Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Wednesday, 10 June 2015
This bloody East wind is getting on my tits. It's swung from North East to more or less due East, making early June feel like Late October. An icy blast emanating from the East. Hmm.
For the last few years, I have been following the fortunes of two pairs of breeding Peregrine Falcons via webcams set over the scrapes (nests) giving a live link on the net. One is here in Bath, high up on the huge Catholic church, and the other is on Norwich Cathedral. They are both operated by the Hawk and Owl Trust.
The other day, the lot in Norwich noticed a strange Peregrine perched on Norwich Cathedral, and when they took a closer look at it (they are ringed as chicks), they discovered that it was one of the Bath fledglings from 2013! I watched that chick grow up! Hmm again.
'Peregrine' Falcons are called by that name because of their 'peregrinations' - an old medieval expression meaning that if you take a chick from the nest before it has had a chance to fly around a bit, it is yours for life. Once they have gone on their 'peregrinations', they are untrainable.
I have spent the last couple of days helping to improve the pub's Ladies WC. It's back to the details thing again. I had supplied the stone for the sink-top and shelves (British Portland) and because the sink bowl would have blocked off the automatic sensor which turns the tap on as you approach, they decided to drill a hole to mount the tap by the side instead of at the back.
So I screamed and screamed until I made myself sick, and they finally gave in and let me make a rather elaborate up-stand in the same Portland stone so it can be mounted behind the bowl where it should be.
Why go to the trouble and expense (£10,000) of refurbishing the Ladies and cut corners as crassly as this to save about one day of time? This is what happens when you sack the project manager (me, in this case) and rely on builders to take the aesthetic overview, spoiling the ship for a ha'penny's worth of tar.
No wonder I turn into Linda Snell all the time. I've got the Christmas Panto to think about next.