Flu, Pooh and Moulting Balls

Peaches got all frisky in the middle of the night, got off the bed, pulled all the cat toys out and began batting a polystyrene ball around the house. The next morning there were little pieces of dead ball lying around the dining room but Peaches had put the it back where she'd found it so she got a B for tidiness.

My brother was rushed to hospital by ambulance a few days ago with flu that developed into pnuemonia. He was placed in isolation for a day while being tested for Swine Flu but turned out he just had the ordinary human variety. After being given a nebulizer three times and oxygen throughout his stay he was released home. The worrying part of all this is that he has emphysema and even though he had his flu shots he still got sick.

The sun actually came out today so got a few outside chores done. Dug out more couch grass and cleaned out the chook house which is not a job for the faint hearted or anyone with a sensitive nose. Which reminds me- heard about a man in Papua New Guinea who tried to commit suicide by throwing himself down a long drop toilet. A woman who went in heard someone calling for help but ran off thinking it was evil spirits. The man was eventually rescued but I'm sure he found himself in more s**t with his wife who had to do his laundry.

Two Reasons For Not Making The Bed

Woke up to a steely sky and drizzle this morning. The cats went outside, after half an hour one by one they came back in. Kit disappeared behind the sofa, Demelza just disappeared. However Peaches and Gypsy decided to return to bed, only turning to give a look of disapproval at the dog for daring to wake them up.

Gradually they begin to get sleepy again and head off to dream about cheese flavoured mice. I hang around hoping they'll get the hint to get off so I can make the bed but in the end I don't have the heart to move them. It's pouring with rain, it's really a day for vegging out and being lazy.



So in the end I climb into bed fully dressed and have a cat nap of my own. After all if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

Winter Bites

The weather is only suitable for polar bears at the moment so over the weekend I rearranged the dining table using it to paint on so I could sit in front of the fire. I wasn't the only one- Demelza and Mishka lay roasting on the carpet for the duration.

Everywhere there seems to be more and more concern about the Swine Flu. It seems ironic that all the precautions the Health Department are recommending are just plain commonsense such as covering your mouth when you cough and washing hands thoroughly. I am trying to build up my immune system with an echinacea/garlic/zinc supplement. Even the chickens have been getting the treatment with some garlic paste that was past its used by date. The smell in their house was so potent for a couple of days that none of them were too keen to sit close to each other. If only I could encourage Mishka to eat some- anything would be an improvement over his scrofulous breath.

Grey Skies

Marg and John arrived early this morning with a uteload of firewood. Just in the nick of time as I was down to my last few pieces. It was quite warm while Marg and I unloaded (my Dad would have a fit if he could have seen how we just threw everything in the woodshed rather than neatly stacking it) but by the time we all had a cup of tea and a chat the sky to the south looked like a smacked bum. Thankfully Sue Bradford wasn't in close proximity.

By lunchtime the mountains were shrouded by rain but some of the bantams bravely ventured onto the driveway to pick at any squashed acorns. Within half an hour they were congregating on the patio and crowing through the windows trying to encourage me to put them to bed early.

The early winter encouraged me to become uncharacteristically domesticated on Saturday- I made a pot of homemade soup. I cooked enough for several meals, freezing the surplus for the nights when I'm too lazy to make anything. When I told a friend I'd made soup she asked "And was it edible?" I was mortified by her suspicion, after all my culinary skills are legion!

Jack Frost Moves In

If the poem is right and you're "nearer God's heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth" then parts of mine are nearer Satan's backside. I think couch grass is a devilish invention designed to drive gardeners round the bend. When I first moved here it had grown to three feet high in places out the front but gradually I've been digging it out with the occasional assistance of Rose who now admits couch is her most hated weed.

Last week I sidelined gardening to concentrate on helping organise the Otane Painter's exhibition. On the third day I was there on duty watching the sky darken outside the old schoolhouse's windows as the day wore on. Glenys and I left soon after 4pm and by the time we neared Tikokino the temperature had fallen to 1oC. By the time I got out of the car it was snowing.

All that evening I kept opening the dining room curtains and turning on the outside light so that I could watch the snow falling. The next morning it was still lying on the grass outside and across the Argyll hills to the east. Since then we've had some killer frosts which have frozen the chooks' water dishes, killed part of my money plant by the front door and made the cats burrow under the bedclothes at night. I just wish it would kill the couch grass.

A Lost Stitch

I have begun knitting again. No really I have begun knitting again for the first time in {cough} years. I saw some purple feathery yarn in Waipukurau and decided to "create" a scarf for a friend's birthday in July.

Knitting is a bit like riding a bike- soon as you start you remember how to do it. However I will admit that it took me two hours to cast on and complete three rows that first evening and there was quite alot of swearing involved. Then they don't tell you that if you drop a stitch with this slippery shiny stuff you can't find it again and have to unravel what you've done and start again. Three times! However I am proud to report that I have now knitted about six inches of scarf and that the swearing has diminished to a faint muttering.

Napier Siege

I grew up in and spent many years living in or near Napier so it was a surreal experience to watch it being terrorized by one disturbed man last week. Three policemen went to a house on a routine drug bust but instead one ended up shot dead and the other two wounded along with a civilian who tried to wrestle the gun off the killer. The murdered policeman is someone I'd met a few times when I lived in a semi rural and semi criminal area near Taradale. Len Snee was a good cop who tried to help instead of just saying "move". He was the epitomy of the community policeman who cared about what happened on his patch.

For two days Len's body lay near the house in Carlyle Road. Even when the army came in with their armoured trucks they were still unable to remove his remains. Meanwhile another policeman's German Shepherd waited quietly in a van for two days, the usually vocal dog never barking despite the intermittent shooting throughout the days and nights of the siege.

It was strange to watch places I'd biked past flashed on the TV news. To hear of schools I'd attended in lock down for a couple of days, to see people unable to go back to their homes due to being within the range of the killer's rifle. When his identity became known then it was realised that we were in for a prolonged seige as this man had a complete arsenal of guns as well as bombs and night vision equipment. He was also known to grow cannabis and was extremely paranoid due to ongoing tension with the Mongrel Mob gang.

Finally on Saturday the police stormed the house to find the killer dead in his bedroom. His body still lies there now as his house is carefully combed for booby traps. It is difficult to comprehend that such a crazy incident could happen in sleepy Napier. It feels as if the city will be forever tainted by the memory.