Mr Reeky comments...

I don't much care for that last post Colin, you bag of shit.

The Rat is Dead

The creature had been plaguing us for three days and nights. It was somewhere in my front room for three days and nights, and it was driving Rags insane. The poor old pooch got so uptight that he shat himself today - diahorrea everywhere. After reassuring my daughters that it would not chew through any cables, the creature chewed through our phone cable. I could not tolerate this undermining of my credibility in the eyes of my adoring children - enough is enough. I have stalked the creature with a 1.77 air pistol for two days. It's time to call in Dave the Dan, the man of many...

And so we did. By this time, the creature had been trapped up the chimney. We decided to smoke the bastard out. With fire ablaze I turned to Dave and said, half jokingly, "Let's just hope he doesn't fall into the fire and come charging out at us..."
Guess what! At that very moment there was a plop and a blurr of fur came streaking out of the ashes reducing Dave and I to girly shrieks (a hilarious sound of screams and kerfuffle according to my giggling family). Dave was stamping his foot on the floor, convinced the creature had run up his trouser leg. I was frozen on the spot for... I don't know how long.

However, we soon regained our composure and proceeded to hunt the creature. It was already hampered by the smoke and a pellet which I had winged it with yesterday. Eventually, - after numerous pot shots with the pea-shooter - I dispatched it with a fatal shot.

The taking of a life - even that of a big brown rat - is taken very seriously by the Sylvannian Family Community, to which I act as Community Daddy. And so Monty the wise weasel ("he's not an otter!"), and P.C. Badger came to inspect the body of the fallen rat who had dominated things round here over the last few days. Monty shock his head wearily, turned to myself and Dave the Dan, and said, scathingly - "don't give up the day jobs fellas."
"Mr Reeky ain't gonna like this," I muttered under my breath...

Tree Scenes

Ain't Narf Been Some Clever Bastards

Albert Einstein says

Dave the Dan teaches me a new fact...

Dave the Dan, the man of five coats in the cold, telling me something I did not know until this moment. He tells me that all the oak in these churches would once have been as light a hue as this contemporary wooden screen behind him. The oak darkens with age; a natural process. Well, I didn't know that Dave the Dan, the man of five coats in the cold. I like the cut of yer gib, yer multi-coated scruffian.

Happy Birthday to me, it rhymes with tree...

Passing through this transitory life

'All you that doe this place pass by
Remember death for you must die
As I am now so you shall be
As you are, so once was I'

'Here lieth a man who was Knott born
His father was Knott before him.
He lived Knott and did Knott die,
Yet underneath this stone doth lie:
Knott born, Knott begot,
Knott lived, and yet was Knott.'

'Here lie the bones of Joseph Jones
Who ate whilst he was able
But once overfed, he dropped down
dead
And fell beneath the table'

These are all inscriptions on graves in my local area. They date from the 1600's. At that time, everyone lived in the face of its realities. I think that the tone of these messages is healthy one; you're gonna die, so live whilst you can, and, perhaps, play a little irreverently in the presence of this truth.

In writing this, I am also reminded of the beautiful words of England's first historian, Bede. Living as a monk during the Eight Century, he describes the conversion to Christianity of Kind Edwin of Northumbria; and, again, the emphasis is on the transitory nature of corporeal life:

"The present life of man, O King, seems to be, in comparison with that time which is unknown to us, like the swift flight of a sparrow through the room wherein You sit at supper in winter, with your commanders and ministers, and a good fire in the midst, whilst the storms of rain and snow prevail abroad; the sparrow, I say, flying in at one door, and immediately out at another, whilst he is within, is safe from the wintry storm; but after a short space of fair weather, he immediately vanishes out of your sight, into the dark winter from which he had emerged. So this life of man appears for a short space, but of what went before, or what is to follow, we are entirely ignorant."

I am atheist, but I am also a sparrow. I must remember to spread my wings whilst I can; beware below though - I might shit on your head!

Dude has the Look

When I was a kid, I had an Uncle who had a haircut like this (yeh, and he was a right fanny with ears too, I can tell you! Psst, Alison &Tracy, I'm talking about Uncle George*) This moment in time (circa 1973) was a kind of mania - a collective delusion. I look at this guy and wonder - genuinely wonder - what he was thinking at the time he walked into the barbers (no poncy hairdressers for blokes then of course!) and asked for this 'look'. I wonder too, if he was pleased as he strode down the street, strutting his stuff.

My mate rosiemosy, wrote a cracking little piece about her dalliance with 'Big Hair' (My Stuff). Although it looks a bit kooky now, it is a billion miles more credible than this monstrosity of a haircut. The universality of cackness that this represents, surely transcends time, place and culture - apart, that is, from hip and happening Britain in the early '70's. For a fateful blink of time, this was 'the Look'

* Alison's my lil sister; Tracy's my cousin.

If only it were a joke!

Round Towers

I took these photos today, whilst on an excursion with Dave the Dan. The tower of this church at Rougham in Norfolk is around a thousand years old. It is largely built from the most common locally available building material, flint. This church is still kept 'alive' as a centre for worship and gathering for the local community. However, I think of it as living in other senses.

You see the flint itself was once part of a living creature. Many millions of years ago this area was submerged under a tropical sea. Flint is a chemical sedimentary rock that forms from the remains of silica-bodied organisms (marine sponges) which sank to the sea-bed.

This knowledge also alters the time-period within which we frame this building. Historical time, is but a blink in the vast span of geological events. That's a fuckin amazing thought ain't it kids!

In conversation with Mr Reeky...

"So I was sitting in this meeting, and all these earnest Trotskyists, with little beards and fake Scouse accents are blathering on and on about this and that; well, it's just a good job these glasses make my eyes seem so agog. Then... then this one guy suddenly starts talking about, 'seizing the organs of the ruling classes.' [SEIZING THE ORGANS OF THE RULING CLASSES!!!] I mean, for fucksakes!! Fancy chucking me outta the meeting for a little bitta giggling and crying. I only wet meself a little bit - buncha Herberts!"

Incendiary Preaching!

The Right Irreverant Dan T. Glorious strode purposefully up the steps of the pulpit, glared at the cowering congregation and launched into his latest sermon.

"You are but shitte & dung, you beetling vermin! The Word is not for the likes of YOU! Our Lord of Lords; Lord of Creation; Giver of Life never intended the likes of YOU to understand His word. I repeat once again – You are but shitte & dung! The very presumption that such ignorant crawling creatures should come unto His Kingdom by way of a book is offensive to Him. It is the whisper of Beelzebub himself – and I defy the cloven-hoofed fiend with the flames of Righteousness. See here from your dark hearts how this paper burneth [the Reverend frantically tussles with a tinderbox, and, suddenly, the huge Bible is engulfed by flame]. Burn! Burn! BURN I SAY! His Word is not for the likes of YOU!”

Afterwards, whilst sipping a leisurely draft of Absinthe in the graveyard, I noticed the Irreverent Dan dabbing frantically at a wet patch around his crotch. For a moment I was baffled at this queer behaviour; until, that is, I realised with relief that, in the excitement of his rantings, he had cum in his britches.

Taking flight...

Murder in the Church

It should have been just another informative Sylvanian Family Community Day Out. There's Monty the wise weasel talking about the Late Saxon dating evidence in the church of Great Dunham. It should have been a positive educational experience - a harmless piece of Antiquarian investigation followed by tea and jelly in the car. However, just as the clouds drift grey over the sun, this was destined to be a day touched with tragedy. As your eyes shall see, the evil eyeless Binky paid a terrible price for his intrusion upon the Sylvanian's. It should have been us all singing in the car afterwards, not sitting in sullen silence, with Haylett's tiny body lying limp on the dashboard...

Following the discovery of Binky's flattened body, the rural sleuth, P.C. Badger went into action. Monty applied his forensic intelligence to the investigation, and in no time they were interrogating Elvin, who they themselves had caught fighting with Binky a few moments before the long eared psychopath's demise. Following this piece of deductive sleuthing, the defiant Elvin - "Yo Muvverfuckers, leave the dude alone. I'm goin to tha Man. Tha Man'll kick yo sorry asses, dudes!" - was led away by P.C. Badger.

All the while, unnoticed, Haylett Owl slipped off and flew the short distance to the nearby Chief Executive's Oak in Money Maker Woods. It was there that Dave the Dan and I found her sad little carcass swaying lifeless in the branches. We will never know her thoughts. Was it guilt, or was she murdered? Twit-twoo-dunnit, that is the question?

Shadows Cast Within the Church.

Here stands the church of St Andrew at Great Dunham in West Norfolk. It is one of the few surviving churches in Norfolk, that pre-dates the Norman Conquest. It is dateable through a series of architectural 'clues', which excite Dave and I, but the details of which I will spare you here. I cannot begin to imagine the countless 'invisible' people who have passed through these doors over the years. However, I can be quite sure that this wonderful building has never been witness to such extraordinary scenes as those that took place in there today.

For this is a tale of intruigue, deception and, ultimately - MURDER! No ink is black enough to describe the darkness of the tale involving this little critter here, Binky. I am still too stunned and upset to provide you with a coherent account. However, during the next few days I will try and recount the dreadful end which Binky met here.

Poetic Vision

Insisting that Dave the Dan stop the car, I took a snap of this oak. Something about the black lines of the branches against the grey Winter sky made me think of it as ink running down a page. A scribble of twigs making mosaic of the sky. This is how my imagination leaps, sometimes. I cherish the ability to share imagination.

Some Snowdrops for Madeleine

Dear Madeleine, Dave the Dan and I saw this beautiful cluster of snowdrops today, during our walk through some ancient woodland. We have 'picked' their picture, and are sending them to you. Feast your eyes!

Hanging out with the cats

Lilly is the puddy with the white nose; Boo Boo is the one sitting up. They are brother and sister - and sister is boss. She gets to eat first, whilst he resignedly looks on. She bites his arse for the hell of it. Like Rags, they are rescue animals, and we love 'em.

Boo Boo is a scammer. I recently uncovered the 'double life' he was leading. One day he came back to us with a collar on. I attached a note to it, explaining that he owned us and that he couldn't own anyone else. A few days later we get a call, and - what do yer know - he's been getting fed and pampered by another family a short distance from us. You gotta laugh at the cheek of it! I am sure that, were he to advocate for himself, he would argue that our recent acquisition of a doggorn dog meant that he was fully entitled to hedge his bets. Besides, over and beyond he didn't have to wait his turn before getting to the food.

Good job the family were sensible enough to put that collar on him though. They are moving, and, if we hadn't responded, they were gonna take him with them, assuming him to be a stray. A close call Boo Boo, but we're yours mate (Spaghetti Western Mexican bandit laugh...)

Antiquarian Jaunt

"Huzzuh! " I cry - "Huzzah!"

Why this extraordinary outburst I don't hear you say? Well, at long last, the blog author formerly know as Dan (who is in fact, Dave) and I are going out on an Antiquarian jaunt to look at medieval churches. Not only that, but we're talking the Sylvanians along with us.

Traditionally, there are several components to our excursions:

• Dave will be late getting to mine.
• We will get lost at some point
• The petrol will run low, and I will start to panic whilst Dave will keep saying, "it's fine; it'll be fine..." It probably will be...
• We will sit in the car, drinking tea from a flask and eating sandwiches. Inevitably, one of us will note that we must look like (a) a gay couple (b) sad bastards. However, because of the way we actually look, it is more likely that locals will suspect we are there to nick the church silver!
• We will over-talk about our recent weird experience of blogging with Americans who say they love us.
  
• At various points in the day, there will be that curious blend of the learned and the irreverent - not to mention, the irrelevant! - that we so cherish.
• I will suffer from an increasingly debilitating headache by mid to late afternoon, and will have to lie down upon my return.
  

Our prime target today is the chuch at Great Witchingham, with it's beautiful Seven Sacrament font. I will tell you more later...

You English & Your Fucking Bacon & Eggs

"You English and your bacon and eggs"

"You English and your fucking bacon and eggs!" That is what the young Sicillian student used to say to my mate; an English teacher living in Italy. Interesting stereotype. We laugh about it to this day... the idea that, no matter what, we carry some bacon and eggs with us, 'just in case'. Actually, Italy provided me with a moment of epiphany, regarding my own Englishness. Prior to that visit, I had thought of myself as quite atypical. Very far from the stiff upper lip smoothies who are one of our national exports. However, my sense of outrage at the Italian queue jumpers, and their tendency to jump the traffic lights made me realise that I am, indeed, a bit more typical than I thought. 'Where's their sense of fairplay?' I thought. Not that far from - 'dash it, these Johnny Foreigner chaps just aren't playing the game!' However, over time, I have come to see that there are tendencies in our national character that are to be savoured. These are some of the things that I think we can offer to the world: - understatement - a sense of irony - self-deprecation - irreverence - a suspicion of zeal I tell you, having heard some of the fanatical voices hereabouts I cherish these qualities more than ever. Now don't get me wrong. I am not being unduly smug and superior here. I mean, this nation has been responsible for some atrocious acts, and has fought with virtually everyone else in the world at some point in our past. I also realise that there are other places where many of these qualities flourish. It is my view, however, that in passing through our Imperial hangover many of us have developed a healthy sense of the ridiculous; leaving these as particularly fertile fields for this world view. We can laugh at ourselves - and we do. Perhaps that is what we have left to give to the world

Monty is a Wise Weasel

Monty is a wise weasel, oh yes he is (and don't let him hear you calling him an otter!!!). This is Monty during one of our Sylvanian Family Community days out. He is wearing his best dress. Doesn't he look smart.

Wee Davy & Rags

Permanence

Sea defences! Just look at the lower part of those upright sections - fighting a losing battle. Norfolk is getting nibbled away, falling into the North Sea. It is impersonal, inexorable. Goodbye Norfolk!

Views

The Dog's Bollocks

This is the dog now known as Rags. It is a rare event indeed for him to be off lead, as we can't trust him not to (a) shag other dogs (regardless of gender) (b) run away and never be seen again. It is great to see him free to sniff about and explore. I also think his sandy butterscotch colouring is entirely in keeping with the surroundings. The funny bearded little critter was soon rolling about in seaweed; and, as we had expected, he made his way off into the horizon at one point, leaving us shouting and hollering in vain. We did catch up with him - eventually.

He's a cracking furry chappie, and I agree with my mate Dave; Rags has got great old balls, with a fine swing to his saddlebags. In fact, poor old Dave was virtually hypnotised when we walked him the other day :)

The importance of not being Earnest

Earnest had no intention of looking for a sense of humour. Being Earnest is no laughing matter, after all. He feels he has an amazing insight into his own being; and that is, surely, a serious matter.

The Look