weepingfoxfury - Tumblr blog

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is sliding through the Sunday Oldies ... 'Betcha by Golly, Wow' by The Stylistics is first up ... "There's a spark of magic in your eyes, Candyland appears each time you smile ..."

The bees are still asleep, much like my brain ... we're just sitting and waiting for the sun.

I've always wondered why bees only get to sting once ... how come the wasps get both the lion's share of stinging plus keep their lives? Could they be Capitalists?

Nicholas Cage shouted "Oh no, not the bees! Not the bees!" ... the bees came in Candyman ... Killer Bees with mutant rampaging bees. Bee movies, or B-movies? Now there's a thought ...

I can remember all the times a wasp got me ... angry little critters seem to be having a far worse day than the bees. Therefore, surely the wasps should be the angry stunt 'men' for the bees.

So ... here's to the bees ... bees who are more evolved ... bees who, over thousands of years, are the Dr Jekyll to the wasps Mr Hyde ... and who apparently need far less therapy than the wasps who must be paying hush money to keep the cameras away.

Or maybe, they just know where all the bodies are buried ...

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is offering today's quiz. Name the 4 songs and work out what the 5th should be. Taylor Swift eases her way through yet another song that makes me think of lift interiors.

Bluebells aplenty. I had the temerity to move amongst them. They're situated beneath the Rookery. 'Presents' showered down and I beat a hasty retreat.

Newspaper day has arrived again. One Groundhog Day TV Guide if you please, and some of your finest 'news' to wrap my cat litter in.

The temperature has dipped again ... my toes ache in spite of the sunshine.

Trying to mix up my morning routine ... my hands and one and only marble have yet to agree on anything.

"We went down into the silent garden. Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves" - Leonora Carrington

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is definitely a chocolate chobbling consumer, constantly and abley aided and abetted by his audience. 'Dig a little deeper, when the answer's hard to find' sings The Butterfly Graveyard. Not the man on the radio's usual fare, more Ibiza than Emerald Isle. The chef on the radio is imminent. Pesto stuffed chicken breast and tiramisu are today's mouth waterers.

The garish yellow from next door's fields has eased it's way into the garden. Scarily coloured en masse, slightly less offensive in close up. Perhaps this usurper is in some way responsible for the behemoth bee that entered the kitchen yesterday afternoon. Poisonous pesticides mean mobile hives are being used. Oh the irony of farmers fighting for their right to continue with carcinogens. I wonder how the local bees feel about these nomadic pollinators.

A few years ago I found the largest and bluest of bees ... briefly in my hand before being placed among flowers ... a beauty to behold.

"And pray, who are you?" ... Said the violet blue ... To the bee, with surprise ... At his wonderful size, In her eye-glass of dew.

"I, Madam", quoth he, ... "Am a publican bee, ... Collecting the tax ... On honey and wax. ... Have you nothing for me?"

John B Tabb

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is talking to a gentleman I have no name for. He sounds nice even with no name or frame of reference. After one of his recent performances he remembers two audience comments ... 'Your singing gives me chicken pox' ... 'One of you has it.' The traffic lady has been delayed.

Less sunshine today but the dandelions don't seem to mind. Watered the plants this morning, spotted an unbought and unexpected Hosta. Hosta are prone to slug attacks which is why I don't buy them. The slug predators are obviously doing a good job.

Tempting as it was yesterday, I bought no plants.

I've bought no books this week either.

Nor extra clothes.

Window shopper ... is that now me? But I definitely didn't buy any of those either. Perhaps I'm just a browser with a faulty search engine ...

PS: The man being interviewed was called James ... I hope James has a good day ...

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio talks with the traffic lady about the cost of going to see your favourite singer, mentions Stevie Nicks, the traffic lady says she'd spend 100 euro maximum. Someone called Tracy won the musical clip competition this morning. Take it away Barbra Streisand, it's your Birthday today.

Blossom upon blossom on the apple tree. I'm peering through my condensation covered window. Two young Rooks are building their first nest high above the apple trees. The ground is littered with all the twigs that fell during construction. The main Rookery is the other side of the house. I wish them luck.

Shiny metropolis part II. Town seems oddly quiet these days. Did the rapture take place again? Or did the mother ship finally find these missing people? Perhaps an unexpected portal?

Can't help but think of South Park and Cartman's alien probe. Such irreverence ... surely I'm going to hell. Best add marshmallows to today's shopping list ...

[weepingfoxfury]

Belfort, France, 23 Avril 2024

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio talks of winning a prize for a luxury hotel before Rod Stewart tells us 'I get up in the morning, and while I'm still yawning, I watch the television and digest the news.' The traffic lady mentions Harold's Cross and Dolphin Barn and the usual collisions, car crashes and chaos.

Adverts ... adverts ... adverts ... when taking antihistamines always keep away from children.

The shiny metropolis awaits, perhaps going through the ivy covered window to get there. Another Tuesday in Tuesdayville.

Been watching old style ghost stories, once a week, M R James and his stuffed shirt pouring out it's contents. A friend reminded me I've yet to listen to the peeling of The Yellow Wallpaper.

The eyes are meant to be the windows to the soul ... does a head tilt change the reflection? The window cleaner gave up his job and took to star gazing. A new constellation to sweep away consternation ...

[weepingfoxfury]

Rake

[weepingfoxfury]

'La Vie En Rose' is sung by Jack Nicholson with a background of several birds as the bedroom window is open. The man on the radio talks of birthdays and how many children Jack has.

The dandelions are as busy as the bees. There's advert after advert on the radio telling people to let things grow to help the bees whilst the neighbourhood thrums and backfires to the sound and fumes of mowers.

The birds and the bees are both in the trees. A couple of years back a neighbours' cows came in search of apples. They came, they rubbed and relieved itches against the house, they helped themselves to fruit and lay down in the long, long grass. I'm glad cows can't climb trees.

There's a bird close by that is imitating perfectly and with gusto the sound of the bell on Lady Clemence's collar. The bees and birds should form a band.

Mondays, Mondays, Mondays ... maybe someone should tell Bob they're not so bad after all ...

[weepingfoxfury]

'My sun shall rise in the East, so shall my heart be at peace' sings Jon & Vangelis. The man on the radio is not the usual man on the radio for this time of day.

Here with the apple blossoms with feet far away on endless sands heading to an empty horizon. Blue, blue skies, garments fluttering toward the place of origin. 'Remind me why we came' ...

Doesn't matter who you are, we're all in this together ... the best suction you could possibly want ... do you need care in your home? ...

Intrusive, endless adverts ... so now the radio is off and the man on the radio who was not the man on the radio I was expecting can only be heard distantly from the kitchen radio.

Another Sunday ... lather, rinse, repeat ...

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is talking his way through the front pages of the main newspapers ... the Stardust nightclub, 48 young lives lost; surge in road deaths linked to texting while driving; more empty electioneering promises from the Government as they shout 'Look! An Eagle!'

Back to the music ... don't know the band ... lyrics to do with strawberries, sugar and that summer feeling.

Sunshine and coffee and sick on my slippers. One of the dogs left the 'present' and distracted me walked right into it.

Bob Geldof sings of not liking Mondays. Most times I have no clue what day it is as I wake. Sod Mondays, it's Tuesday, always Tuesday.

The bluebells are everywhere, along with the dandelions. Glorious!! Bought an apple tree yesterday ... took childish delight in wheeling it around the supermarket ... made me think of bumper cars and the pole that stuck up at the back.

Saturday is newspaper day ... but just for the TV Guide ... the newspaper is for making cat litter parcels with, always fun to pop poop on a disliked picture ... the TV Guide is a reminder that it's Groundhog Day every day.

Time for more coffee ...

[weepingfoxfury]

Flowers in the bush 🇦🇺

[weepingfoxfury]

Strongylodon macrobotrys

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio says he went out last night to The Gaiety, and on a school night too. As ever, I'm distracted so don't catch exactly what it was he went to see. 'The Very Thought of You' with Ella Fitzgerald follows as he continues to extol the acting virtues of Dan Butler.

Weather today is mild with a heavy hint of chicken manure. Still preferable to the chemical 'fresh air' that the shiny metropolis denizens seem to have a penchant for.

The larger size moths have hatched indoors again, so I'm vying with them for the light of the screen.

The water butt dwellers are also busy increasing their numbers whilst diving away from the twig missiles that the Rooks keep dropping mid flight. The guttering is beginning to look like a strange kind of legless porcupine with the amount of nest material that's landed in it.

Obviously time to put in my bid for The Umbrella (Ireland only has one) ... all sorts of things to dodge now the breeding season is well underway. If you don't hear from me for a while, I either got buried beneath the latest nesting material deluge or I'm now part of someone's nest ;-) ...

[weepingfoxfury]

[weepingfoxfury]

'On days like these ...' sings Matt Monro. The man on the radio has forgotten to mute his mike ... he's murmuring along with Matt and the shuffle of papers can be heard. The track finishes, he's talking of Quincy Jones and the fact that he's seen him wear Crocs. Too early for the traffic lady, but you don't need to be Mystic Meg to guess the state of the roads.

Must have been a fan of Febreze in the shiny metropolis yesterday. The car park reeked of the stuff. That or there's now a new world record for the largest Glade plug in. (Adds gas mask to shopping list).

Bliss to get home again, spend time with smallest dog gazing at trees.

Brought home a sorry looking Syringa (Lilac). It rivalled an elephant for the amount of water it sucked up overnight. Had to say sayonara and so so sorry to the one that had been in the tub next to it on the shelf. I like to try to save the seemingly unsaveable plants, but a dead stick in a tub is beyond my alchemy.

The traffic lady is back, the traffic report is as expected ... I'm off to talk to the trees ...

[weepingfoxfury]

I have no idea what budgie is besides possible an alien from an alternate dimension or a radioactive sewer rat from Marvel’s New York but I am OBSESSED with her she’s so scrungly and adorable 😩💜

She is somethin real funky but man I love her