The Block

So I was thinking about why I haven't bloggered for a wee bit.

I'm sat watching Billy Connolly on TV and he's blathering on and on---like he does.

And something he said made me realise that I've been suffering from a mortal illness for a few weeks.

Yep mortal all right. A terrible affliction for a man like me.

Its called Bloggers Block.

I'd run out of things to say !

Wow, Me ! run out of things to say, now don't get em wrong hre, I'm no real blather-mouth.

But like the quietest wee fellow I like to have my say.

And like I said in my earlier blig, with all of the awful weather that us poor brits have had over the last few months---well its felt like its gone on for years.

Hell !!!!!! we have snow again.

Honestly now. Snow , and not little snow like we have had for the last few years where you wake up and its snowed and we all say " Wow its snowed " and we all behave like little kids again , with piles of glee and happiness.

And thats another thing, Glee. piles of glee I'm telling ya.

But anyway another time about glee.

Yes we had snow, big snow, (I'm sorry I'm easily distracted by my own thoughts ), yes big snow.

Real big heavy snowflake type of snow and it sat around for  days and even weeks.

Imagine snow like that that just sits around uninvited for blinking days on end. Its been so wearing on us and to keep things personal. Its had a massive impact upon me.

But now I feel, Mmmmmm yes I feel, know what i mean???? do ya ?? I feel, like when Billy Graham used to be televised when he came over to the UK on his gospel tours.

I feel.

I belive now thta it can be summer agin.

It must be nearly summer again because wonder of wonders, I've ventured back into the garden and have started fixing broken things.

I actually started making Stalag 14 for the chickens yesterday. Steve came up from the valley bottom to help me.

He said that eh likes doing physical stuff so I gave him the sledge hammer and he broke up some concrete for em so we could concrete in some posts to make the chicken stalag.

Stalag isn't the best thing to call it . Its remenisant of talking about the war.

Don't mention the war.So  I'll call the chicken (improved) pen on the drive a Gulag.

It seems more fitting to me as I used to read Solzenistyn's books when I was younger and they had a profound impact upon me.

Yep Mary is quite chuffed ith me now as I've actually lifted my body from off of my butt and actually gotten on with the Gulag, although don't hold your breath about it until I can reprot that the damn thing is finished.

But I'm fairly happy, God willing, that I can finish the Gulag before a few more weeks have passed.

Which reminds me at this late hour that I've still got to shut the chickens up for the night. It only involves plodding out into the muddy mire that they call home and shutting the slidding door thingie on their hut.

And then bed calls me loudly again.

I'm pushing the boundary again as its alomst midnight, but hey we have a bank holiday tomorrow, so I don't need to jump out of bed too early for once.

Night night all. Sleep tight .