Ron's back. Sometimes I really do my toaster with this lot (Blogger that is); often I just can't upload a picture for love or money. Then the next day, wheee, up it goes sweet as a nut. Search me.Cut a load of hay for my old mate Riccardo the other day in his vineyard and the payment, pictured above, followed soon afterwards. Wrapped in the newspaper are half a dozen fresh eggs, nestling amidst the bottles of doubtful provenance. I understand the wine to be a blend of Dolcetto and Barbera but he's always a bit evasive when I try and pin him down. As the years hurry past I'm afraid his wine is getting more, er, unpredictable. I find that now I can only do about half a bottle before I throw in the towel and open something labelled. Blimey, I'm turning into a poof.
Riccardo found a buzzard in his chicken pen the other week that having landed and killed a hen, couldn't find the necessary space for take-off. He beat it to death with a shovel.
3 comments:
Oh. That's a turn-up. Thought you were lost in cyberspace without air canisters. Lovely heartwarming story about the bird and shovel. All I have outside my back door is my recycling bottle crate, which makes a very embarassing series of crashes every Thursday morning which wakes me and the neighbours up. Which I'm very glad about 'cos I wouldn't otherwise be up before eleven.
Outside my window are giant bats
They're not bats Fred. It's Hammersmith Council's 'Diversity' Committee.
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