drive at 60mph on a B road. Excepting ambulances, fire engines and, at a pinch, police vehicles on emergency calls. Not dickhead boy and girl racers or farmer's wives on the school run.

I agreed it wouldn't be safe for them and waved them on their way.

We'll reschedule, they said.

Weeks passed, many weeks. I had to phone the company. Eventually, another date was arranged, a month hence.

The big day arrived. The truck rolled into the yard. They made themselves known, said they had to wait for the traffic management guys. They hoked about, found the points, made friends with the dogs, had to get a look into the shepherd's hut. Said they might have to drill a hole through the front of the house. I didn't like the sound of that, indicated the spotted flycatcher's nest above the front door and said that on no account were the birds to be disturbed. For some reason, the one with the lip ring found this amusing. He said,

What are they? Robins?

I suspect he might have been one of those people who think that all small birds must be some class of robin. He was from Dungannon and it has been my experience that people from that part of Tyrone have a disregard for nature. I have never forgiven the contractors from Omagh who, when the Housing Excecutive were replacing the fences in Ballykeel 2, laughed at me when I complained that they were trampling on my foxgloves. It might have been over thirty years ago but I can still see the face of the fat troll who joshed,

Sure them oul things grow in the ditches where we come from!

Bert was able to explain to the fellows that there would be no need for drilling holes as there was a conduit (whatever that is) that made it unnecessary. While this was being discussed a spotted flycatcher flew over our heads on its way to the nest.

So - did we get our superfast broadband? No, we did not. The farmer's wives and the boy/girl racers had to cool their heels at the traffic lights while the engineers investigated the roadside points. Then the door knocked. It was the one with the lip ring.

We can't do it.

Why not?

Too much mud. We'll have to wait until Road Services clear the drains. 

Town folk get broadband sorted out just like that. No need for traffic lights, and no mud. Everything is fine and dandy. But I don't even care for I've got spotted flycatchers. And foxgloves growing everywhere. 

DISCLAIMER: In this blog post I have, with tongue firmly in cheek, suggested that people in parts of County Tyrone do not care for, or appreciate the natural world. Obviously, I don't really believe this.  My maternal grandparents came from Tyrone and despite having relocated to Belfast in childhood, they couldn't wait to get back to country living and whilst there instilled in my mother a deep love and respect for nature.

Freezing

 

Despite Hannah's dire warning, we ventured out today. Bert drove and all went well until, outside our favourite breakfast cafe, the van got stuck in the icy car park. We were helped by a small Englishman and his partner who steered us out while the rest of us pushed. I was so grateful that I nearly wished England were still in the World Cup tournament.

After that small adventure, we went to a nearby fishing supplies shop to search for some Tasmanian boots. Sadly, their stock was low and my size was not available. It was an interesting shop though. I never knew that fisherfolk needed so much stuff. They have special everything. 

I was supposed to go to the bank to cancel a direct debit but it was cold and I had a longing for my wood-burning stove so went home instead. I have changed my phone contract and I know that more savvy people than I can do their banking from the comfort of their own warm fires but somehow i can't get the hang of it. Maybe it's because my phone hasn't enough memory. I have bought some memory and now I have to work out how to get it onto the phone.

Bert didn't have music last night so we thought we'd watch an episode or two of Motherland but then the TV started playing up and that was after me getting new superfast broadband. I'm wondering now if we need a new firestick or a new television. Everything is about technology nowadays. Les called round with very fancy marshmallows and instead of an insert telling one what flavour they were we were expected to use a QR scanner to connect us to the company website. Bert thought he could do it with his phone because it's a Smart Phone duh! He had no luck with that not having installed the app. Luckily I had it because I needed it to scan something for the Van Gogh immersive experience I'm (supposed to be) going to in January.

Well, we had marshmallows with our tea and I went to bed with this laptop. A friend contacted me on Facebook to ask me about a mutual acquaintance. Next thing she's calling me. I didn't know Facebook could do that. I pressed the appropriate key and there is a picture of her favourite cat and her voice filling the room. So there I am, in bed, laptop in front of me and Vinny talking to me just as if she was sitting at the end of my bed. The news wasn't good. The fellow she was telling me about had died. He had been a friend of her late husband and was the brother of two of our friends. As a Mr Heffron once remarked to me (at another funeral, of course)

They're taking them out of our pen now.

All over social media, friends and family have been taking photos of the winter wonderland outside. Not I. It's too cold. Instead, I offer up a picture of my fridge, c. 2005. Maybe you're on there. In your younger days.