Hoot

My mother was a great storyteller, and one of her favourite stories was about me when I was a little boy. She had taken me to visit a friend of hers who lived in a house with a large garden. It being a sunny day, she’d allowed me to play in the garden and after a while she and her friend had looked out to see me sitting on the lawn, surrounded by birds.

And it appeared as if I was holding court, engaging the birds in earnest conversation as they took turns to fly up and land on my outstretched fingers.

I’ve no memory of that incident today, but I’m sure my mother wasn’t exaggerating. I’ve had a lifelong interest in birds, and for my sins, I can still do a very good imitation of many different birdsongs today. I suppose that’s reflected in my choice of a Canary as my blog avatar, and why I spend so much time in the Canary Islands, where there is an astonishing variety of exotic birdlife.

I’m mentioning all this because Kathy and I are now back in the UK for a brief visit, and in the evenings I’ve been busy making friends with a tawny owl. I haven’t actually seen the owl yet, but we’ve exchanged hoots.

Barn owls in the UK tend to hoot, while those in the Canary Islands are mainly screech owls. I’ve become quite good at imitating the characteristic “Scree!” of the screech owl, which is absolutely ear-shattering at close range. So you can imagine my delight at the opportunity to practice my tawny owl “Hoo!” while I’m back in the UK. And Kathy is quite pleased too, because she seems to like my hooting much more than my screeching.

Anyway, I’ve been out in the garden every night waiting for the tawny owl to hoot. And I’ve not been disappointed, because it has made its presence known at around 11pm each evening. On the first evening, we only exchanged a brief “Hoo-Hoo!”, after which it fell silent. I’m sure that like me, it was being a little cautious. Tawny owls are extremely territorial, and one has to exercise a great deal of patience over many evenings before they will accept the presence of another owl in their vicinity.

But we’ve now got to the stage where we can exchange a full range of friendly hoots. I was up last night until 2am, teaching the owl to count, by replying to each single hoot with a double hoot, and then replying to each double hoot with a triple hoot. We got as far as six hoots, after which we ended the conversation by slowly counting down back to one.

But the really amazing thing is this. Kathy tells me she has just met the lady who recently moved into the house next door. And would you believe it? That lady’s husband is also a keen bird-fancier, and he spends a lot of time in their garden in the late evenings, just like me.

I can't wait to meet him...
:-)

Ashen Faced

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Well, here we are in Tenerife, with our flight to Gatwick booked for the coming Saturday, and this happens. A volcano erupts in Iceland, again.

So we've been busy going over our various Plan B's, just in case...

The Plan B that I really, really like involves booking into the opulent 5 star hotel just down the road and reclaiming the costs from our nice benevolent airline. Yes, I know I wouldn't get away with it, but I can dream, can't I?

But seriously, the claims procedure does seem to be very complicated nowdays. I've just read an article in today's Telegraph which tells me what to say to the airline if our flight is cancelled.

Here's the advice given by the Telegraph:

"You should tell them that under Regulation (EC) 2004/261 Article 5 you are entitled to be reimbursed or re-routed under Article 8 and also offered assistance, including accommodation, meals and transport under Article 9.

You should also state that under Article 5, airlines are able to not pay compensation in accordance with article 7 in the case of 'extraordinary circumstances', but crucially that this extraordinary circumstances clause does not apply to the entitlement to assistance under Article 9."

Blimey! I turned quite pale at the thought of saying all that. But then I realised my bigger problem.

How could I say it with a straight face?
:-)

Another book nearly finished...

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The final page in the book I began on 9th October 2006 will soon be writ. It will be the ninth book that I’ve written.

I began writing in 1966. That was 45 years ago, so on average, I’ve managed to complete one book every five years. That’s an indication of my character; if nothing else, I’m a painstakingly methodical researcher and writer.

1966 was the year of my first marriage, to a childhood sweetheart whom I’d known since I was twelve years old. Gosh, that was a happy year. Both families were ecstatic that we’d decided to tie the knot. And there was a mood of joy and elation in the general population, although that might have been more to do with England winning the World Cup.

It was my marriage, that hugely important step forward in adult life, which prompted me to begin writing. I was acutely aware of my lack of worldly experience – I’d been in my first proper job for less than a year since leaving university - and I desperately wanted to prove myself.

Most young writers that I knew at the time (remember, this was the height of the Swinging Sixties) were writing about sex, feminism, the Vietnam War, or something called “New Wave” culture. I wanted to do something radically different. After careful thought, I decided to write a journal that reflected life as it really was for a young married couple.

So I began. And the book was a huge success, because it covered the realities, the detailed minutia of everyday life. And the book became truly great because it helped predict the future.

I’ve got a photograph of my current book, which you can see below.





Each entry in the book shows a date, a shop name or an item purchased, the cash paid, and a running balance of the cash I have in hand to last me for the rest of the month. You can see some recent entries below (a bit out of focus - sorry!).



And guess what? I've never gone into the red!
:-)

SCARAMOUCH

Here's a self-portrait of my famous Rugby scar. The scar runs down from the collar bone to just below the mole on my chest. It is majestic, isn't it?

I took the photo on my balcony, and you can see my favourite plant, a Dipladenia (or Brazilian jasmine vine), behind me. It is an energetic climber and flowers from late Spring through to the end of Autumn.

For proof positive that the scar is mine, you can click on the photo to enlarge it. And click on it again if you really, really like! Just above the balcony wall you can see the back of the sign above the infamous STARCO complex in Las Americas.

I've titled this blog Scaramouch because I'm a very boastful but cowardly person. Whenever I fear attack, I tear off my shirt to reveal the scar, and I scream. This sometimes frightens my attackers off. If that doesn't work, I start reminiscing about my time in Special Forces in Vietnam. If that doesn't work either, I launch into my pre-prepared speech about my open-heart surgery which had gone wrong because they'd operated on the wrong side of my chest. Otherwise I leg it.

But the really, really wonderful thing about my scar is that Kathy likes to run her finger along it.
:-)

Bijou Property for sale

How could I resist sharing this photo with you? It appears on the website of a North Kent estate agent, and depicts a garage that is available for sale at an advertised price of £7,500.

Did it make you smile, too?
:-)

Carwash Solution

Hello again!

After my previous blog we went back to the carwash and tried again, with great success.

See below!



And then we drove off to the local opticians...
:-(

PS Now we can see what an upside-down ticket really looks like!

Carwash

Kathy and I had a bit of bother today when we took our car to the carwash.

Just to set the scene, here's a photo that I took of the carwash in operation on another car while we were waiting our turn.


Our problem was with the green-faced box which you can see fixed to the wall on the left. It has a keyboard on its facia which enables a customer to enter a six-digit password. This starts the carwash. Simple!

We'd been given our six-digit password on a printed receipt when we had paid for the carwash.


Well, as soon as we had parked the car inside the carwash, Kathy whizzed off with the receipt to enter the password into the box on the wall, while I did mundane stuff like checking that all the windows were closed, unscrewing the car radio aerial, and pushing the wing mirrors in.

When I joined her, Kathy was still busily typing the password into the box on the wall. "It's not working!" she exclaimed,"And I've tried ten times!"

So I had a go. I entered the password. And nothing happened. And I tried again, and again, and again, with no result. A queue of cars was building up in the waiting area behind us, and some of the drivers started honking impatiently.

Time was ticking on, and we had an appointment to keep. So we decided to leave the carwash and return again tomorrow.

It was while we were waiting at the exit to turn into a busy road that I glanced into the rear view mirror. And I could see the carwash operating perfectly normally on the next car in.

I wonder why it wouldn't work for us? Have you had a similar experience? We'll try again tomorrow, but in the meantime, we'll be interested in your ideas!

:-)