A desk sized sewing kit.

1.  Take one jar. Remove the lid and attempt to cut the middle out of it.
2.  Use all the utensils in the kitchen that you may think will do the job.
3.  Discover they won't.
4.  Almost remove the pads of your finger and thumb on the metal.
5.  Shout up the stairs "Nothing, everything is fine", when DD enquires about the banging and swearing.
6.  Finally carve the hole by using the rusty blade of an old waiter's friend.
7.  Use a sharp pair of scissors to "tidy" the edges.
8.  Bleed into the sink a bit.
9.  Swear and curse as you utilise every housewives trick to try to remove the sticky glue from the glass jar.
10. Decant mint sauce into the washed jar and use the mint sauce jar instead because it has a nice paper label that is easy to remove.
11.  Clean up the blobs of mint sauce from the kitchen counter.
12.  Hunt down some nice fabric.
13.  Pick off the bits of fleece/unspun silk that linger in the bottom of the sewing basket.
14.  Sniff to check it doesn't smell of manky old sheep.
15.  Draw around the lid on to some stiff card.
16.  Do it again.
17.  And again.
18.  Cut out the circle and place it upon the fabric.
19.  Cut roughly around the card placed upon the fabric.
20.  Do it again because it is too small.
21.  Place cotton wool balls in the middle of the fabric scrap.
22.  Place the board on top of the cotton wool.
23.  Glue the fabric around the edges.
24.  Staple the fabric around the edges because the glue isn't sticking.
25.  Push the padded circle into the lid ring.
26.  Realise you didn't account for the extra width of the fabric and staples.
27.  Cut a smaller circle and repeat actions 19-25 leaving out action 23.
28.  Glue some contrasting cord around the edge to make it "pretty".
29.  Hunt down some sewing essentials.
30.  Drop pins into DD's electrical gizmos and hope you don't all explode.
31.  Screw the top back on and enjoy you handy work.

An Unexpected Award

I have kindly been given the Versatile Blogger Award recently by elf sufficient and would like to pass on the love.

1. I would like to introduce you all to the Kirby Family  via their fun and informative blog. They are some of the world truely good people.
2. I also enjoy reading and indulging in my love of all things earthy and herbal at By Earth Root and Flower
3. I couldn't pass up an oportunity to show you all my beloved DD's Blog now could I?
4. And last but by no means least I have recently been reading the blog of a friend who shares not just a name but an ethic for a way of life. NorthernMonkeyGirl's blog.
5. And last but not least. A recent blog I have looked at and follow is from The barefoot gardener. A person after my own heart.


Things about me.
1. I am studying phytotherapy, reflexology, aromatherapy and massage.
2. I read between 3-6 books a week.
3. I am named after my Great Grandmother Nelly Bladen.
4. An apple never falls far from the tree. I am the daughter of a Derbyshire man and fell head over heals with a Derbyshire lad. (While living in Wales)

Dickens' Chickens and the Great Escape.

*an escape tunnel?

As the weather has warmed up the egg laying committee seems to be forming itself into a Dickensesque criminal gang. They seem to be taking on the persona of a stereotypical Victorian underclass. I must say, they have gone about the garden in a most efficient way. Turning a lush, verdant jungle of naturalism into the slums of a the criminal underbelly.
They have successfully prevented any regrowth of grass and the ducks have enjoyed making the garden path into a thick swamp. Perhaps if you listen carefully at night you can hear the cries of Able Magwich? Struggling in the mire of the once, clean and functional garden path.
In good time shovels and brushes will be deployed, and it will be restored to it's former glory. Then it will be covered in fetching pea shingle. Just right for bare tootsies. But, for now, the gang can enjoy the haven of scratchability they have bestowed upon the grounds for just a little longer.
Due to this lack of green stuff they have spent a week or so gazing through the fence with desire dripping from every feather. Next-door's unsullied lawn taunting them with it's fresh growth. Clearly, the cabbage, sprouts, lettuce, broccoli, and other sundry good they are presented with is unacceptable. They will deign to present us with regular eggs but we do not, at any point, feel the look of longing is for the benefit of anything other than our own guilt. Surely if they look at it long enough we will put in a small chicken sized gate to allow them access to such superior pasture?
Well, they have given up waiting! Late at night they gathered around the brazier outside the egloo. Warming their wings and listening intently to the master plan.
Pecky has assumed the roll of Fagin. She is, and always will be the leader of this motley crew. Commanding her minions to do her bidding. Egging on Poppy to mob DD as he kindly takes their feed down to the feeding station. Taking advantage of Poppy's placid nature. Clearly the Nancy of Pecky's rabble of Molls. She is a sweet bird, never any trouble and always clean and tidy. She never seems to get into any scrapes and shares her food with the smaller girls.
"They willl never expect you to come flying onto the bowl and scatter the grain far and wide while they are carrying it. Then they are silly enough to refill them! Two meals for the price of one!"
Violet and Rosie are being instructed in the ways of the street urchin.
"Look cute girls! You know the silly male food provider cannot resit letting you hitch a ride upon his shoulder. Make sure you come running to his feet in an endearing way. Fluff your feathers and take on the cuddleablitiy of a loved and cherished bear. Then, when you have gained his confidence, check his pockets! There may be tasty treats within. Utilise the shoulder ride. I feel sure one of these days you will find grain in his ears. Be thorough!. Rest assure, he is soft hearted and will think it is a friendly nuzzle" 
Then there are Snowbell and Gwynn. The hardened ladies of the night. Selling their favours to any passing crow, for the right price. Tail feathers in the air and a confident swagger.
 I am sure that they are saying "'ere lovey, Fancy a good time? Just one fist of grain will take you halfway to heaven" I wonder if I check their privet hidy hole I will find the tools of their trade? lipstick, perfume and white stilettos?
Of course there is Darcy to contend with. Ever on the scene, "protecting" his girls. Come too close or ruffle a few feathers and he will fix you with his steely eye.
"One false move, mister and I'll cut ya!" He has attempted to enlist Georgie Pup as "Bullseye" but she just doesn't cut the mustard as the ferocious hound.
Enter the Ducks, stage left. Our ever present, ever pious missionaries. Sent into to slums to "improve the souls" of the underbelly and low lives.
They have little interest in the Garden of Eden next-door. As if they know it can only lead one astray and into the path of evil. They try to show the chickens the error of their ways. They are clearly leading by example. Splashing in the puddles and making mud pies is a far more wholesome activity. "My dears, look not to greener pastures. Have joy in the mud the lord has provide."
Yesterday saw The Plan come to fruition. They Have dug their tunnel and found a path to Eden. You could observe them scratching at the lawn and shuffling their feel. Distributing the soil dug from the tunnel about the garden. The Human Beans will never suspect a thing.

Then came the knock at the door. "Your Cockerel is in the garden"

So, I hotfooted it into the garden next door to retrieve Darcy.  Imagine my inner smirk at the "towny" as I chased down Gwynn. I feel certain being thought of as a lad will do her trade no good. What self respecting crow would want a dalliance with a transsexual chicken?
We played around and around the garden for a good few minutes until she decided her home turf was the place to be. Silly bird. I now observed the escape tunnel and went about blocking it up. Grasping her firmly I lobbed her back over the fence. She shook herself off and all too soon returned to Eden. This time taking Poppy, Darcy and Snowbell with her.
This time it was Teenbeast and DD who did the honours. I had been excused due to a booking of Taxi of Mum. 
Upon my return from Boglin's horse riding lesson I asked DD why he had so many scratches. Through gritted teeth he said "they got out again"
The breech is now blocked sufficiently by DD and all secret alternative routes have been hunted down and blocked.
The one joy in all this was the donating of the two eggs laid in Eden. Happy neighbours. I only hope the next eggs the consume from the committee comes via a glut not an adventure.
* not one of our birds, but this photo struck a chord.

Do Children Sleep in Grow Bags?

My adorable cubs.

Today's job de jour is to clean out the temporary holding cell of Cubbage Clothing (the boiler cupboard). Sort the clothing into piles that fit and piles that don't. Then to Re-file in a more appropriate place.

I no longer feel that a stack of freshly laundered clothing is improved any by having a boiler drip onto them. I did briefly entertain the idea of cutting out the middle man. No longer putting them through the washing machine, and further reducing the energy bills by making the Cubs sit in there, fully clothed. They could have a wash and clean their rancid school uniforms at the same time.
However, I felt this was a little too akin to Chinese water torture and prefer to come up with my own ingenious ways of tormenting the kids.
I am finding that being a member of the PTA and just turning up at their schools is quite sufficient to cause maximum embarrassment to them and elicit cries of "Oh Mum! how could you?" I have attempted to blink out of existence at a moments notice. All in the spirit of saving them the soul crushing humiliation of admitting they were born of man but I just don't seem to have made much of a success of it as yet. *note to self, Must Try Harder*
They are currently missing in action (at their Dad's).
So I have thought this would be a fine opportunity to go through their possessions and remove any that I, as a responsible despot deem surplus to requirement.

I always find it a harrowing experience. Entering the lair of the Teenbeast is not to be taken lightly. You will find an array of pants and socks that could either save humanity from cancer or wipe out the national debt. (let's face it after a bubonic like episode the country would have less mouths to feed). There are the tangled bedclothes that seem to show he was wrestling with inner daemons during his sleeping hours. I ask you, dear reader, why is he incapable of keeping a fitted sheet on a mattress? Does if offend him in some way and he has to wrest from it's anchoring corners to be flung aside?
However, I shall do my duty as dotting Mummykins and reassemble his carnage and find a space to store his darling, precious garments. (What will be left of them after the refiling! mwahahah)

Next up will be the Abode of the Boglin Princess. Why is it that small girls permanently smell of biscuits? I may take on an experiment to feed her just cabbage in the weeks to come, and see if the slightly damp, vanilla scent diminishes slightly. I also have puzzled, over the years where all the glitter comes from. After a just ten minutes in her company you will go about your business, only to be told that you have a fleck of glitter upon your person. Where does it come from? Does she sweat glitter? Maybe it is an essential part of Boglin hair? Her barnet is often so boglinesque that I swear a mouse is in residence. Perhaps he is a Disco mouse and adorns his downy fur with multi coloured glitter for his disco nights?
Dear Boglin has a large array of garments. She is a fashionista extraordinaire and could wear a different outfit everyday of the year without having to use the same garment twice. However, around 80% of this wardrobe of delights is now far too small. It was only a couple of month ago I culled the Boglin's wardrobe, and yet here I am again.
I am aware she has a hearty appetite. I do wonder if she is allowed to eat as many servings of lunch at school as she does here. If so do they have an outside caterer just to fill her needs? Or are all the other children shadowy waifs, who have the grey pallid faces of the underfed. Sitting at her feet, begging for scraps from her plate, as she has once more eaten the whole kitchen out of food?
Despite her healthy and hearty appetite, I hasten to add, that I have seen more fat on a sparrow's knee cap. She is still clinging to the delicious shape of a small girl, although age is creeping in and turning her into a teen! She may eat for Britain but she has a the balanced diet nutritionists around the world applaud. She loves fresh fruit and veg and can easily put away as much as any full grown man.
If she is enjoying such a healthy and fulfilling diet it has to be going somewhere. She sure as hell is not overweight in any sense. She is a beautiful image of an eleven year old girl. The only thing that can be done to accommodate this consumption of good home cooking can be height. Ergo, this must be the answer.
With good health among children comes good growth. My two are certainly taking this as the rule.
In conclusion, they do not sleep in grow bags. They have a good and healthy diet!
NB. I may have to raise the door frames to stop them bumping their heads within the next year or so.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow......

our glorious view.

Here at the tinyholding we have been waiting with bated breath for the snow to reach us. It seemed like everyone and their dog had snow except us. We just had ice and drizzle.
Late yesterday afternoon if finally happened. The Somme has turned into a winter wonderland. Crisp white and pure. Not a sludgy puddle in sight. It's simply beautiful. Our spectacular view now sports acres of blue sky over acres of white field. It makes you blink in it's brightness. The view cannot fail to be breath-taking but extremes of weather make it more so.

The tinyholding cubs have had a marvellous time. Snowball fights happened (Poor DD got in the way and found himself a target). They built a snowy shutter over the front window to make it look like we were trapped inside from the living room. Steamy jacket potatoes were requested. Hands rewarmed under cool water.  Soggy gloves, jeans and socks steaming gently on the bathroom floor (for the laundry fairy to pick up of course).

However, the egg laying committee are not so enthralled. As usual the naughty ducks met us at the back door for breakfast but we had to go and hunt down the chickens after they had been let out.
Darcy was the first out. Obviously doing the macho "I'll see if this white stuff is safe, ladies!" fluff, fluff, strut!
Then followed Snowbell. After all nothing a silly as this white stuff will keep her from the choicest picks of breakfast. Maggie saunters out second. The baby of the bunch this is her first snow. She lifted one foot after the other like a cat on a hot tin roof. The others followed suit, slowly but surely. Eyeing the ground with suspicion.
All bar the two banties, Rosie and Violet, seemed to be tucking in. Fearing the worst DD went to investigate. He had nothing to worry about. Passing Rosie on the path after she had plucked up the courage. DD gazed into the coop. There sat Violet. Her feathers fluffed. If she could she would flap her wings about her in a chilly arm flapping way. She eyed DD and seemed to convey, "Brrr. Do you think I'm stupid enough to go out there? Bring me my breakfast Jeeves, and be quick about it!"
She finally decided to give it up as a lost cause and went to get her own.
Wandering barefoot back down the path. DD stopped to give Rosie a stroke and tickle her neck. She almost climbed him. She made it quite clear that his arms was where she was supposed to be. After all, he was warm, up of the ground and willing! He obliged and picked her up. Gave her the obligatory cuddle and tried to put her down. She was not having it! In his arms was clearly the place to be and that is where she wanted to stay, thank you very much. After doing the "get the chicken off me" dance she finally found herself back in the snow. I'm sure she gave him a *look*
Well, they had better get used to it, because it seems it's in for a while. Personally I'm quite happy with it. However, I don't have to go anywhere. No doubt after a week or so I will feel the same lack of patience as the birds. But for now...
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.....

Tearing Down the Walls.

Here, at the Tinyholding DIY is a constant on going process. Think, painting the forth bridge and you will be along the right lines. Our latest undertaking is to tame and beautify the dining room.
Up until this point it has merely been a functional space. It was where we stacked the recycling, ate our meals and journeyed through to reach the kitchen and bathroom.
Well, no longer. It is now officially a building site.
We started by stripping the walls. Not just of wall paper, my friends. Oh no! Here at the Tinyholding we like to do things in style. After removing a few feet of the god awful "old lady" wallpaper it was clear that the 100 year old plaster had given up the ghost. It no longer provided a suitable base to adhere wallpaper to. It was now being held in place by layer upon layer of hideous patterns. Stripping it away was an interesting excavation of the last 50 years of DIY fashion. To be honest, I doubt the good taste of those that have gone before.
Interestingly, we discovered that there had been a cupboard in existence at some time over history. We unearthed the original lintel over the fireplace. Found the "interesting" evidence of other DIY'ers handy work. Most importantly, we have found that the plaster and wallpaper was holding the bottom stair in place.
DD, himself undertook the dusty job of removing the plaster. Inch by inch he removed the offending substance. Inch by inch we covered the house in a thick layer of dust.
There was dust upon every surface. All the trinkets and ornaments around the house had left an imprint of where they lived. Ever the poor cat, Slinky, was dusty. Wandering out from her hidy-hole, she looked like she was coated with years of dust. Showing a close liking to a feline version of Miss Haversham. We were almost expecting her to start quoting about her lost love and asking for Pip and Estella.

The next stage was to plaster the walls. Or so we thought. As it turns out the walls are in such bad shape, the most economical and achievable method was to board the walls. Cue much muttering, measuring and cutting from both DD and his Dad. The boards themselves weigh a ton, and having to move them about has proved to be a challenge in itself. We have had the rather frightening moment when DD almost found himself flattened, pancake like beneath a pile of them. Nesty came rushing to his aid, shouting "come quick, DD is being crushed to death!!!!!!!!!"
Huck, certainly came into his own at this juncture. Flexing his muscles he embarked upon a rescue plan. I felt myself very clearly and defiantly directed by the men of the household in operation "save DD"
For my own part, I was the supplier of both minced tarts and port (after all Christmas was on the horizon).
I spent my time cleaning up the layer of dust (I even dusted the appliance vents) and making cranberry sauce (see recipes).
To date, the building site still stands. The rather wonderful furniture is in residence but the walls/floor are yet to be completed.
Painting the fourth bridge? You bet!



*stay tuned to see updates*

The Taming of The Shrew

 *a Cuckoo Maran

Here at the tinyholding we have taken possession of a new hen. Due to the passing of Ollie; Rip, a true Gent of a cockerel and a beautiful boy, we had room for one more. True we are at the limit but we have no intention of getting any more and restricting their space. We were quite happy to just keep to the egg laying committee we had, but the opportunity of a beautiful Cuckoo Maran came up. She had be raised from egg by a good friend from the land of Downsizer.The chance of chocolate brown eggs was far too good to pass up.
And so.....Enter Maggie.
In true style she was going to be name Daisy as most of the girls have flower names. She is not a flower! Oh no!
She may well be the devil herself!
I was warned that she was a little, ahem, feisty. She sat in her box all the way home from Welshpool like a veritable angel. She was brought into the house, sweet as a kitten. Then DD said "let's have a look at her then"
I merely opened one flap of the box and all hell was unleashed upon us. She exploded into the living room with a flurry of claws, beak, feathers and squawking. It is safe to say DD was afraid, very afraid. Possibly wondering what I had done to unleash such a fury upon him. She was chased down and tucked safely under my arm. I tentatively tickled her chin (fearing for my fingers). A sure enough, given a couple of minuets she was all gentle cooing and fluffiness. We popped her back into her box with a drink and something to eat after allowing her a ten minutes wing stretch. It was, after all, 10 pm.  There she spent her first night at the tinyholding.

The following morning came around and DD did his usual round of feeding and watering the demanding crowd. Again lifting the flap and expecting docility. Silly DD! Chickens don't have a lengthy memory. I was summoned with the slightly worried. "MD, she's OUT!" She was making eyes at the gecko, no way was she going back into the box.
Now, I have integrated many a chicken to a new flock. I isolate the new girl leaving them with the ability to see each other. When the mutual running at each other has stopped within a couple of days they get to play together but sleep apart until I sneak out at night, and put new hen next to big boss hen on the perch. It has never failed.

Having a slightly new set up since settling in at the tinyholding I would have to rearrange some sort of run.
DD says "Let's just pop her out and see how they get on". I, myself was more than a little dubious but thought, we can alway intervene if needed.

Here is how it went. Darcey (the cad) grew a couple of inches. I am sure he was standing on tippy toes. You could almost hear the spirit of Leslie Phillips emanate from him "Hell-o". He promptly popped his step ladder under his wing and went in hot pursuit.
Pecky eyed her with some distant speculation. Biding her time to show her who really governs around here. After all, she does have the Thatcheresque barnet. All other hens have been allowed to *think* they rule the roost and she will casually let them stretch their proverbial wings. But, get too full of themselves? Not on Pecky's watch!
Gwynn and Snowbell trotted ever so slowly up to her. She pretended to mind her own business. Scratching for grubs. Slowly, slowly, catchy Maggie! Shuffle, shuffle, peck, scratch, look the other way. Closer, closer until, wham! feather and wing at the ready. Who's the biggest? Well, after around 4 seconds, clearly it was Maggy. Gwynn was shown what for. She did not pass go she did not collect her hundred grains.
The frat-house hazing that Snowbell had clearly put her up to had failed. Gwynn is still  the new girl! Snowbell takes one step toward Maggie. Intent on sorting this issue out herself. Maggie looks at her. I must say, I have never seen a chicken shuffle backwards before. Her wings metaphorically in the air "Okay, okay, every-thing's cool here. It's your garden now."
During the kerfuffle Rosie and Violet raised the sweet little heads and started their turbo chicken decent of the garden. About a third of the way they stopped dead in their tracks and beat a hasty retreat.
Then comes the surprise. After her five minute affirmation of the garden she spent the rest of the day perched upon the old garden bench, with the other girls exchanging coos. She has settled in as if she has always been a part of the gang. Even Snowbell seems to be happy with her company.
This, however is not the end of her tale. She is clearly a wanderer. The very first evening DD went to pop her away. She had not, after all, been shown her accommodation. The Bell boy and chamber maid had been a little lax. She was nowhere to be seen. DD hunted, I hunted. We then hunted together. Nothing. Damn it!
We decided to leave it for the night as she may have gone to ground under the shed or some such thing. Around an hour after their bed time there was knock upon the door and the time old question "Have you lost a chicken?"
"Yes", we yelled in unison.
Fortunately she had decided to pay a visit to the local animal fosterer. The lady (and grandmother of the cubs friends) who takes in every waif and stray. We were told we could pick her up in the morning as right now "she was sleeping". I'll bet she was! She had made it across around 20 gardens to get to her destination.
She has now been returned to the garden and her new joint committee members. One wing clipped and happy.
In all the handling over her first few days she has become quite docile. She now will be picked up, with a small amount of persuasion and given a chin tickle. Always handy for mite and foot checking.
In all the adventures we have, indeed, Tamed the Shrew.
Many thanks to Pookie for our latest girl. She is delightful!
*photo yoinked from  The Devonshire Traditional Breed Centre
for beautiful cuckoo maran pullets contact Rosie Pointer