Early this morning, long before breakfast, I rose into the freezing air and headed once more towards the sorting office. The land was white with frost, the air clear, and the sun vainly tried to shine through the thin layer of cloud that covered the land. A similar one to mine was noted over a Scots golf course this morning. I passed a miserable postman scraping ice of his van windscreen (Van? In my day a bike was all we had!) and joined the well wrapped up folks in the queue awaiting mail the postman had failed to deliver.
The small queue moved slowly as the miserable old git struggled to operate the computer system, read the paperwork and remain alive while doing his job. As I waited I cuddled a female postman who passed by on her way to her van, she was one of the more intelligent women when I was employed here, now she is a mother of three wondering what the museum can do for the kids during half term. We discussed this while she held the door open allowing freezing air to enter the building thus allowing the others to offer dark stares from under their woollen headgear.
Eventually misery took my card and half heartedly listened to my description of the goods (large white card envelope for calender) he should search for. He disappeared into the building and I watched men in red shirts shove items large and small from one place to another. I knew the man in charge had a good idea what to do but I got the impression he was moving things they had just placed in their place to offer them the correct spot! Nothing new in 'the box' I thought. Misery trudged through with the large white card envelope as described and slowly and at the second attempt grumpily flashed the hand held computer over it and passed it to me without a smile.
Clearly, as I thought, the goods were there when I was telling the girl the other day they were there and some grumpy dope had not put it on the system.
Twice I have taken my sore knees down there without complaining to collect this and what do I now have sitting here on my desk? A 'Broons' Calendar! The 'Broons' are a Scots cartoon family that live in a tenement building somewhere in industrial Scotland. Originating in 1936 they were intended to be generic of a typical Scots family of the time and their adventures are still recorded in the 'Sunday Post' week by week and remain a children's favourite. 'The Sunday Post' once sold so many 'family' papers that it was thought 80% of Scots read the paper. The writing style was often called 'old womanish' in its approach though often what is written is far from that these days. I myself ceased reading it forty years ago and seeing it now it changeth not. However it will decorate this room for the next year allowing me to forget to add birthdays, events etc as I ought....
The staff at Royal Mail must remember me. I can tell that by the way they hate me!
Yesterday I managed to find time to hobble down to the sorting office, little red card in hand, to collect the goods that were ''its too large for your letterbox." He did not add "I was too stupid to read the note above the bell saying "BELL BUST: KNOCK LOUD" so I rang the bell and got no answer."
'He' being a new young lad who looked lost while trying to find his way around the 'walk.' Why he was on it and not the regular man was not made clear.
Anyway I dragged myself up to the counter enquiring as to the goods of which I had no knowledge.
"We don't have them" said the attractive blonde young lady working behind the anti-gunman/knifeman/violent person/weirdo screen.
"You must have them," said I "As you left me this card."
I thought this example of reality would aid her understanding.
It did not.
It crossed my mind that few attractive young women become postmen and I wondered why she had not been there when I did the hard walks from this office with never a word of complaint?
I gave up this thought when a second thought crossed my mind, that thought muttered 'She was still in school when you worked here' and I let the matter drop.
"It is not logged on our system," she explained, as if that was an answer.
I indicated that I had once worked in this place and I understood the efficiency of postmen therefore the system may not be telling the truth.
My understanding of the situation was clear, the goods were in the building yet not on the system, "Why not go look at where they ought to be" said I using common sense and deep understanding of how postmen, especially relatively new ones, operate.
This brought an excuse re the 'new system and way of work' meant that if not on the system they could not be 'here,' that fooled no-one, especially me.
In the end she photocopied the card, and promised to identify the eejit postman and make enquiries, she took my number, I had already taken hers, as it were.
This morning I awoke full of joy and happiness as always.
Well OK, I awoke.
The call from the postman never came, this did not surprise me as I know how busy they can be early in the day and how passing the buck and avoiding contact with the public is always a good thing, however I planned to await the delivery from the man himself which would come in due course.
I therefore checked about 10:40 as the regular man often arrives at this time but nothing was to be seen but dust.
Later my neighbour arrived and I mistook his entrance for the man. This neighbour has been back home in the Ivory Coast for around six weeks, "Some holiday," I said looking at the woman with him, "No, this is my wife."
I congratulated the lucky man and wife (who sadly only speaks French) and wished them well. The thought also crossed my mind that I will not go to the Ivory Coast on holiday if it means a French speaking wife returns with me!
I sat here awaiting the postman's knock (Insert joke here) and continued my half asleep ravings on this laptop.
I heard no knock.
After lunch (around three in the afternoon) I was forced out to buy bread, here I found my mail with another wee red card with ''its too large for your letterbox" scrawled upon it, and the time of 12:20 indicated on the back of the card.
I was HERE at my desk at that time! At this point re-read the bit about notes re knocking on door and not ringing bell. It's his neck that requires ringing !!!!
The brutes at the office never phoned but I suspect they have found said item, which I now know to be a large white hard envelope containing a calendar, and have passed it on to the man to deliver.
So tomorrow I will trudge wearily once more down to the big fat bearded miserable lump who will be on duty instead of the attractive young lass to enquire if they have done their job properly!
I may indicate displeasure, I may point out such incompetence is wrong, I may indicate that before privatisation things were better, I might mutter about knowing the manager (actually I don't and the new ones I know are rubbish), I certainly will resist indicating the name of the postman who once delivered to 'Walnut Grove' the mail that ought to have gone to 'Chestnut Grove.' That will remain confidential!
Accidents will happen....
The world is back at work, even Scotland has returned now, and the 'peace and joy' of the Christmas period is once again replaced by the grumpy faces we have become used to.
Nothing happened, Theresa May said the NHS has no crisis while Jeremy Hunt the inadequate Health Secretary apologised for the NHS cutting back on routine work because there is no crisis.
The press made a lot out of another daft named storm.
Footballers are beginning to transfer from one club to another.
Donald Trump is in trouble again.
People who live in a road called 'Bell end' wish to change its name but others, who have lived there for years object.
London fire brigade complain to BBC after a character in a children's programme was called a 'fireman' and not a 'firefighter.'
I still have a mouse.
The day of depression descended on the town gently this morning. The deep red sky, much brighter than I have seen for a while rose with the sun and disappeared by the time I grudgingly left the house. Those forced back into reality after the Christmas period slogged along to work, shops, museums or wherever their steps were leading them, few with a cheery smile on their face. It was easy to understand their reasoning. The early brightness reflected against their blue thoughts as the populace reset their minds for the real world.
I have already been informed by one rough Leith type that Scotland is still on holiday and many football matches are shortly under way. I am about to watch one on BBC Alba and regret that down here in the wilderness of England we have to return while sensible people are still on New Years holiday. I am not one to complain you understand...
In spite of the threat of rain, high winds and another named 'storm' I proceeded eagerly to the museum where in spite of my aching knees removing Christmas was made compulsory. This meant clambering on unstable stool to reach high up, without once complaining, and dismembering the plastic Christmas tree, an ungodly Easter European pagan symbol.
Nothing else, outwith abuse from certain staff members, occurred until many minutes past noon when someone came in! She had a query, soon dumped upon the boss, and then proceeded t spend money, I smiled keenly at this. Two other figures appeared in the doorway, glanced at the many leaflets and went away. All this to the joyful sound of non Christmassy music which has filled our ears for several weeks. I choose music fitting the exhibition, an album re 1970 music and the Beatles White Album.
The world returns to normal once again. Next week all the schools will be back, most will have forgotten Christmas, the weather will be dreich, and life with broken new year resolutions will return to the same state it was in a few days ago.
Oh yes and tomorrow Scotland suffers depression and blues as they return to work. Hee hee!
Torrential rain, high wind and darkness ends the year. A year I am pretty glad to see the back off.
Glancing through my diary I note several birthdays, one visit from a niece, one trip to see her perform and vast amounts of money paid into Tesco's!
The rest of the year has been taken up with long term cold like symptoms that would never leave, and rusty knees that will never heal. Let joy continue! The intention to get slim and fit has failed and I have gone into reverse, indeed the ache from the fitness attempts remains with me still.
Good job I am not one to complain.
The Conservative government (If that is the word) continues to fumble no opposition bar the SNP exists, and the people, certainly many round this area, continue to accept the 'little englander' lies of the main tabloids. The political future looks grim.
Football wise, which is more important, the Heart of Midlothian are once again beginning to return to form. I expect glory any day now.
One bright spot in my miserable life that I never complain about is of course St Paul's church, the Anglican church that has now become a second home. The theology is often dubious, very Anglican in that way, but they wish to see God and seek him correctly. I am used to these secondary things that irk but even I am now expected to read a 'lesson' occasionally, such as I did today. The accent drew blatant racism from two ladies who ought to know better but considered this a reason for giggling like schoolgirls. I will get them back...
Hogmany today while magnified by the tourist board and local media is not what it was. In the 60's we went from house to house after midnight 'seeing in' the new year. It was a generally happy time in which drink flowed, people shook hands with strangers and all was delight. But in my mind and that of many others it is less happy these days. There is more of an edge, getting drunk for the sake of it, rather than the party these days. This is disappointing. Know doubt age does not help and many will enjoy their evening but far too any now remain at home, possibly asleep, when the midnight chimes chime and the overpaid telly hosts croak above the noise of fireworks. I might be one of them, those asleep, not the fireworks. I may find the mysterious bottle of Highland Park malt whisky that arrived yesterday must be put to the test first of course....
There is an unlimited amount of fuss in the media at the moment regarding the 'Honours.' This is the system where the nation rewards individuals for what they have done for the nation or at east one small part of it over a lifetime. Most of course go to the high and mighty regardless of worth though many indeed deserve a reward for their labours. The benefit of such a system is that Lollipop ladies, gardeners, charity workers and individuals who have benefited those around them by helping out can get recognised and a wee bit of deserved publicity.
The media however concentrates on media stars, celebrities or politicians and debate whether they deserve or not such rewards. Personally I wonder at some 'celebs' who are given Knighthoods and Damehoods unless of course it is a suggestion, and not too subtle a suggestion, that it is time they retired and never came back. On the other hand it is a wonder that certain people wander the streets as 'commoners' while many of us consider them worthy of such a reward, maybe their face doesn't fit?
At this point I must make clear that I have not been awarded a Knighthood, OBE, CBE or a BBC, in fact I have been ignored once again. But there again I'm not one to grumble...
The thing people wish to see at football is goals, lots of goals. So you can imagine how I feel having sat through two nil-nil draws! The first was disappointing in that the sectarian bigots failed to either kick one another off the field or institute a riot. This was disappointing as one would hope for this in a vain effort to have them both closed down. This surprised me also as the home side, Celtic, ought to have been far ahead by half time and then in the second half they allowed their blue bigot opponents back into the game and indeed to make the better chances. All very disappointing. In the end I was just wishing the depressing bigotfest to cease and allow me to have my after lunch (which was terrible) nap.
Then I had to ignore football completely until six in the evening. At that time BBC Alba offered the full Aberdeen v Heart of Midlothian game, a proper football match between proper football teams, or at least they are on paper.
This game also ended as a no scoring draw but was much better in that we were involved. The main grumbles were the BBC Alba director who felt the need to look deep into the eyes of each and every player,that is when he was not watching some character in the stand, the Aberdeen manager or someone on the bench applying an ice pack to a wound. Someone needs to tell him that the game is played on the park and that close ups off ugly men are not required! I wonder if it is a woman? This would explain the incompetence as she searches for someone to pay her way.
The only other grievance was the expected one, John Beaton the referee has to send off a Heart of Midlothian player at each game, it is in his SFA contract! This he did by practicing yellow cards for Hearts men but not for Aberdeen ones, even if the jumped into a defender leading with an arm and collapse him. We have seen such refereeing before and no doubt will see it again.
However having established a six game run without conceding a goal we can see how the team is being rebuilt, the right way from the back, and once all the injured players return and new ones come in the January sales we will see much improvement in going forward. That reminds me will someone give Isma Gonzalves his spectacles back sometime soon?
A gentleman said to me "You are the type who brightens a room," then tapping me on my beer belly added," simply by walking away from the window!" A similar experience today after the rain that has fallen for the last 24 hours and continued this morning gave way in the afternoon to bright skies and an attractive sundown.
So attractive was this I left behind the heater and ventured out into the freezing cold. Crossing the park offered the usual collection of Christmas holiday types, kids with new motorised vehicles, scooters, bikes, girls in bright outfits, and adolescent males in tight groups pouting at passers-by as they huddle around their new iphones. Most of then texting the male standing next to them I suggest. Grumpy people also pass by, these are the workers, they have no holiday and have been up since six in the morning and resent not having time off like so many others appear to have. Occasional dog walkers, well wrapped up freeze as they pass while the dog wags its tail as it happily explores exciting smells all the while not realising the weather is cold no matter how often the owner mentions this.
Then there is the council smokers. In spite of the weather a couple of women, dressed for indoor activities, stand smoking and shivering against the wall. A third, wrapped in large coat, smokes rather too obviously as she wanders across the damp grass ruining her shoes as well as her lungs. Why are people allowed to have 'smoke breaks?' If I suggested having 'Standing in the park just looking' breaks would they be acceptable? How can people take ten to fifteen minutes out of their day several times a day to smoke when others cannot do this just to stand and stare? And why do people smoke these days anyway? We have known for sixty years that it kills you, few now accept it as normal behaviour, yet people from many walks of life insist on participating in this ugly habit. They have never seen the fear on the face of a man being investigated for sickness obviously. This is not a nice sight.
Many men still smoke as this is what 'rough men' do. It is part of 'looking hard' and many men participate because that is what their mates do. Usually they are not the brightest or just feel that, like swearing, it has to be done to keep in with the boys around you. Women often smoke thereby giving them something to do with their hands, hiding behind a cigarette, while others smoke funny cigarettes and claim it gets them through their day, they never blame that for their mistakes however. One of the best laws in recent times was banning smoking indoors, it cleaned up so many environments and saved many lives.
High above us and almost unnoticed the moon keeps watch.
In spite of Brexit and other follies, riots in Iran, bombs in Kabul, and a decent but not great footballer being transferred for £75 million the moon just waxes and wanes as normal, going about its business with little concern for such small things. The business of raising and lowering the sea levels is business enough for the moon, that and watching lovers stare blindly at it while thinking of words to rhyme is enough for any moon.
When a lad we read in the 'Eagle' and other magazines how we would live on the moon, so far, in spite of preparing to reach Mars, we have not done so. It appears cheaper to spend three years travelling to Mars, UFO's permitting, rather than establishing one of those glass domed centres that would transform the moon into valuable living space. The dreams of the early 1950s have never been accomplished in my view. The moon was reached, more from national pride rather than human ambition, but in so many ways the future that looked so bright has turned out to be very dull. Human nature keeps getting in the way or possibly it was reality that got in the way?
I had to rise around two in the morning last night as I heard the mouse chomping away at something. I searched and failed to find him but scared him off again at least, or so I thought. In the morning I found he had been in the bin (covered to keep him out) all the time! Humph! That requires a change of place today.
However as I dozed back into sleep I thought of something of real importance to scribble, scribble, scribble down here. As I lay in the dark I wrote it out in my befuddled mind and it appeared good. I continued this as I drifted into slumber happy in the knowledge that I had a decent worthwhile post awaiting me in the morning.
I have forgotten what it was....
I glanced at an item in the paper the other day regarding statistics indicating 2017 had been the warmest year since whenever. I thought of this as the man on TV informed me it would be snowing all day and winds up to 40 mph would bring that same snow through the cracks in my windows. It was impossible to disagree with his forecast. Today we reached a 'warmth' of one degree 'C' which must please people who normally live in Siberia, they would consider this tropical, we living in the outer reaches of soft southern England find it means a lot to us! While I am told constantly I should be used to this having been brought up in a nation that is often 'colder than Moscow' it must be remembered that having been on this difficult mission field since 1975 I have become somewhat accustomed to the constant high temperatures that prevail, tomorrow they claim it will be 13C near this area, we await such high temperatures with expectancy. Mind you I notice the setting sun has left a noticeable pinkness in the sky so maybe we need not be too expectant.
Boxing Day is a day for actually looking at the gifts that have flooded through the letterbox.
My family are beginning to understand the best way to make progress is to send books or a book token, this is what they have done. For reasons that remain unclear two of my nieces appear to think smelly stuff is a requirement that goes with book reading.
One niece, her opinion of me is noted in the 'Mr Grumpy' stuff at the front, sent a Levi shirt, this made possible by her new job in one big Edinburgh department store where the staff concessions make up for low wages (she says). The other continued her unspoken hints (recent gifts have included the 'Oldie' annual and 'The Real Dad's Army' amongst others, and she added some 'Old Spice' to the book she sent.
Next year I may go up there and see if they can alter their opinion.
Well actually now I think about it....
As always there was fifty channels on the TV showing nothing at all. I did however spend a little time watching the Beatles in 'A Hard Days Night,' a film that still provides good music and was enjoyable in the background while I scrambled together something for lunch.
Otherwise there was the usual films and old series filling the screen, the non news that occurs at this time of year with one or two tragedies thrown in, and even worse no football to watch! Only English games of little worth and I just could not be bothered struggling to find them.
Nothing to do bar send thank you notes by email and search social media for something other than political comments. These could be avoided on Boxing Day, indeed all week but once they are posted a desire to reply appears.
I did however rush up unwillingly to Sainsburys, the only supermarket open (I think they take it in turns to cover Boxing Day) for milk and bread as tomorrow the rain that is now falling hard will continue all day. On top of this the temperature will drop and winds increase so I will hide away with my books and the heater.
And so to bed...
Last night the streets were very quiet for a Saturday night. Tonight however traffic flows as usual, possibly even more than usual as I suspect late last night families gathered while tonight last minute gatherings, preparation for late night church services, retrieving children from Christmas parties and the like force people onto the roads.
In many homes the crinkling of trinkets and the rustling of paper, neatly parcelled by mum less so by dad is done in hushed tones in a vain effort to stop the brats from peeking in to see what is happening. Their delusion of Santa long gone.
The delusion of Santa Claus, of if you are middle class Father Christmas, how did we get to this? From where did we find the Christmas of dreary songs and 'magical extravagansa's' (@Blonde, bouncy TV girls everywhere), snowmen and reindeer? It's a lie!
Can you imagine Mary and Joseph walking towards Bethlehem singing 'Jingle Bells?' Picture the three men found on Christmas cards sitting on camels pointing towards a star, would they be singing 'Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow?' I doubt it somehow. Note also that such songs usually originate in 'tin pan alley' where the majority were penned by Jewish songwriters, Irving Berlin writing 'White Christmas' for instance. Tinsel, Christmas trees, origins of the tree begins in eastern and central Europe where pagans once worshipped them, plastic snowmen on Australian beaches, inflatable reindeer in the middle east, flickering coloured lights all offering a 'Christmas feel,' that special time of the year loved by so many but with nothing behind it bar sentiment and pap!
Bring back Cromwell I say! Lets be done with all this peripheral nonsense and return to a proper Christmas. May it be like every other day in this house, miserable!
My Christmas will be quiet especially as the cold I suffered so severely last month has gone to be replaced with a gentle every day cold the sweet lass at work passed on to me. This limits my joy and ensures my remaining indoors for the next couple of days. Having stocked up this is fine and not having to go out helps but it is irritating, mild though it is.
The TV looks as poor as always tomorrow, one church service, Carols from Kings, and back to fifty channels of pap interspersed with kids films which no-one will be able to watch for the noise of the kids breaking things. Radio 3 looks entertaining and Radio 4 might be passable although I suspect I will wish to have two programmes on at the same time! Iplayer it is then.
I will not be alone, the mouse has rummaged through a bin last night for something I foolishly threw in the wrong bin. He might get a surprise tonight if I put the humane trap in their also.
The traffic is lessening, the kids must be home by now, gifts are being wrapped men warned that the wife/girlfriends gift had better be the right one, men are prepared for socks with vile designs and urged to enjoy mother in laws company again. I know one man under orders not to accidentally kill any of his grandchildren, and not to take them walking with the dog and forget to bring them back like last time! He might need the Single Malt whisky he will receive.
I hope your day is a good one and you remember the reason for the season.
For the past six months we have been waiting for this dreich but gladsome day, the shortest day of the year! At last we know that Spring is coming and Summer is ahead. Of course the day being dreich, cloud covers the land, we cannot see the sun rise or fall, indeed some cannot see anything in the gloom, but inwardly we rejoice as the nights now get shorter and minute by minute the warmth of Spring lies ahead with nothing in between but two months or more of rain, snow, ice, storm, hail and other regular events but nothing too much to surprise us.
I suspect many Druids of various types, alongside youthful trendy middle class types, have gathered at Stonehenge and other such henge's to see the winter solstice come and go and pretend they are living out ancient pagan rites even though nobody has a clue as to what ancient rites were all about. The lack of knowledge will not stop them reaching out to something they see as enlightening, though the main result might just be chilblains and flu caused by the dank atmosphere.
I spent the morning at coffee with one of my women and then returned home to eat, sleep and send e-cards to those I canny be bothered writing cards to. You know the type, those acquaintances who offer cards but you reckon it's easier to send an e-card and know they will not mind. It took longer than I thought and the gloom outside made the world dark by four!
That is the last shift at the museum for this year.
A day spent with a few visitors and a long list of photographs to search!
For a future exhibition there is a need for suitable pictures and I was selected, no-one else around, to sit there scrolling through and clicking on hundreds of photos.
I found four of aircraft (it was a local airfield we are researching) and millions of pictures of dinners, VIPs, awards, and a few personnel but rarely a suitable picture.
When an airfield has existed since 1943 and seen a great deal of action during WW2 and later during the Cold War, it closed in the 90's, many aircraft and numerous men have passed through. First the RAF and then the USAF of one sort or another have been there and enriched in every way the locale.
We often find US men returning with wives obtained while here. Occasionally a man will remain in this country with his wife.
A few decent pics of events, one or two of individuals who may be important, but not enough of aircraft. I have found one or two other sites online that are better but copyright is always a problem there.
So now, unless I have to meet someone there I will be out of the museum for two weeks. Closed over Christmas week but how will it survive without my input? What?....oh!
As Christmas nears the news deadens as politicians run for home or overseas visits and major items that keep the media happy run out and minor events are blown out of proportion. This means no more Brexit lies for a week or two, few tales of corrupt politicians and nothing concerning badly behaved attention seeking film/pop/tv celebrities filling the news.
It does however mean a TV filled with old films, programmes and assorted junk to watch if the TV means something to you. Personally I will seek more on the radio but so far it does not sound too exciting, maybe this will change but I doubt it.
It's being so cheery that keeps me going!
It has been a tiring couple of days. Searching the town for cheap gifts, wandering for miles round in a circle, back to St Paul's for a great morning including Greek ginger Christmas treats, and then today wandering again round the shops before joining the merry crowd in Tesco, smiles abounding, at least from those heading for the door!
All this has been accompanied by the joy of watching the Heart of Midlothian do what they are meant to do, stuffing the Old Firm good and proper! This half is the lesser of the evil twins, but not by much, and while they deservedly have made good use of the vast wealth they have it is clear the Heart of Midlothian are making much better use of the slender resources at our disposal. This is why the victory is greater than it would have been in times past.
Scottish football was at its best in the 1950's and early 60's. This is partly because the better players did not wander off into England as the £10 a week limit on wages still applied at the time, most were content to remain at home unless the English club could find a way round the wage limit by acquiring another job for the player, an old and well worn trick. So when I started to watch football e expected to beat everyone, and why not, they expected to beat us. Sadly filthy lucre has ended those happy days and with SKY V pouring money into the feeble English game, and far too little into the Scots one, a disparity has arisen. Add to this the Rangers chairman and his tax dodging friends hugely increasing costs and running away, supported by the Glasgow media, we now see Scots football recovering slowly from the bad taste of recent days.
So enjoyment is complete when one half of the evil twins lose to the Heart of Midlothian, the other losing also to St Johnstone the day before also brings tears to the eyes of the 'typists' at the 'Daily Record,' and this enjoyment we wish to continue. The struggles are not over but as one man said "This is not the end, but it maybe it is the end of the beginning."
Christingle, whatever that is, occurred today.
This is one of those Anglican advent things that I have never seen before coming here.
The symbolic side represents Christ as light and that explains the candle on top. The kids love it and are allowed to stand there with lit candles in hand, not something they can do often! The vicar informed us he had to do a Health & Safety appraisal for this because candles were involved! Just how we survived without insurance companies insisting on such daft precautions I do not begin to understand. No accidents happened, nothing burnt down and all as usual enjoyed the day.
Symbols are often used in Anglican churches but in my mind they are not required. Just say what you mean and get on with it is my way, too many symbolic candles, symbolic this and that and none are actually required however they like them and it gives the kids something to make them feel involved.
An early morning frost and fog covered us this morning. This was better than the smell of burning plastic that filled the air about this place when I came back at lunchtime. Quite what was burning I know not but the neighbours will not be happy!
There is still a moose loose aboot this hoose and he is annoying me. While all foodstuffs are unavailable he has now got into my plant and spread much everywhere during the night. I again can hear him chewing at inaccessible places making it difficult for me to block him. Two 'humane' traps have been ignored and if they continue to be ignored less humane ones will be employed.
Happy Christmas!
