Hey Hey, it’s a wildlife special today, it’s as though Johnny Morris were in the room with me. Today for the first time this year it was really warm in the sun. Up at the tall trees the rays were beating down on us where we stop and as luck would have it my daughter had cooked some brownies which I bought along, so we ate and chatted in the sunshine. Which is definitely one of my life’s pleasures. M, who is known for his gecko hands in the sunshine had his first proper outing, without a jacket too. He was on it. He is a cover star.
There has been much discussion about the frog spawn since it landed from the frog space ship earlier this week and slimed its way into all the larger puddles bordering the tracks. C is not a fan of the frog, they are a worry of hers, Ranidaphobia is what C has, it can not be cured. So today was a day of facing ones fears, of confronting ones demons. Pitching oneself up against a gargantuan Frog in C’s case, or failing that…
And here we have it folks, the moment of connection, a beautiful moment of victory for the Ranidaphobic. This is C’s hand, this hand did touch the goo. N had a less subtle approach, but the last laugh was on him when he discovered his hands full of Spawn Shit giving him Shizz hands (see earlier post, not sure where and really wouldn’t know how to look for it either).
I think we may well have a contender for unchallenged fact of the day today, here it is and bear in mind, if all of us 4 decide to not challenge the fact then it becomes one in the laws of this blog. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear and should probably clarify the rules? No not today, its late and we have things to discuss. So here it is:
For every tree in the wood (Shrawley Wood Only) there is a separate and corresponding frog, a partner frog if you like, they have a symbiotic bond and nurture each other through the good times and the bad, as you’d expect them to.
This fact is a special one as we actually took a vote on its veracity, and none of us would challenge the fact. Another one for the weekend is that the Cuckoo cry of the Cuckoo is in fact 2 birds; a male and a female. One says Cuck, the other replies Coo. I’m not sure if the male or the female starts it off.
N had a nasty shock when a thin branch flicked up his nostril on the field view stretch of the walk (I really should try to draw a map for this to add context to what is essentially a load of nonsense.) It turns out there is a measurement of how far objects can travel up the nostrils, it is measured in knuckles and in the case of the branch and N this morning the measurement was a standard 2 knuckles.
Hens teeth! It’s only another useful piece of measuring information for all you ruler fans, Public service broadcasting thats what I am providing for you, and you should be grateful.
It seems someone has interfered with the art installation again, this is becoming tiresome. If we win the lottery this weekend, we are going to set up a surveillance company, just to monitor the woods and specifically to catch the Art Terrorists. You have been warned, if you’re reading this, don’t fuck with the ministry. We’ll have a lock up with banks of screens showing significant and non so, parts of the wood, there’ll be speakers connected, lasers and trip wires. We will get you!
Right i’m off for a Loo seal, Goodbye.