Take your baby by the ears, and play upon her darkest fears

Cassandra^[0] spotted an unidentified object in our shed this afternoon. Seems it might be the start of a wasps nest. Anyone had to deal with this before? Can I just take it down and stomp on it? In other related-only-via-they-are-a-stinging-flying-insect, I have also wangled to be allowed to keep bees. The hurdle has been hurdled. The validation has been validated. (OK, so it is only a tacit in-principle agreement, but that is enough to know I will be allowed. Hurrah!) Aside from their site burning my eyes, I shall tootle along to a Cambridgeshire Beekeeper’s Association meeting to find out more. Soon. No idea if you can keep them over the winter, or if I need to wait, read, learn and plan. An army of bees at my command. What are we going to do tonight, Brain?

Work continues on the allotment, which is probably where I will site the hive, as my tacit nod of approval doesn’t stretch to the house, slowly but surely, in the way that only surely but slowly can. Now I need to find some decent seed potatoes, you know, whose names are like British Queens, Blues and Pinks. Those would do. Any, either, all. Damned Engerlish, and this feeble varieties.

The infinite lyric machine trundles on, now looking for various other voices to add to the cacophony. Or several on the same song, but only for fun. There is a reason, and no, it isn’t to do with the band, who I must poke hard soon, maybe after I have done this. Dare I ask in NewNewWork? Cassandra intimated she would perform for me (watch it), although I may expand the task at hand to something else. While still doing the task at hand. Such a life I lead, eh? Non-stop rock and roll. See, I enjoy working my own piece of land, and the piece of land I rent, under various old statutes. I amn’t going to spring some high and mighty spiritual schtick at you, but it is quiet down our allotment, and watching Cassandra work is great, as I lean on my fork, with no pipe in my hand, considering and contemplating, just like any old Muskrat should.

See? This post is entirely obvious. No shifts or jumps in trains of thoughts, no obscure and dense prose. Nothing obtuse, nothing even hidden. Just a few stories from my life, and a short insight into my head.

Can’t hear the hind

^[0]Her name isn’t really Cassandra, as some of you know. Why the moniker then? Jeebus, classical education isn’t what it used to be. Cassandra was, perhaps, the most famous of all the Oracles at Delphi. She was also cursed by the Gods. What was this curse? To always tell those who sought her divinations the truth, but they would never believe her. I don’t need to spell it out more than that, do I?