Monday, December 4, 2017

Clocks

As our train pulls into a peripheral Bratislava station a couple of Sunday's ago a huddle of riot police await an incoming train on another platform. Presumably for an incoming entourage of football related hooligans (British 1980's throwback style...). But unbeknown to them the train arrives at a different platform. Keystone cops comes to mind as the huddle quickly cross the lines to welcome all but a few surprised disembarking passengers with no association to any team.
Glum faces in my carriage staring into blank telephone screens probably missed this magical moment of entertainment. No audience for this prime viewing. 
Maybe I'm more absorbed with my whereabouts than any technology. The clocks can stand still if you want, like at old man Foytik's home, who sadly passed away a few months back. Snow comes and snow goes, the visual effect is there to be enjoyed. Try it.  

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Nov29th

The arrival of Winter. The wood neatly stacked and sheltered, the ground is going to sleep. Our burning 'tv set' shaped stove to keep us entertained in the long evenings and distract from the outside world.
First flurries falling from the sky, earlier this year but we are prepared. The hens are all confused, the snow-hidden earth fills them with trepidation to step down towards their morning feed. There is no-hiding their dislike for this time of year. Neither our fridge which painfully hums louder, not helped by the odd mouse visitor taking refuge in the warmth behind. It's interest is in the sackfuls of walnuts still being splintered from time to time. The sweetened smell of apple jam on the stove an extra incentive to investigate.
Short days with daylight at a premium. More time to think and less to do. Escapism in too longer thoughts though is very counter productive.   
It's time to clear-out now, too much has been hung onto for future projects that will never happen. Passed down belongings and collected nonsense needs dusting down and shifting. The spider's cobs only give a fake vintage value. We don't need this baggage anymore, our next chapter is drawing closer.     



Monday, October 30, 2017

Leaving

With daylight at a premium, time to battle the elements to capture every fallen leaf for our precious garden mulch. Indoors, every fly that has cheekily squeezed through cracks into the cottage during their extended lifetime of October's late warm flush are now slowing to be a captor of our many resident spider population. Even the sudden reappearance of ladybirds are rotting to crumbs and brushed to the hen feeding pot. More mudding of cracks, more white-washing of walls as if we have only just moved in. But the place was beginning to look tired, and the therapeutic brushstrokes are a pleasant enough distraction from the sleet and downpours. 
And currently a bake-off between neighbours is giving us a satisfying reason to visit either. Apples were aplenty, and so now some lush and succulent slices of treats that need to be sampled. I know my pleasantries in the language and they know my sweet tooth.  

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

Poo dilemma

A pile of horse poo sits steaming near our front gate. It's been there a while with mushrooms accelerating in number on it's heap after all the moisture and barmy late Autumn sun. In fact it has grown to extend with two further smaller peaks which we are fearing over time will only increase too. The only way to save the scorched earth below the brown mess is a rapid transfer to the hungry garden plots. But the wheelbarrows are stuffed with an abundance of apples with no space left in the bulging cellar of fruit, potato and pumpkins. And until we consume more roasted/souped/curried vegetable and crumbled/steamed/juiced deserts the poo will stay still.

Monday, September 18, 2017

Sept 18th

On a whim I write, several weeks of excuses to not to do so, but now finally it is all quiet once again. The moody skylines return, one big turn in temperature still to come to shock all the green leaves which are nervously hanging on. The mushroom traffic in their reliable old Skoda's have been returning but fields around haven't provided the feast which was available last year. Instead the crocuses have sprouted if not trampled on by deer or Jaffa's paws. Jozef's old Combine Harvester still sits happily nestled on the tree-line of the meadow, abandoned after a second cut last month. A trust with us to keep an eye on it we presume, but we don't know for how long. And now time is only dictated by the daylight and the hens and not by who is arriving. That time is slowly running shorter, especially as the distracting neighbourly gossip rants pick up back to the pre-summer levels. Plenty to say or at least for me to listen to. 
The 3 w's of wood, warmth and winter and then some hopeful, incredible breakthrough in my language skills. I don't tire of this just yet, even with those slog months to come. 

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Summer food

Nosy mushroom pickers gobbling up every woodland growth edible to man and deer. Heat and storms traditionally bring the flock from the town and nearby to forage and then digest. But there is still our place to pass, to almost stop and stare. Like zoo animals we stare back too. We have considered opening up an english tearoom so that they can stop and stare a bit longer. But then we never have been the entrepreneur type to wish to do such a thing. 
Lots of plum droppings this year as the trees decide to yield fruit in excessive quantity. Envious eyes already from one neighbour with his distilling alcohol kit. Drunken wasps binge on the fallen if they are not picked up of the ground soon enough. Much to the annoyance to Jaffa as he tries to snap at every available buzz, their erratic flying is even more un-predictable.
Down another bird in the henhouse. One of the battered ones succumbs to an illness which we are none wise to. The others are fit and well despite the heat. An excess of treats from leftovers as the summer guests fill our compost bin. 

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Celebrity

I was still getting over the shock of seeing two familiar faces in the Coop supermarket preparing to meet 30+ eager autograph-hunting school kids. Adverts of them are splattered around the store all the time promoting all things good about processed meat and cheese of folk-land Slovakia.
On this occasion it looked like it was promoting orange helium filled balloons from what I could understand. One of them with an uncanny resemblance to Jean-Paul Gaultier in pictures. But in the flesh was just an unfortunate actor preparing to be stormed by an army of 6-10 year olds on a sleepy hot Thursday afternoon. Something new for the muttering grandma's to whisper as they have their change scrutinised at the tills.
We are not the delirious type to worry about who we might see. And a week later a well known Slovak tv presenter came to stay. Not that we would have known having never owned a television from all our time here. But a picture and article in the gossip rags left behind by Jana's mum gave us the evidence and not a word must be said about her mystery man who had made the booking and was her partner in tow that night.
In the end we are all the same, like garlic bulbs.   

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