Stupid chickens.

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Anyhow, pumpkins….

I’ve always had quite a bit of success with my pumpkins in the past. In fact last year due to being up to my eyeballs in Hadrian’s Walk stress pumpkins were the only thing I bothered to grow.

We’ve got a bit of a mini tradition going that every halloween we meet up with various friends and carve our pumpkins. Last year we did it with one of Amy’s friends from school and her family, and the year before that we were honoured to be able to present our crop to the UK’s premier Daddy Blogger.

Here’s some of our past glories:

Unfortunately my pumpkins don’t seem to be doing very well this year. On first glance this plant looks healthy enough, but it’s been in the ground for ages and I’d expected it would be bigger than this by now. I had another plant in this bed too but it mysteriously died about a week ago. It’s all looking a bit bare:

What makes it worse is that I’ve tried growing a supposedly super ginormous variety this year, and so I was looking forward the gasps of admiration from all and sundry as I unveiled my 700lb prize winning specimen and then donated it to the crown in order that the queen could use it as a royal coach. Ah well, maybe next year.

There’s still time, but I’m not too optimistic. I’ve decided that I’m going to stick a few lettuces in place of the dead pumpkin so if the surviver ends up not going anywhere I’ll still have some crop from this bed.

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This is never more evident than in my efforts to grow fruit and veg. I always start out with boundless energy and enthusiasm and end up buying half Sutton’s seed stock and covering every windowsill in the house with little paper origami pots full of sprouting seedlings.

It’s also rather exciting when I plant them out, and watch all the tiny seedlings set out on the frantic race to grow to maturity before winter comes.

However fast forward to the middle of July and I’ve become a little bored of watching plants grow. I’ve gone from meticulously and tenderly nurturing my vegetable beds to completely ignoring them for weeks on end.

It’s got so bad over the past few weeks that on my way through the garden to let the chickens out this morning I noticed that there was a bloody massive patch of nettles growing out of the center of my pea pyramid. The little bastards!

So, galvanised with a grim determination to reclaim my vegetable plot (and also a growing sense of guilt that poor old John has put up with tons of geeky star wars posts on this blog recently without a single mention of agriculture to sustain him) I decided that it was time for me to get back in the garden.

So, at the risk of being singled out for a facebook hate campaign, I’m going to give you an update of what’s going on on old McHughes Farm at the moment. What’s more I’m going to drag it out over the course of a whole week! Yes, I’m going to go through every single one of my vegetable beds day by day and describe in eye-warteringly tedious detail what’s happening with them.

Tomorrow is my pumpkin bed. I bet you can hardly contain your excitement!

Welcome to allthatcomeswithit.com’s vegetable week mofos.

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Unfortunately we’ve recently lost a couple of chickens and a duck to the local fox, and so I decided my previously rather slack poultry containment efforts needed shoring up.

The aim isn’t particularly to keep foxes out – but to keep the bloody chickens and ducks in. The flock has been becoming far too canny in their escape efforts recently and have spent more time wandering the nearby fields and woods than in my garden. They even started not bothering coming back at night, which is when I think the fox attacks have been happening.

So now they have a reduced area to roam, but it’s a lot more secure. It’s a compromise between my free range principles and my responsibility to keep the birds safe.

The other rather gratifying thing to happen today was that I managed to burn that bloody pile of wood that’s been tormenting me for the past four months. It may have it’s own Facebook group, but that hasn’t stopped it becoming a pile of ash.

Granted it wasn’t actually me who burnt it – it was my neighbour who kindly let me hijack his bonfire. But the main thing is the bugger has gone! Gone I tell you!!

Ahh… the sweet smell of closure.

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I found these in the duck shed yesterday morning, and another one there today.

Bloody marvelous!

In other news, the latest episode of Lee and Dan’s Midnight Movie Club Podcast is now out. This week we’re talking about the 1982 comedy Night Shift staring Batman, the Fonz and that woman from Cheers. I personally think it’s our best ever episode, although Lee is rather partial to our Rumble in the Bronx episode.

You can head over to the Midnight Movie Club to listen to it, subscribe in iTunes, or just click below:

[display_podcast]

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The chickens have somehow figured how to force the gate open, and the ducks have discovered the art of rooting around the base of the chicken-wire until they make a hole big enough to waddle through.

The bright side of this of course is that they are now wrecking next door’s garden rather than my own.

Still, it’s not a situation that can go on much longer. I’ve done what I can to plug the gaps with spare bits of wood and wire, but I’m fearful that the ultimate solution will have to involve expensive trips to various hardware shops.

Stupid birds

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I have lived to regret that video:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Dans-wood-pile/186544498038131

If that bloody facebook page gets more friends than I do then I shall be very annoyed indeed.

At least it doesn’t seem to have worked out how to use twitter yet.

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Here they are huddled together in hysterical panic in the corner of the converted wendyhouse which is their new home.

Apparently this state of hysteria is not unusual in runner ducks. In fact it may well be their default setting. It’s a pretty big contrast to my placid fat hens, a couple of which are so languid that they let the kids stroke them rather than bother to get out of the way.

The ducks are currently undergoing a period of confinement in order to get them used to their sleeping quarters, so haven’t been let loose on the garden as yet. Evan did take an exploratory foray into their hut this afternoon to see if he could make friends with any of them. However the calcophany of panicked quacking he provoked soon saw him shoot for the exit.

“Why are they quacking so loud dad?!” he asked.

“Because, as John warned me when I asked for them, they are mad as a box of frogs”.

It was really great meeting John. He was a virgin to the blogger-meet-up experience, and so I feel honored to pop his cherry. Judging by his blog entry I think the whole thing freaked him out a little bit.

Meeting people you’ve followed online is a funny old thing. We all use the internet to project an airbrushed image of ourselves, and so meeting a blogger in person feels a bit like meeting their slightly less charismatic twin sibling. A bit like in Buffy the Vampire Slayer when Xander’s twin brother popped up on occasion – yeah, he looks sort of the same, but he had a funny shaped head.

Not that I felt that way with John I hasten to add. His head was perfectly normal shaped. But I’m sure he must have felt it with me (the current wild state of my beard alone is enough to send people running for the woods).

But it wasn’t just John I met. John’s tales of his various pets and livestock play such a big part in what makes his blog a fantastic read. So meeting Constance the bulldog, Boris the turkey, and Jesus the cockerel felt like meeting minor celebrities. I got the same little thrill from the encounter as I would attending a dinner party with the Chuckle Brothers and Michael Fish. Exciting stuff.

Cheers for the ducks John. You’re a good egg.

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Seeing them there all cute and cuddly makes me feel a little regretful that I’m not shooting down to Wales this very minute to go pick them up. However the prospect of having to deal with the possibility of a surplus of males keeps the pangs from getting too strong. I’m very grateful to John for allowing me to leave them in his care for a month until their sex can be determined.

Plus, there’s that whole “shitting on their feet and flinging it all around the kitchen” thing he talks about. Yeah, I’m not sure that would go down too well.

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