Invading the nest

Well hello there now. God, this is awesome! I feel like I’m house-sitting in a really nice house… I mean feel those cushions, they are plush I tell you.

I think I’m the final leg of the NC’s-gone-to-Kenya guest blogging relay. So while she goes nuts in a 4×4 in a lake somewhere, or running away from a rampant giraffe or whatever it is one does in Kenya, I’m going to go nuts with some birds on a beach.

Closet birdwatcher? Wannabe wildlife presenter? Man who has stood directly over a barely hatched baby oystercatcher? I am all those things and more – watch the video here, in a 24-hour Moo reader exclusive.

The video is from the island of Mingulay, which is here, and there’s more where that came from. You’re all invited over chez moi in a couple of days’ time for the fascinating – no, really, genuinely fascinating – way in which a ringed plover tries to lure you away from its chicks. It does a Ronaldo. It feigns injury like the dirty, lying bird it is, in the hope you will go over and eat it, then forget about the offspring. The whole extravagant, extraordinary routine is on camera. You will want a pet ringed plover.

When Godzilla comes along, I expect all the parents in the audience to start hobbling in melodramatic fashion while we kids make a break for it. It’s your duty.

Stress and the empty MP3

I only normally blog about once a week, so having to think up something so soon as since friday is, like, durrr, really hard work. 

Particularly as the sun is shining and my foot hurts and I realise that I sound like the 10 year old me trying to get out of being timed for the 100m.  What an exercise in creativity that little evasion was.  Years of excuses and fumbled lies. 

Am also deeply stressed by having wasted a morning trying to load my son’s MP3 player.  I realise that for NC and her horrid young friends this is not the sort of sentence they will understand. Son? what’s that. Difficulties with MP3 players? well you lot came out with the intstructions hard-wired in.  Oldies have to work it out, and there’s only so much right clicking and Send To File that an oldie (with a bad foot, remember) can be expected to do.  Had to settle with downloading everything onto my iPod to give him instead.  So I will be stuck, forever, with The Ping Pong Song because there ain’t no way I’ll be able to do all that I’ve not done this morning, but in reverse.

So now it’s lie down time.  I imagine that today’s youth understand all about that. 

The pleasure’s all mine. Really

When NC first contacted me about guest blogging while she went off to Kenya, I read the e-mail too quickly and got it all wrong.

Indeed, I was terribly excited by the close proximity of the words “Kenya” and “invite” which don’t rush at me much in the normal run of things, so I dumped the computer and scurried me along to get packing. “Someone will pick the kids up from school,” I muttered pausing only to dither between three pairs of shorts, or four, “E can work out how to walk the dog.”

And then the truth dawned.  Yet another small crushing by that small machine called life.

D’oh.

Holiday for HER, blogging for ME.  Oh well.

Kenya? Blogging? Blogging? Kenya? No, no, I don’t mind.  Really.  You choose.  Oh, ok, blogging it is then. Sure.

She has, however, promised to bring me back an enormous stick of rock, more cassava than I can shake that stick of rock at and a vat of duty free gin so all’s well with the world really.  Even if the sun’s shining slightly more in her part of it at the moment than mine.  Chin chin old girl.

Moo Moo Ca-Choo

I know that mine hostess likes The Apprentice because she tells me so.  What she doesn’t tell me is whether she’s a fan of Desperate Housewives.  Well, I haven’t asked her, anyway.  I don’t care for it, much.  I thought Series 1 was quite good, but whatever series we are on now has long outstayed its welcome.  But The Dear One likes it, and she sits through a good deal of my taste in TV, so I’ve been sort of watching.  Last week Wisteria Lane more or less blew down, which was fun.  I like it when places blow down, especially if everyone who lives there is as annoying as Susan Meyer, who could run for President of The Most Annoying People In The World Club against all-comers including Tony Blair and Tracey Emin and still win at a canter.  So this week I found myself, if not actively looking forward to it, at least not wondering whether I could escape bedwards before the end without being rude.

Guess what?  No, go on.  O alright, I’ll tell you.  Channel 4 is suspending DH indefinitely, in order to make way for . . .

Big Brother

I do hope that Nutty isn’t a fan of the hoosehowld, because then we’d fall out, and that would be sad.  Because if there’s one thing I hate more than Herpes Zoster it’s Big Bruvah.  Now I can feel myself getting ramped up into rant mode, and that would be bad, m’kay, because I’m a guest here, and I don’t want to end up smashing the crockery or squirting tomato ketchup all over the walls.  So just take my advice, and if anyone offers you Davina McCall, even just a little bit, Just Say No.

And that’s all from me.  You’ll have a far superior guest in the remaining hiatus before the return of Nutty, but thanks for reading anymoo.

Another ant on the barbie?

In honour of my esteemed but absent hostess I watched a vast amount of rugby over the weekend. Well, it was either that or ripping the coving down in the sitting room, and I think I know which Nutty would have preferred. So I saw Wasps winning the Guinness Premiership (which, as a Gloucester supporter, was a very gritted-teeth moment, but I was happy for Laurence natch) and then I thoroughly enjoyed England beating Wales in the IRB 7s semi-final, only to be trounced by New Zealand in the final. Ho hum. And then I tackled the coving.

Earlier we had a barbeque. I’m sure I’m not the first person to remark that the effort involved in this is wildly disproportionate to the eating thereof. Hours of fretting over sizzling meat (sorry, vegetarians), scraping charcoal off this and that, and by the time the hungry hordes are served it’s on the plate for about two seconds.

The abiding image of the weekend was Ray Mears and his Australian counterpart, both resplendent in khaki bush-wear, taking the top off an ant’s nest and eating the larvae within, not to mention a couple of mouthsful of rather cross and biting ants. “Rather astringent”, said Ray. I should say so.

Get Orff

Gosh, it’s a bit strange here.  I’m a blogspot kinda guy normally, and cracking on a bit, and the design surface here is …. well, quite cool, but different.  Sorry, that’s boring.

So, anyway, here I am, and I feel like a new calf on his first day at Cow School.  What shall I tell you about my day?  I normally write about what I read in the papers or watch on TV, but I don’t think Nutty will thank me for clogging her blog with a ripping rejoinder to Geoff Moooon on last night’s Question Time.  I can’t write about my office chair, because that’s been done, and in any case mine is fine, if rather old.  I looked up the weather in Kenya, in order to try to work out if Nutty had done the right thing in going bush in May (she has).  Nothing has happened to me today, beyond sleeping through the alarm and waking up at 9.40, which is rather a Saturday thing to do.  I could tell you a joke, but that would be cheating.

O, what the hell. Here’s something that brightened my morning, and what’s a blog for if not to brighten a morning? I tried to embed it as an object, but that didn’t work. Maybe Nutty doesn’t allow that kind of thing.

I am the epitome of grace

I look like an ass.

I have this really nice office at work with a huge L-shaped desk, big window, adequate filing space and my very own radio (in addition to the satellite radio that’s pumped in). The only thing I don’t like in my office is my chair. I’d rather stand some days.

The chair is made of leather. It’s comfortable for sure. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how to lower the damn thing. This is a problem because I’m short and my feet barely read the floor when I’m sitting all the way back.

Some days the pants, skirt or dress I am wearing and the chair don’t get along. Because the chair has a slippery surface, when I sit on it with a silky-like dress and then try to pull myself forward so I’m closer to my desk, I move forward, but the chair does not.

I’m waiting for the day I fall flat on my ass under my desk. That’s professional.

That would be me flying off the chair

Life Lesson #48

How to kill a bug in 5 easy steps:

1. Scream
2. Find shoes
3. Put one shoe on your foot and one on the handle of the broom. This allows you to “step on” the bug while remaining a safe 3-4 feet away.
4. Scream about how gross it is.
5. Find a bug killer spray of some sort – just in case.

This would be how my mom and I spent our “girl’s night” last weekend.

This post was brought to you by Jenn