All go in the Village.

chick chickMore than once I have heard people say, “It must be so dull living in the country!” Boring?

This morning I passed a husband and wife out on their tricycles, cycling down the main street of the Village. She followed behind, coated in a bright yellow high visibility safety vest, with L plates front and back on the trike. I guess she could always fall off her seat…

On the other side of town, a man was walking by the side of the road, dressed in dark pants, a camouflage tee-shirt, and a khaki hat sporting camouflage netting; enough to cover his face and neck. It was 6.30 am. Perhaps on his way home from a night of twitching?

I often follow an Armaguard vehicle delivering money to local banks and business. Most times I have to resist the urge to race up close behind in my car and pretend that I am tailing them with intent. The only thing that restrains me is the knowledge that they carry guns.

All go in the Village.

The Accidental Twitcher

A day is not complete for Mr Fd without checking on the many birds nesting in our garden. Parrots, rosellas, lorikeets, tawny frogmouths, cockatoos, magpies and even minors are all hatching on our grounds.

A little disappointingly, the easiest nest to see is the minor birds’ nest. Mama and Papa have three chicks, who have grown rather efficiently into fledglings before our gaze. Too big for the nest, they have now been moved to a nearby tree for safety. Not before we managed to get a photograph of them, though.

Birdie in the nest

They are well hidden amongst the beaches and leaves, but the continual chirping for food and attention gives them away immediately. From our guest bedroom, we can watch them from the comfort of the bed! Now that’s the way to twitch!

Luckily, it has rained in the last couple of days and the trees aren’t quite as stressed. It won’t last for long. Hopefully the birds will linger longer


Drunken fruit season approaching


I had tucked up the drunken dried fruits for the night, with the intention of mixing the Christmas cake on the morrow when I received that phone call alerting us to the knowledge that my Mother was in an ambulance. So life being life, those fruits got to imbibe the Napoleon brandy for an entire week until I could return to the kitchen.

The recipe evolves every year. This year in a salute to the sugar less family members I used rice syrup instead of brown sugar. The proof will indeed be in the mixing.

I am still trying to reconcile my brain with the knowledge that the organic rice syrup  was a product of Belgium. In all my fantasies I have never imagined the Belgians: Flemish, Walloons or German, as rice growers; but who am I to argue with a food label? Should I ever travel to Belgium I shall waste time looking for them toiling in the rice paddies.

This year, as the family will be split between east and west Australian coasts I will endeavour, family dramas allowing, to bake a second dried fruit cake to transport to Perth. We shall partake as we hopefully also toast the safe arrival of Peppercorn Flamingo Dancer, due Boxing Day.

Terrible season for a birthday, but fear not, as long as Granny Flamingo Dancer is able, she will ensure a birthday worth celebrating. No one present for both occasions – no fair.

Christmas is going to be a drunken affair this year, as I gifting dessert fruits in various alcoholic syrups as my office gifts. Nothing that cannot be used short term, or requires long term storage is my mantra these days. It must also be something I would be happy to receive myself – the ultimate good taste test!

Maybe the world would be a jollier place if we steeped all our foods in alcohol. Grumpy Cat might not be required to communicate for us. I wonder if a red or a white would go best with porridge?