Eggstraordinary Admissions

Now that my cottage and all it's earthly goods are advertised on the internet anyone with half a connection can see my junk in all its glory. Well maybe not all of it. As I go through wardrobes and find more bags of uncarded or carded wool stuffed in shelves I realise I have a serious stash problem.


Someone commented that my place looks like an "artist's home" which I guess is a polite way of saying it's messy and eclectic. Where else could you see seven ostrich eggs nestling on the spare bed? I tell visitors that I have been busy laying, in reality they've been given to me over the years with the idea that I'll paint something wonderful on them. I've only ever painted one with a Siamese cat head on it and it still hasn't sold. Eggs aren't all that popular in Kiwiville.

My only consolation is that I did the big throwing out thing a year ago before I moved here. In fact some boxes I still hadn't got round to unpacking so that's a bonus. Many of them lurk under the spare bed and in wardrobes but I can't throw them out. There is the box full of telephone directories filled with pressed flowers, the box filled with flower presses, the 40 year old suitcase with my old UE art folio and more wool, bags of curtains from my last cottage, a box of photos. I hear myself reiterating a comment I often heard from my Dad "they might come in handy one day". Perhaps I should rephrase that as "one day I might have time to do something with them". I am proud that you'll never call me a minimalist- I also will never be bored.

Cat Crimes

I sat in cat sick yesterday. I don't recommend it. How I missed seeing it before my backside hit the scene of crime is beyond me. At first I thought the chair had somehow been rained on from inside but when I lifted myself up and discovered matted fur on my skirt I realised in horror what had happened. Who is responsible I have yet to ascertain although I know Peaches is innocent as the hair wasn't ginger.

Speaking of whom the great red hunter decided to become theatre critic the other afternoon after observing the rat dancing matinee show. The result of her review? She ate the lead dancer.

At present I am working my way through the messiest room of the cottage which or course is my office. The big bookshelf to the left takes over 17 boxes of books apparently. To protect them I stuff my jerseys in the boxes round them fervantly hoping we don't get a cold snap before I shift.

The latest news on my move is that I will finally gain possession of my new place on the 15th March. The landlord has a property manager from a local real estate firm and she told me that she needs to inspect the place before I move in (plus every six months after) but I should be good for that date. Unfortunately I now have to pay one week's rent letting fee, four week's bond and one week in advance coming to $857 which of course so looks like I'll charge a fee for people to come and look out the bathroom window at the dancing rat extravaganzas!

First Anniversary

Late this morning Gine brought Marina and her daughter Charlotta out to visit their chickens. We stood out in the paddock while Charlotta hand fed them with Artemis Fowl excitedly joining in. I was told that the white rooster's name is Franz, the white hen is Natalie and the black hens Francesca and Lara! They have another grey hen who was meant to come out as well but she has two chicks at the moment so they'll be joining the flock after I move.

I was really pleased that Toby came round to say hello before Briar arrived for a cuddle with Gine and I resulting in both of us being covered with dirt as she'd been rolling. We finished the visit with a trip to the bunnies and then Kit had her stomach rubbed by Charlotta for a good ten minutes.

At 2.45pm a white car pulled up in the drive and two men got out. One came to the door and explained they were the clients from Auckland and asked if it be alright if they walked around the garden while they waited for the land agent. That was fine with me so they wandered around and ended walking along the shingle road so they could get a better look at the property. The agent then arrived and they spent a further half an hour going through the cottage. After they left I went out and saw a "for sale" sign nailed to the front fence which makes it all seem so final. It was only when I went back in that I realised that it is a year today since I first saw this place and knew that I was coming to live here.

The Pack Rat Begins Packing

A friend sent out several banana boxes recently so I have begun packing up some of my heavier books in these and lying an old sheet over the top for protection. The cats think I'm doing this just for them in order that they have a wider choice of napping stations. I need to get so many more cartons as I have one large book case that used to take over fourteen boxes of books but now groans underneath the burden of my mother's old gardening, health and spiritual tomes as well. Note to self- I need more bookcases. Other note to self- don't tell family this as they'll suggest I need to get rid of some of my books.


I still have not had written notice to leave yet although the real estate agent rang last night and said the property is now officially for sale and he'll be bringing a client through on Sunday afternoon. I rang the Tenancy Tribunal to ask how exactly I get my bond money back and they put me through to the bond division who looked up their records and discovered my bond had never been lodged with them in March 2007. Landlords are required to do this within 23 working days so I have no idea where the money is. As I borrowed the money and will still be paying this off until February 2009 this is not great news so better get painting and selling some work to cover everything.

Valentine's Day

It's Valentine's Day so all day have been hearing the mindless hype on the radio and television about remembering your special someone. Probably a great day if you're a florist but not so much if you're single. I gave Toberymory goat his Valentine's gift today- he got wormed. He's been eating his Christmas nuts from Uncle Richard like there's no tomorrow but he's still really thin and scouring a bit as well. He has also been overdosing on thistles by sticking his head through the deer netting into Smedley's paddock. How he manages to eat the prickles is beyond me.

A land agent came out Monday morning to assess the property. He seemed to be under the illusion that this was just a valuation and that the place wasn't for sale, not sure why he was told this. Although I still haven't heard from the landlords officially about moving they have told their relations I have to go. At this stage I will have access to the new place on the 1st March so hopefully I'll be all moved in within three weeks. I am dreading the upheaval but I'm sure it's all for the best.

Kainui Homestead

I have been to see the cottage on "Kainui" the farm next door which will come available in two weeks time. It is the original homestead on the farm (over 100 years old) so shabby although picturesque. The present tenant told me it is insulated with wool so very warm and there are two fireplaces including a kent log fire which is enclosed and can run on low to save firewood. Much bigger than my present place of course except the sitting room which is minute but with a carved mantelpiece and wooden door opening onto a north facing veranda. The bathroom is grotty but the landlord is having it painted this weekend. Outside there are a couple of old sheds including the original wash house with copper and tubs. Landlord has offered me the orchard and two paddocks next door for grazing. He said as long as I don't run 20 cows in there he's happy (they break fences).

The place reminds me alot of our house at Waiohiki just out of Taradale. Not so much garden apart from roses along the front verandah but just the general layout with all the trees surrounding the home. However it is set far off the road for privacy, you can just see it as you drive to my present place snuggled into the macrocarpas, overlooking a driveway edged with oak trees. Much more sheltered than where I am now and the rent is substantially lower as well. I still haven't heard from the landlords here as I am dealing with Gine and Gareth who came with me to the view the other place. However I guess I will have to leave soon as there is a real estate agent coming to assess the property on Monday morning. Who knew everything would change so dramatically within just a week.

The Show Goes On

The mystery of the disappearing rat is solved as the other night Ratty appeared with Mrs Ratty and a baby Ratty. They spent a good half hour performing on the rafters. Ratty did his impression of Fred Astaire putting on the ritz before the whole family performed exerpts from "Sweeny Todd" with Ratty in the Johnny Depp role, Mrs Ratty as the pie maker and baby Ratty as the pie.

I will miss these nightly performances as on Monday night my landlord's brother in law rang to tell me I have to move as my cottage is to be sold. I have only been here ten months. Added to the bad news I had to bury Cordelia that morning. I am to look at a cottage on the farm next door this evening but I am even more determined now to find the money to buy my own plot of land where the animals and I can live securely.

Rat Watching

For the past couple of months Gypsy has become obsessed with the sport of Rat Watching. This first occurred when a couple of rats took up residence in the roof of the carport at the back door. In the evenings they would put on a show of tap dancing, juggling and tightrope walking that kept Gypsy glued to the bathroom window for hours. Soon the other cats noticed the nightly show so you would find Peaches sitting entranced in the window and occasionally Demelza who fell off the window sill in horror one morning when a friend unexpectedly walked past.

Unfortunately one of the rats disappeared a week or so ago so Ratty is now a widower who believes the show must go on and has taken to solo expressive dancing ala Martha Graham. Not only does he entertain the cats he comes out to say hello to me, hanging down over the rafters and staring hypnotically in his guise of the Great Rattini, master magician. Usually the sight of a ratus horribilis would send me screaming for cover (especially as I've convinced myself he's going to launch forth one day and drop on my head as a grande finale) but Ratty resembles a Beatrix Potter rat, all ears and expressive eyes so now I don't even have the heart to lay poison for him.


Sadly he believes the cats are his groupies, hanging round the back door for autographs and maybe a photo with him which they can upload on their blogs. The truth is Gypsy is waiting for him to slip and fall into her dinner bowl-"Ratatoulie" the ultimate in feline takeaways.

News From The Chook House

A week ago Gine asked me to take on four chickens her friend owned as she was moving to a new rental and couldn't take them with her. At 9.15pm on the 25th January Gareth and the friend arrived in the dusk and we went out to the hen house and settled a rooster and three hens in with my flock. I had no idea what the chickens looked like until the next morning when I went out to feed everybody. The rooster was a fine white fellow with fluffy feathers and there was a matching hen to complete the set. There were also two bantam black whatevers who seemed quiet and interested in what was happening.

I'd worried that the new arrivals would be picked on. I should not have been concerned as within a day the white rooster had staked his claim to the hen house and after a few bloody battles had become top chook. I kept them confined for three days but last Tuesday it was so hot I had to let them out to join the others. I had no problems returning them to the shed later in the day- my problem was getting my old fowls to go in there with them. Now I have a new routine- I feed as per usual in the morning and afternoon but leave the door open until dark so that everyone is brave enough to go inside to perch after which I sneak out in the dusk to shut them in for the night.


The sad news though is that Cordelia my big black maybe-Aracauna hen is dying. For the last year or so she has become increasingly senile and over the past few weeks I have had to play hide and seek with her before carrying her to bed with her staring blankly at me clucking "Who the hell are you?". I have no idea how old she is as I acquired her as an adult several years ago. I named her Cordelia after a character in Brideshead Revisited (a young girl who became a nun) as she shared the same disapproving expression as if you'd told her a dirty joke as she didn't quite approve. Plus the thought that she laid green eggs added to her burden.