Its a Good Life

I've just had a bit of a 'moment'.

An epiphany.

A realisation that the man I was is slipping away...

I've probably been living in Cambridge too long, and it's rubbed away all the rough edges.

It dawned on me while I was in the garden a few minutes ago.

I'd started cooking my dinner, and was just taking some rubbish out.

Or to be more precise, I was boiling some vegetables to make a healthy home made soup(curried carrot and parsnip thant you for asking), and was taking the peelings, wrapped in newspaper, out to the compost bin.

With half an eye on my watch so I didn't miss the start of Springwatch, I was inspecting my own crop of vegetables, which now consists of three types of potato, two types of carrot, savoy cabbages, lettuce, cauliflour, two types of peas, baby sweetcorn, onions, spring onions, two types of peppers, strawberries, and a host of herbs.

Content that they were fine, and none of the bird feeders needed topping up, I was crossing the lawn, taking care not to trip over my flip flops or sarong....yes sarong....it hit me.

My sarong is very comfortable. I bought it in Borneo as it was dress code in one of the lodges we stayed at, and I enjoyed the 'airyness' of it so much I bought my own. It stops me slobbing around in just a bath towel, which was a previous habit, and is really rather fetching.

But that does not alter the fact that I have become a soup cooking, recycling, vegetable growing, sandals and skirt wearing hippy.

Am I getting old, or is it a midlife crisis. If it is a midlife crisis then I really am fucked. I'm not in middle age! I'm young! Vivavcious! I play hard and fast, or fast and loose, or something.....anyway, I still play!

Where is my pork pie?

Where is my chocolate milkshake?

Why, when Mrsslippy is on nights am I not down the pub, or gorging myself on a huge bloody steak?

I've got free reign of the tv, I should be watching cheesy horror, classic sci-fi, or just porn (although Kate Humble is looking very good on Springwatch, I shan't be shuffling one off).

I should have the Wii on, shooting Zombies, or Nazis, or Zombie Nazis.

That's it.

My soup should be ready to attack with the hand blender. I'll eat that, then open a tinny, and heads it's a classic DVD, tails it's Resident Evil.


After I've watered the hanging baskets and window boxes....

My Greatest Adventure

I've climbed The Old Man of Coniston, trekked through the Jungles of Borneo and Brazil, and even slept rough in a bivouac in West Runton, but today I reached a pinnacle in the realms of human achievement and exploration.

Armed only with the cheapest strimmer Argos sell, and a crappy old pair of sunnies, I set out after lunch with the express intention of reaching the back end of the garden by sundown.

With Mrsslippy offering able assistance, we worked in shifts, cutting swathes through the dense foliage.

By three o'clock we had reached Camp Bird Feeder 1. This was reachable on foot previously, but only by experienced guides who knew the terrain, and were properly dressed, It was once possible to reach Camp Bird Feeder 1 wearing slippers and shorts if you happened to look out the bedroom window before work and notice that the pigeons had stripped it bare again, but in recent times it had become so treacherous that it could really only be safely done in proper shoes and long trousers.

Now Camp Bird Feeder 1 could be reached not only from the east, but also from it's notorious north face. Visitors to Camp Bird Feeder 2 ( a slightly safer climb) could see the north approach from there, but to try the crossing would be sheer lunacy, and even the most resolute of travellers would find themselves trudging the path back to Base Camp Garden Bench to collect more peanuts before doubling back again to take the fork for the eastern ascent.

From there, it was a short, but very arduous strim, to connect up Camp Bird Feeder 1 to Camp Bird Feeder 3, thus removing the need for the direct path to it, that was less treacherous underfoot, but remained hazardous to to encroaching conifers that could be full of dew and cobwebs on a damp spring morning.

Base Camp Garden Bench, and the 3 Camp Birdfeeders all clear, left only the big push to the back fence.

Wielding the strimmer like Leatherface at the end of Texas Chainsaw Massacre (the original - it's not as bad as the video nasty brigade claimed, and far superior to the shitty, and completely unnecessary remake), I sliced and diced, and pushed on.

This was dangerous stuff. The brambles under the 4 feet of grass were so long and wiry, that even as you hacked at stuff a couple of feet in front, you could feel it tugging at the ground underneath you, and the whole garden seemed to move.

Having shards of bramble flung around at high speed is always great fun, but unperturbed, I battled on, and after years of neglect and inaccessibility, man can once again touch our fence.

Although I don't know why he would want to.

My arms are now shot to peices. Shredded and bloody, and thanks to the constant vibration of the strimmer, I've developed an awful tremor that made cleaning up the meat for dinner a slightly dangerous task (Pork tenderloin thank's for asking. Some Gloucester Old Spot from the local Farm shop that I'm going to do in the tagine with apricots, honey, wholegrain mustard and a couple of glasses of Chardonnay. Served with a couple of slow roasted romano peppers, stuffed with wild rice).

We may even go to the pub tonight to celebrate our endeavours (planted more veg too - peas, red cabbage, carrots, and spring onions), but drinking might prove difficult if I can't stop my hands from shaking.

And I'd better be careful if I end up stood next to anyone else at the urinals at the pub. They might think I'm doing a George Michael .

Either that or Michael J Fox has grown......

Surviving the Apocalypse

My favourite post apocalyptic society has always been one overrun with Zombies.



Whether brought about by mutated viruses (28 Days Later, I am Legend, Last Man on Earth), nuclear fallout (Return of the Living Dead, Class of Nuke'em High), or just....because....(Shaun of The Dead, Night of the Living/Dawn/Day of the Dead), nothing keeps the average man more occupied in a society bereft of citizens, that a few walking dead getting in the way and generally making an inconvenience of themselves.

But it looks like I'm going to have to make do with a Mad Max style post apocalypse, where there are a few less people, everything is a bit shit, and mullets are mandatory.

Sadly, no Zombies to keep as pets, or take pot shots at from the vantage of a shopping centre roof.

Get scared people, because it WILL happen.

I just heard on the radio that sneaky Mexican flu is now hiding on lift buttons. Just typical. Any good old fashioned English flu would have taken the stairs, but you know Mexicans.....

And apparently it can kill you TO DEATH. I may have jacked in nursing for the moment, but I recall enough from my training to remember that this is generally a very bad thing that it is quite hard to get better from.

So before you end up in a Burrito Bodybag, get prepared!

Mrsslippy and I have spent the day ensuring that when the country goes into meltdown (because they are too lazy to take the stairs), we can be completely self sufficient.

For today we gave mostly been in the garden, and will not be caught out when the world suddenly can't get hold of a decent Mexican Meal.

Planted out we have onions, tomatoes, jalapeno and romano peppers, and a selection of herbs and spices that should keep us sorted until the fuss dies down.

And strawberries for dessert. Yum.

I've already filled the fridge with sausages, so I just need to buy about twelvety bottles of Tequila, then the rest of the world can go rot, and then Mrsslippy and I will walk downstairs and rule whatever remains.

Oh, and the advert on the telly also says, phones are Tijuana Toxic too.

Thank fuck I will be safe.