A magician worked on a cruise ship. The audience was different each week so the magician did the same tricks over and over again.
There was only one problem: The captain’s parrot saw the shows each
week and began to understand how the Magician did every trick.
Once he understood, he started shouting in the middle of the show,
“Look, Its not the same hat!” or, “Look, he’s hiding the flowers
under the table!” Or “Hey, why are all the cards the ace of spades?”
The magician was furious but couldn’t do anything. It was, after
all, the Captain’s’ parrot.
Then one stormy night on the Pacific, the ship unfortunately sank,
drowning almost all who were on board.
The magician luckily found himself on a piece of wood floating in
the middle of the sea, as fate would have it … With the parrot.
They stared at each other with hatred, but did not utter a word.
This went on for a day… And then 2 days. And then 3 days. Finally
on the 4th day, the parrot could not hold back any longer and said…
We promised not to report any more on the superinjunction issue. But in a shocking development, our own SILAS SILAGE has been named in connection with the latest breaking scandal. Something to do with his last visit to a girls school, perhaps? He denies it of course. To learn more, Click here
There has been much talk of superinjunctions in the blog bunker. Who has issued them? Is The Blog subject to them? What does the Mail on Sunday mean when it says actor Hugh Bonneville “is known to fellow thespians as the Ryan Giggs of the showbusiness world, after the famously family-orientated footballer”?
None of this has anything to do with Horsington of course, so we won’t be covering it. But if you want to know where most of the information currently in the newspapers is coming from, look here.
It’s never too early to get the young interested in Gardening, says Silas Silage, our resident green fingered guru.
One of the joys of gardening is the opportunity to share one’s expertise with the young. I learnt many tricks and wrinkles from my old grandad, and I never miss an opportunity to pass on my knowledge to the next generation.
A lot of your young people today could be rescued from a life of vandalism and racing around in cars, drinking cider and getting young ladies into trouble if they spent more time in the garden with an experienced older hand. (OK, we get the message –Ed).
From time to time I do a bit of gardening at a local private girls school, which gives me an ample opportunity to educate some very posh young ladies on Mother Nature’s ways. And delightful creatures they are, mostly.
I always dress appropriately when I go there as it’s important to be well turned out. I have some very natty camouflaged battle fatigues which I got from the Yeovil boot sale, and I must say I cut a fine military figure, although you have to be very sharp-eyed to see me, such is the subtlety of the dappled medley of greens, browns and yellows.
This week the bursar, Major Carstairs, has asked me to have a go at the “bower”, a secluded leafy garden behind the swimming pool. There’s a wrought iron gate covered with ivy and a notice “Private – Upper VI Form only”.
I let myself in and my, what a beautiful sight. A close trimmed lawn, and beautiful scented arrays of flowers, lavender, sage, elephant grass, climbing roses, neat box hedges and some nice topiary on the privet, all set about with garden chairs and sun loungers. A statue of a man carrying a spear and wearing a sheet, with laurel leaves around his head stares at me.
It’s a hot day, and the bees are a buzzin’, so I prepare to take my customary pre-work forty winks before getting on with the weeding. There’s no-one about, so I crawl into the shade, ease my braces, take a quick peg of elderflower whisky, and shut my eyes.
I dream I am in heaven, with beautiful angels administering to my every need, bathing my temples and bringing me tasty treats, grapes and stuff.
I must have been asleep for some time, because I awake to the tinkling sound of young laughter. I open my eyes to realize I am surrounded by young ladies reading books and chatting, and none of them are wearing anything but little string things round their bottoms. Wouldn’t do for Mrs Silage, that’s for sure.
Omigod, they’re virtually naked! Oh dear. Oh dear me! Luckily they haven’t seen me.
Just then I gets a shooting cramp in my right leg. Must be the damp ground. I leap to my
feet with an agonized howl, grabbing my leg and hopping around like a mad thing. At the same moment my unbraced trousers fall to my knees. “It’s a man!”cries one of the girls, and they all take up the chorus like a treeful of jays. It’s a man! It’s a man!
One of them is on the phone. “It’s a man!” she cries.
Best to beat retreat. I grab my hoe and knapsack and begin hopping to the gate, trousers at half mast. Just then I hear a siren. Must be a fire somewhere.
I get to the gate, which is suddenly flung open to reveal a couple of blue uniforms ,and before I know where I am or can explain I find myself in the back of a squad car handcuffed to a large policewoman who…. (To be continued –Ed)
Our resident gardening expert SILAS SILAGE writes on the importance of weed control as spring gets underway.
Spring is roaring ahead, with nature’s vandals trying to get a foothold in your garden before the lawn and the flowers awake from their winter slumbers to delight us with their colours and gentle scents.
The rapacious fallopia convolvulus, the wily cardamine corymbosa, the menacing Nostoc commune, the invasive ranucnculus ficara, the lawn-scarring taraacum officinale, agropyrum repens and anthriscus sylvestris, not to forget the insidious myosotis scorpiodes and its flighty cousin myosotis arvensis are just some of the invaders who can shatter the rural idyll with their choking tentacles of doom. (Oh, for God’s sake –Ed)
I firmly believe that total war is the only solution, and that means strong chemicals. None of that over-priced diluted rubbish from the supermarket for me. Thanks to trusted friends and colleagues at Porton Down, Hinkley Point and Aldermaston, I can normally obtain “The right stuff” in sufficient quantities to make up a killer dose which will see off any unwelcome botanic guests, and animal ones too, for good measure.
In my shed I have a large array of my home made” brews”, as I call them. It is very important to label them carefully and rack them in order of firepower, so you have everything ready and at your fingertips when the battle starts.
But what’s this? An old bottle, labelled ‘Home Made Damson Vodka 2009’. And there’s still some in there! A quick nip, and then to work.
I sit in the old armchair after a couple of swigs. A large green Lizard comes in and sits beside me. And I mean large! It fills the whole shed. It’s menacing red eyes are hypnotizing me. Oh dear, I’m not feeling too good. Oh dear me. The room starts twirling and I think I’m going to … (To be continued –Ed)
Turn up the Aga! Oilmen find ££££millions under Horsington Marsh.
Oil, gas and thermal energy plant will transform the village
The blog has learned of the unprecedented discovery of a massive oil field under Horsington Marsh. Geologists, working in secret for a consortium of oil companies and the county council, have confirmed the existence of substantial oil and gas deposits under the deep clay of the marsh. We understand there is also the possibility of the UK’s third “hot water well”, which will trap geothermal energy and convert it into boiling water for industrial and domestic use. (The others are in Co Durham and Cornwall.)
The find will create an enormous 3250-acre drilling, refining and storage complex in an area to the North East of Horsington straddling the old railway line. The former railway will be used for a pipeline which will link the existing oilfield at Wytch Farm in Poole Harbour with the refinery, and with port facilities at Portishead. It will employ around 1500 people, and spend around £70 million a year in the local community.
It is understood that the road through Horsington village will be widened to take construction traffic from the A 357, and that the White Horse at South Cheriton will be enlarged to accommodate the labour force, many of whom will come from Uzbekistan and the Ukraine. Management will be accommodated at the new Travelodge Hotel complex off the A303 at Wincanton, which will expanded to include a bowling alley, cinema and fast food court.
The exploratory work started in secret after traces of oil were found on the marsh. Geologists, using very sensitive ultrasound seismic probes, posed as British Telecom engineers to avoid suspicion. This explains the unusually large number of maintenance vans seen near the marsh in recent months.
The discovery of oil in the Blackmore Vale is not as unlikely as it sounds. Millions of years ago the whole of southern England was deep forest. “And that’s where oil and coal come from”, said a geologist. Oil exists in significant quantities in Dorset and Hampshire (there is drilling at Bridport, Havant , Rowlands Castle and Avington, Winchester).
The county council was unwilling to comment, but the blog has learnt that an announcement scheduled for Friday April 1st has been shelved for “political reasons”.
Our resident garden guru Silas Silage advises on how to achieve vegetable heaven
"There's performance for you -straight through the hedge"
There’s nothing more delightful than picking your own fruit and veg on a summers evening and sitting down to a healthy meal twaddling with vitamins and goodness, straight from Mother Earth, with a little help from the April showers, May’s dazzling sunlight, high summer’s heat -plus careful weeding and hoeing by yours truly. Savoy cabbage, Cos lettuce, King Edward potatoes, cauliflower, beetroot, carrots, peas, parsnips, turnips, broccoli -the list is endless (You bet it is –Ed)
When it comes to growing vegetables successfully, it’s all down to what I call my “three peas” – Preparation, Preparation and Preparation.
These frosty days in early March are ideal for preparing your vegetable patch and getting it into prime condition to receive bounteous nature’s fertile seeds (I’ve warned you- Ed)
This week I’m trying out my new TinyTurbo Bonka Stompa® rotavational tool which I got on e-Bay for only £39.00 +p+p. This little miracle of Asian (N Korea, I think) engineering has all the bells and whistles you’ expect, and I’ve made few modifications to improve its performance way into the next price bracket and beyond.
I’ve bolted on the twin turbo booster thrusters from my old Trubshawe Troubabour Groundmaster®, and retro-fitted a carburetor pre-warmer and supercharger which I adapted from an old Primus stove.
Just top up the pre-warmer with meths, adjust the choke, light it, wait five, pull the handle and…the beast roars into life. My, it’s quite a noise.
Slip the clutch, and we’re off. The triple action “Bonkas” are whirling around, and getting down to really rip the ground apart, scattering stones and debris, and cutting a satisfying trench.
I must say it’s a bit fast, and I’m having to walk very quickly to keep up with it. May have overdone the twin turbos a bit. The revs are still building and it’s going even faster, with the” Bonkas” going berserk, and it’s going to be quite tricky to turn it round at the end of the garden.
Well there’s performance for you! Straight through the back hedge and onto my neighbour’s lawn. He’ll get a free makeover and no mistake. I’m now having to run quite hard, and we’re out of my neighbour’s front gate and into the lane, with the tarmacadam flying off in all directions.
The trees are whizzing past and I’m not sure if I can….. (To be continued –Ed)
My wife and I are very disappointed with the Berry Brothers coach service to London. There was not even a glass of sauvignon available, let alone a decent estate-bottled claret. And the bus went no-where near St James’. Call this service?
Can you use your influence to do something about this?
During a visit to my doctor, I asked him, “How do you determine whether or not an older person should be put in an old people’s home?”
“Well,” he said, “we fill up a bathtub, then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the person and ask them to empty the bathtub.”
“Oh, I understand,” I said. “A normal person would use the bucket because it is bigger than the spoon or the teacup.”
“No” he said. “A normal person would pull the plug.
“Do you want a bed near the window?”
