Dudley and Eunice

Dudley and Eunice could be the title of an early unpublished novel by Hilary Mantel, or a pair of breeding bloodhounds owned by a Church of Ireland minister. Or, the names of an elderly Telegraph reading couple who still think that voting Brexit was an excellent idea.

The Storm Dudley didn't affect us too much here in Cullybackey. The winds were a lot stronger at the coast as First Daughter knows to her cost. She told me this evening that she had to go to A&E today after a gust of wind blew her off her feet and caused her to have facial contact with a metal gate which resulted in a busted lip needing to be glued together. Poor Zoë.

Storm Eunice is next. Due to impact this Friday, the very day that Zoë and I are due to travel from Ballymena to Tralee by rail. Fingers crossed we get there. 

We had a bull calf born on the farm today (one of Clint's). He's a big strong lad. We shall call him Dudley.

Obviously.

Before The Storm

Preparing for Christmas (doddle) and writing a daily blog (really tough) is wearing me out. Every night at around 11:30pm I find myself totally exhausted and quite unable to do another thing.

Today I had the grandchildren around. Martha was pleased to see I had used her artwork to brighten up the kitchen. There were 4 pictures to start with but there had been some other small girls visiting a couple of days ago and they had found Martha's pictures, flung them to the ground, ripped one up and kicked the sparkly glitter off the rest of them. Luckily they did not get it all. Girls are very rough these days. The pictures are much safer pinned up.

Apparently the weather is to be hideous tomorrow. Ferocious winds are expected. If I don't post it will be because there is no power. That will be inconvenient but if the tree house doesn't blow down I won't mind too much about electricity.

That's enough for tonight. I have an hour left before exhaustion sets in.

The Petting Zoo

When Clint bought our previous place it was rather wild and woolly. A bit like us really. Our back lane was like a tunnel it was that overgrown, there were trees everywhere and there was a garden. Peter the Weatherman had two tunnels full of leylandii and the ones he hadn't sold were rooting into the ground. It didn't take Clint long to begin clearing up. He cleared the lane and cut the hedges. Some hedges he pulled out and he felled many trees. He rooted up all the flower beds and replaced them with geese, sheds and flattened goose-shitty grass. He knocked down stone walls and old houses and built a big agricultural shed. Well. It was his place. He could do what he liked. Except all that vegetation actually provided much-needed shelter.

As a consequence Monday's stormy weather hit him hard. Bert went down to check how his livestock were doing and came across a scene that was close to carnage. There were young trees down and two of his wooden sheds had left their moorings and had blown away. One was in 'juggins' and another had rolled and broken through a wire fence and was standing on its roof. An ornamental holly tree had broken its fall. This was the shed that held 35 baby chicks and goslings and Bert just got to them in time. He gave me a call to help him and while he sifted through six inches of litter I carried the birds away in buckets to a safer place. They were all saved and how I do not know.

Yesterday Martha and I took a dander down the road to see how the little birds were doing.

First we had a look round the place to see the smashed trees. Martha said, "Broke'"

Then we checked the baby birds. Martha liked them very much. She said, "Nice."

We'll go back to see them next week. And they will be much bigger. There is a country saying,

...growing like a gosling.

Ah well. Clint might have given our old place a serious pruning and tidying but at least he keeps a petting zoo for there are three little calves and two young goats as well on the property. He should get a donkey and some rabbits. I must mention this to him.