A Splendid Erection for the Village

Saturday has seen a hive of activity on the recreation ground. Several men-folk of the Village have been toiling for most of the day, their activities remaining shrouded in mystery until approximately 17:37.

The day began with the obligatory early morning trip to chav-central where the day's provisions were sourced. There's duck on the menu tonight for Fillipa, The Master and myself, whilst Rez will be gorging herself on 2 Dentebits. Mr Big Lou will be mostly eating anything he can get.

Being Saturday the whole household had plans. I wanted to scrub the kitchen floor, particularly around Mr Big Lou's dining area. To say he is a messy eater would be an injustice. We have tried placing his bowl onto a plate in an attempt to contain the debris he leaves as he ploughs through the brown filth we feed him on. This was only moderately successful and vast tracks of food were constantly left in his wake. The latest advance in food containment is to use an over-sized, stainless steel dog bowl. This has made an improvement although when Mr Big Lou avails himself of Rez's "left-overs", which are served on a bone china platter, he finds it impossible to clear the spoils without losing vast quantities over the side.

The Master and Fillipa have another shopping trip planned. As usual I telephoned the the Clinique counter in Boots at 06:30 hours to warn them of the impending visit and allow them enough time to have additional stocks flown in.

However, back to the recreation ground, which ended up becoming the focus for the day. Wheelbarrows, spades, buckets and more men folk appeared and much pacing ensued. At this stage the purpose of the activities was still a complete mystery and would provide much entertainment throughout the day. To the casual observer Steve Hnabscuha (ask 'chelle) appeared to be the brains behind the operation and clearly determined where the digging was to be done. Holes were dug, concrete was mixed and poured and much more pacing was conducted.

Finally, without any form of fanfare or ceremony, goalposts were erected.

Due, no doubt, to the diminutive size of the Cuddesdon Village recreational ground the position of the pair of goalposts was separated by no more than 3.7 metres, which seems a little close to me. However, what do I know. A point worth mentioning is that at this time there has only ever been 1 goalpost erected at any one time. It occurred to me that the holes that have been dug are the positions for alternate goalposts as opposed to concurrent goalposts.

Eddie and Lily stopped by to form a first hand opinion and unfortunately Eddie's thoughts turned immediately to weeing. And not the handheld games machine sort either. Whilst the speedy Eddie can rightfully claim to be the first to Christen the new white uprights, I feel certain that he wont be the last.

Finally a second set materialised and it would appear that the goalposts have stopped being moved. Nets have been added and a roughly marked pitch has been hand-mown. The recreation ground is now awash with grubby urchins come to knock one in, slide one past the obligatory tubby ginger goalie, in spite of his over-sized gloved hands.

As the evening wore on the urchins were replaced by a much older and it has to be said tubbier gang apparently come to recreate past glories. Brief moments of bipedal magic were interrupted by coughing bouts, doubling over and spitting and the imbibing of the occasional Capstan Full Strength. I'm beginning to think that this summer the recreation ground will provide even more entertainment than the time when 2 locals were seen pissing on the bonfire the night before the annual display and then trying to light it. Now there's a story that needs airing if ever there was one.

Trapped Cat - Update

Sadly I have to report that Purdie is still half-way though the cat flap. Her spirits have remained relatively high although someone has taken the piece of ham that was being used to motivate her. Its not clear who the perpetrator of the crime is although the list of suspects has been reduced to:

Mr Big Lou
The Strange Millie Type Cat
The Wanahokaloogi Kid

From the above list the number 1 suspect appears to be The Wanahokaloogi Kid on the grounds of motive. He suffers from a disorder known as "the munchies", which can force the sufferer to seek sustenance from almost any source at any time of the day and night and a piece of juicy ham would have been too much to resist.

A meeting of interested parties will take place this evening to decide on the merits of trying to tempt poor Purdie out of her predicament with some other food source.

Trapped Cat...........Shock, Horror

Shocking news has just been flashed through the Village:

Purdie is wedged in the cat flap!

After several months of what can only be described as binge eating her tummy, which incidentally has dragged along the floor for some weeks now, has finally gained enough girth to have caused the hideous trapping incident. Her tiny, and lets be honest, overworked little legs have thrashed frantically in an effort to recover the situation but as yet to no avail.

In an admirable "tough-love" stance her companions have decided to rent a cottage in Wales for the week in the hope that poor Purdie can slim her way out of the cat flap by their return. The move has also been designed to help Purdie's critically damaged self-esteem. Its the laughing you understand. Anyone who has come to see the stricken feline has found the sight so funny that they have been unable to hold back their hysterical laughter and as everyone knows the thing that cats hate more than anything else is to be laughed at.

A makeshift frame has been fashioned from an old chair onto which has been fitted one of those hamster water bottles. If Purdie turns her head to the left her tongue can just reach the plastic nipple and thus tease some moisture out to sustain her through the ordeal. In a move designed to maintain her motivation to get through the orifice, a piece of ham has been placed just out of her reach as a lure.

It had been mooted that we could use Mr Big Lou's bulk to assist with the extraction however he has resolutely refused to get involved on the grounds that the hapless Purdie must get her body mass down to suit the size of her head. At this point Rez, who appeared to be sleeping on the back of the chair, opened one eye approximately 2 millimetres and mumbled under her tiny breath "so you're an expert on head size/body weight now".

Regular updates on the situation will be published as they happen.

The Ugly Leather-Faced Tooter

When I am working upstairs in the Comms room I often find it necessary to get up and pace around the upper floor. Whilst pacing I am drawn to the front bedroom window that offers a splendid view of the Village recreational ground complete with Village hall. Furthermore running the entire width of this vista is Denton Hill, which is a well-known suburb of Cuddesdon.

Now due to its moderately narrow width, coupled with the abundance of cars that park, quite legally, along the road there are countless conflicts of passage. I have witnessed complete blockages as lorry's delivered 1 tonne bags of sand or the Tesco van delivered 637 litres of Scotish water to the freaks.

On one memorable afternoon 2 coaches met face-on resulting in 1 of them having reverse at 0.037 miles per hour back around the corner. It took almost 45 minutes for the coaches to pass by which time the four-by-four's stood line astern all the way back to Chippinghurst.

I have to say that the vast majority of motorists behave in a perfectly reasonable manner and the flow of traffic is relatively trouble-free. That is with the exception of The Ugly Leather-Faced Tooter. He believes that the way to ensure that his passage along Denton Hill is as smooth as possible is to toot his horn. His irritating tooting is directly linked to the position of the parked vehicles and unfortunately his most venomous blasts are reserved for the times when cars are parked outside our house. The determination with which he puts his right foot down and his left hand firmly on his horn are almost admirable.

I have not decided whether his aural abuse is designed to warn other motorists of his imminent arrival of to admonish the parker's of the cars. Either way it has become almost impossible not to rush to the front of the house and shout obscenities at him.

His anti-social behaviour is nothing new. One summer a few years ago Straight Pilot Dan became so incensed by his daily toot that he actually followed The Ugly Leather-Faced Tooter back to his hovel in Denton and tooted the horn of his brand new MG in a "take that/how do you like it" sort of way. It is difficult to assess the impact that the brave Straight Pilot Dan's actions had but his return to Denton Hill was triumphant. Seldom seen neighbours appeared from their houses and cheered as he parked up. Even Fillipa, who was waxing her nipples at the time, came out and offered to carry Straight Pilot Dan's bag for him as thanks for his heroic and selfless act.

It is a sad reflection of The Ugly Leather-Faced Tooter's social standing that the only time he leaves his hovel in Denton is to go to Chav Central (Asda) and purchase cigars which he smokes to further degenerate the quality of his leathery old skin. It's a small compensation for his anti-social and abusive behaviour but he is without doubt the most miserable, ugliest old man who has ever passed through the Village.

Parcel for Mr B Lou

On arriving home today I discovered that the postman had inadvisedly wedged a large package through a too small an orifice, the letterbox. However, that said the air of anticipation in the house was palpable and went someway to excusing "Posty" his misdemeanour.

I inspected the crumpled jiffy bag to determine who the lucky recipient was. Could it be more new undergarments, imported from Australia for Fillipa or could it be another new educational DVD imported from Holland also for Fillipa or was it for someone else.

The name on the package was:

Mr B Lou

and it came from the RSPB, yes it was Big Lou's membership pack. I wasted no time in gaining access to the contents of the package having decided not to hurt Big Lou's feelings by pointing out that his lack of opposable thumbs rendered him quite useless in the opening jiffy bag department. Obviously we do not include ripping with extended claws a satisfactory proposition.

By now, as I had already been in the house for in excess of 3 minutes 20 seconds Big Lou's patience was beginning to show signs of evaporating. Apparently he needed me to go into the kitchen, urgently, and get him some more of the brown crap we feed him on. Not known for his subtlety when it comes to food his purposeful marching between the living room and the kitchen door spoke volumes. Interestingly his keenness to maintain his newly defined "correct" figure is in marked contrast to Rez, who has taken to only eating on alternate Wednesday's. Even then it becomes a war of attrition to force a morsel into her lip-less mouth. Fillipa thinks she is trying to become the first size zero in the Village.

As Lou downed a light snack from his stainless steel dog bowl I spread the contents of his membership pack over the coffee table. It included:

• A nice letter from the RSPB thanking Mr Big Lou for his support and explaining how important his contribution to the conservation of birds is.
• A glossy brochure detailing all of the wildlife centres that Mr Big Lou can visit freely as one of the perks of his membership.
• A card with a picture of a Tawny Owl on the front with the words printed inside "To Big Lou; Congratulations on being the right size for your head". (The picture on the card was slightly troubling as Fillipa loathes Owls. We don't know why but she does, with a vengeance. Sometimes there is a man at the entrance to the Westgate Centre with a selection of Owls that he displays to the general public. When this occurs Fillipa has been known to abandon shopping and leave the City Centre by the quickest route and take refuge with Trotter).
• His very own membership card that is valid until July 2008. Rather splendidly it is in the name of Mr Big Lou, as it should be. There is also a guest pass that can be used by someone to accompany Big Lou on one of his visits.
• Finally, the free gift, The RSPB Handbook of British Birds, Second Edition by Peter Holden and Tim Cleeves.

From this mighty tome we have already learnt that there are over 1,000,000 members of the RSPB, 160,000 of whom are children and 1 cat.

At this point Big Lou returned from his "snack" flicked through the glossy paperback and confirmed that the birds who were regularly seen delving into our peanut peckers were clearly Blue Tits and not Great Tits. Lou then went on to state that the difference between Parus Caeruleus and Parus Major was obvious.

Mid-week Slump

Arrived home today, having stopped off at the newly re-fitted Asda to pick up a lonely-bastard-meal-for-one, only to find both cats locked out and starring at me in an accusing fashion from the other side of the patio doors. The temperature in the house was at minus 3°C. After some investigation it was discovered that the thermostat had been set to a freakishly low number. Putting 2 and 2 together I deduced that Fillipa Hole had been the last person to leave the house. Furthermore, the fact that the LED on the washing machine was blinking at me incessantly, coupled with the fact that Big Lou and Rez were locked out led me to the conclusion that the scene in the house at about 08:00am had been a blurr of activity.

I let the cats in and was immediately subjected to the "feed me, feed me" behaviour. Even Rez, who is renowned for eating less than Ghandi, appeared keen. I chose to placate Big Lou, sorry Mr Big Lou first. As he had been excluded from the house for the day there were still some remnants of breakfast left in his stainless steel dog bowl. Don't ask. So, I washed this down the sink and opened a fresh can. I try to build up his anticipation by saying things like "Oooh Lou its brown and smells vile", which seems to amuse him. I place the huge bowl down and Mr Big Lou "Chows down" as they say.

Now for Rez, the blackest cat in the world.

Unusually she has placed herself by the bread bin and awaits the amusebouch that I am about to serve up. In spite of much teasing and cajoling Rez eats a massive 0.37g of food.

Quite often I lean on the windowsill of the front bedroom and watch the goings-on in the Village recreation ground. We call it "The Red Reck" I don't know why.

Sometimes you see people flying kites and performing impressive acrobatic feats.

Sometimes you see "Dad's" having a kick-about with their offspring.

But, mostly you see people exercising their dogs. And, being fine Villagers they, to a man, always remove their pets poops.

I have recently come to wonder what a small, warm pooh, that has been gripped through a polyethylene bag must feel like.

Do they, for example, apply a slight, almost indiscernible squeeze, to determine the quality of the stool.

Thank heavens for cats.

Mr Big Lou

Whilst flicking through the new Radio Times the usual assortment of unwanted advertising material dropped out and landed on to the sofa where Big Lou was taking his mid-morning nap. He raised his head and reached out his huge paws to rest on one of the scattered brochures. It would appear that he was strangely drawn by the picture of a Bullfinch whose beady little eye seemed to follow him in a slightly unnerving manner.

On closer inspection we discovered that what we had assumed to be rubbish, destined for Fillipa's industrial scale recycling operation, was in fact very interesting. It was an offer to join the RSPB with 3 free months and a choice of a free gift. Whilst he was still awake I decided to read some of the details out to Big Lou.

"As a member of the RSPB you will receive:

• Welcome pack bursting with information.
• Entry to over 100 nature reserves.
• BIRDS magazine four times a year. With over 100 pages, this great read is exclusive to RSBP members.
• A choice of either a FREE handbook of British birds, which illustrates over 280 species, OR a FREE bird feeder and seed."

Unfortunately I had failed to notice that I had lost Big Lou's attention sometime during the brief oration and he had in fact "dropped off" again. It was at that point I hatched a mini master plan, I would enrol Big Lou with the RSPB as a present for achieving such a glowing report from the veterinarian.

I dashed to the comms room and opened a portal to the outside world. I found the required website and completed the ubiquitous "apply online" procedure. To my absolute delight there was the facility to purchase a membership as a present. It therefore gives me great pleasure to make the following announcement:

The newest member of The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds is

Mr Big Lou of Cuddesdon.

The "Mr" had been inserted automatically as it was one of the mandatory fields. However, on reflection I think Big Lou will be very pleased with the air of sophistication it gives him.

We are now on tenterhooks as we await the delivery Big Lou's membership pack which includes his very own membership card. Incidentally the free gift I selected for him was the "Handbook of British Birds". It turns out there is still some debate as to whether our peanut peckers are being ravaged by Great Tits or Blue Tits. I am hoping that Big Lou will use the manual to conduct some much needed research and clear the matter up for us once-and-for-all. Exciting times ahead. As Rez has often said "The wildlife of Cuddesdon is safe in our paws".

http://www.rspb.org.uk/

Big Lou fits his head

The hot topic that has caused a stir in the Village tonight is Big Lou's visit to the Vets. As his annual check-up and jab loomed in Big Lou's PawPilot he became increasingly glum. The dulling of his spirits had not been helped by Rez, amongst others, who had predicted a diet would be called for. Rez had even taken time to explain that "fat cats" must have their temperature taken in order for their correct weight to be calculated . As you can imagine, all cats dread their temperature being taken.

So, we squeezed Big Lou into his travel box and set off early for what turned out to be a smooth passage down the dreaded Ladder Hill. We have always preferred the first appointment of the evening as it avoids having to spend time in close proximity to other waiting animals and motley owners. During Rez's last visit a vile yappy type dog did a little pooh when he was called into surgery. Apparently he always did this when he got excited. Thankfully the huge lady who accompanied him came to the rescue with a tissue and an empty pocket. Whilst waiting we decided to take the "Bull-by-the Horns" and place Big Lou, in his travel box, onto the scales. With some trepidation we patiently waited for the LCD numbers to stabilise.

They did. At 6.7kg.

Things were looking grim.

Finally a very young and not unpleasant "new" vet came out and called for "Lewis". After several seconds Big Lou and myself, almost simultaneously, twigged that the inexperienced young vet had made a clumsy error with names and was in fact calling for Louis. We let it slide, on this occasion, and went in. Big Lou was placed on the table and dragged from his retreat, leaving a trail of sweaty paw marks across the shiny table. After the usual prodding and poking I broached the subject of size/weight, noticing out of the corner of my eye a distinct black look coming from Big Lou. The vet listened, prodded some more and then went as far as some pinching, before taking Big Lou's travel box, minus occupant, out to be weighed. She returned and performed a slick piece of mental arithmetic and pronounced Big Lou's actual weight to be 5kg.

We held our breath.

She then went on to say that for the size of his head she did not think that Big Lou was overweight.

If Big Lou had been blessed with lips I feel sure that at that point he would have smiled. Instead he allowed himself to be injected and forced back into his travel box for the journey back to the bosom of his family in Cuddesdon.

Upon arriving back at home he mooched about a bit to show his disdain of the whole event. However, when Rez strolled in from an evening saunter, flighty as usual, he went up to her and whispered "I told you I was big boned".

Great Tits

Exactly how many peanuts does a Great Tit need before they say to themselves "That's me done". It would appear that number is quite high. I have recently placed 2 bird feeders in a tree in the garden to augment the lardy seedball that is attached to the fence post at the end of the garden. 1 feeder contains peanuts of the "Not for Human Consumption" type and the other a selection of mixed seeds.

Now, in addition to the question regarding Tit satisfaction there are several other points that have come to light:

• How do the birds know what a bird feeder is?
• How do they know that if you balance your frail frame on the plastic rail and poke your tiny little head through the hole at the bottom you will be rewarded with either a peanut or a seed?
• Why is it only Great Tits that have found this source of food?

The peanuts last about 2 days before they need replenishing. When I take the feeder down from the tree the birds sit in another tree wait for me to finish filling the plastic tube and the minute I have reached the patio they are tucking in to the fresh supply. I sometimes suspect they are laughing at me.

Changes Afoot

Shocking news from Cuddesdon. It would appear that attempts are being made to sell "The Cottage". I arrived home one evening to find some grubby little van driving man erecting a "For Sale" sign in my garden. My initial thoughts were that of homelessness, cats and drag queens being fostered out to Oakley and separation from our fascinating neighbours.

I ran to the phone and called the local blood-sucking property agents, to be told by whom I can only imagine as a 19 year old, pimply, greasy haired office junior that it was in fact "The Cottage" that was being sold and was I interested in a viewing. At that point I put the phone down, obviously.

On a brighter note Big Lou is over-joyed that Beelzebub and Damian, the current occupants, will be leaving. The vile Tabby pair have caused nothing but trouble since their arrival. Forcing their way through the now defunct passage to wreak havoc with the gorgeous Rez and the somewhat simpler and more cowardly Big Lou. In spite of being the size of a small Bulldog, Big Lou remains scarred of well almost everything, including the small Tabby pair from "The Cottage" and "The Strange Millie Type Cat who passes through occasionally. (NB. "The Strange Millie Type Cat" is so strange that in the fullness of time an entire post will be devoted to her and her work).

A few days after the erection, The Village Oracle positively jogged down the hill to speak to me as I returned from an early morning spat at the newly re-fitted Asda. (They can now cram more chav's down 1 aisle than any other major retailer). Hot on The Village Oracle's heels was Scottish Jill bursting with inquisitive excitement. In unison they pressed me for information. Jill even tried trading Village gossip by telling me that she had sold her house to a friend who would be renting it out once they leave in November. In the end I could hold back no longer and I squealed like a stuck pig that it was "The Cottage" that was being sold. Both left, triumphant that they had gleaned facts from an ill-prepared poof.

It was at that point that the cruel reality dawned on me.

Dom & Michelle - Gone
T & Ross - Gone
Jill & Clan - Gone
Cat Killer - Gone
And now to top it all BC & Anni - Gone

Life in Cuddesdon will never be the same.......................................................................

The Return of the View

It has been almost 3 months since the last View from the Village. Much has happened, much has not happened. I was going to create an elaborate reason for not posting in such a long time. However, I am concerned that cracks would soon appear in the fabric of the story and give it away as fiction. So, I shall stick to the truth: I couldn't be arsed.

That's a slight exaggeration I think I developed a mild case of Bloggerphobia like my friend Dom. He sees Blogging as a complete waste of Internet bandwidth and much prefers to spend his surfing time on the Oxford Untied website. (I understand they were once a famous football team).

So here goes another attempt.