Thursday, July 07, 2011

Garden invaders.

I stood on the step yesterday, leaned against the door jamb and viewed the gorgeous green-ness of the great outdoors. All was drippy wet, but fair play (as they say round here) it did smell good. The garden looked lush and abundant too - if only a little floppy on account of the rain. I like this generous fulsome look though....

To my left is an unsatisfying rose; mostly vigourous stem and leaf. When it does bother to flower (once a year) it's not a particularly interesting one either. I give over contemplating raindrops and think about the logistics of uprooting the rose. I think thick stems and thorns - lots of digging, pain and misery. My eye travels from its roots and up the wall assessing the scale of the project.

What's that? I wonder why the wall has developed a curious bulge - almost as if someone has got behind the stonework and blown it out like a bubble-gum bubble about to go pop. Nah. As if! Just as if!

See what I mean - there in the centre of my picture? Behind the evil unattractive rose? A stone bubble? Should I get a stick and poke it perhaps?

Hmm. Perhaps not. It turns out to be a wasps' nest. Barely a metre from my door and about as big as a rugby ball. Eeeek! Sorry wasp lovers - but this nest is going to have to go. I appreciate these stripey b******s have their place in the scheme of things but it's not going to be within an arm's length of my kitchen door.

Tomorrow I shall be donning my protective clothing and setting about it with something lethal the pest control man will be coming from Welshpool.

PS For a truly great wasp extermination tale read this. Just glad I didn't know about it at the time.

Edited to add:
Well, our exterminator arrived and partly out of cowardice the Glam Ass was sent to Make Sure He Did It Properly. Afraid of wasps? Moi? You bet. Really I just didn't want to go out in the rain.

What a hero - our man just cut the nest away, tossed it in the back of his van, puffed a little noxious dust in, trousered a hefty wad and drove off in the direction of Craven Arms. No protective clothing. No whinging. Job done. Am happy to recommend his services.

Friday, July 01, 2011

Shouldn't have to chase a sunset....

'Run' I say - shout even - to the Glam Ass who is idly pulling up weeds in the orchard. 'Run - get the camera. Quick, quick, quick!' (Some speed is needed because I know from experience how quickly the sky will change - so I'm not just being bossy.)

Bless 'im. He does just that, runs, and before my eyes the prettiest sunset unfolds and I do my best to make some pictures. Click, click.

Shame about the shanty-town appearance of my poultry empire...

Moments - perhaps only seconds - later the rosy sky becomes greyer
...and then greyer still as if a cobweb caul has been thrown over the small mountain kingdom.
Shut the hens in. Stand in the dew-wet grass. Breathe in. And out. How still it is up here. How absolutely perfect. I could squeak with delight.

A lone buzzard soars above Badnage Wood - a distant mew then silence. A swallow swoops to catch a last insect. Somewhere over there - way over there - a tractor works on. These short nights of summer make for long working days and silage must be cut.

So glad I caught this evening's sky.