With the onset of Autumn, the winds squalling around the woods, I noticed this tree looking particularly pissed off, we have our own “Ents” it seems in shrawley woods, they are, or at least he is a guardian to the entrance of the woods. His wife moved away with all the other female ents or “Entwives” to teach the humans how to excel in agriculture, but the Ents preferred the chaotic nature of the forests and so they stayed. Of course if you believe any of this then you’ve possibly spent far too much time with your heads stuffed in Lord of the Rings, which is far too dungeons and dragons but what ever floats your boat. I suspect C wouldn’t be a fan as she absolutely loathes Potter, which is a children’s story and L.O.T.R is pretty close to my mind.
So the exciting news is theres a new kid in town.
“What?”‘ I hear you ask, “How can this be? I assumed there was a waiting list to join the ministry.”
There is, and its far longer than any of you can imagine, and the only way in is if you are born into it. None of us are going to have any more kids whom we can brainwash into taking over, so I guess you could say the Ministry, like a dwindling Amazonian language, will die with us; slowly there will be less and less folk to carry on the fine work of talking shite until only one remains and then it will evaporate in a puff of mushroom spores, as the last minister is no more. But I’m not going to let the waiting list know, let them queue.
The news then; since that fateful junior football tournament in Butlins, Minehead earlier in the year, possibly March (check it out, theres some good stuff there). When my son and I were clearing out our “Silver” chalet we had lugged the bags to the car and came back for one final check, stepped over the bag of Doc Martins and Wellington boots into the room and had a look around, stepped back over them and slammed the door shut and drove north back up to the promised land, Worcestershire. It was only when I unpacked the car the realisation I had left the boots and Docs behind hit me. I sent them numerous e-mails and phone calls but of course they couldn’t find them, things go missing, know what I mean?
Check out these bad boys, Rambouillet Percussion Boots, according to the picture I should probably start shooting with Benny, I’m not going to bother. I’ve got bright orange 4.5mm Neoprene inside to keep me warm and comfortable, side zips for ease of entry / exit, a sole with metal strengthening to prevent the wearer (me) from twisting the foot over rough terrain and finished off in dark brown hand made rubber rolled on the thighs of French virgins. They had their first outing this morning and they rock to the max! I wore them to work too, and secretly yesterday when I picked them up i wore them upstairs on the carpet and nobody at home knew! (This is a trap laid out for Mrs T to see if she reads my blog as she says she does; if I don’t get a blocking in the next few days then words will be exchanged!)
I two timed Shrawley today, I’m not sorry, I loved it, it was racy, Tunnellous, wet to the touch and the colours Oh the colours. Tomorrow, i’ll come back to my woods, tail between my legs and begging for forgiveness. It was a mistake, it won’t happen again, etc etc. Until my boots seek out some other footpath or bridleway, then we’ll see.
Boy did it piss it down today; hello Autumn.