Listening to Afternoons on National Radio one afternoon last week I was lucky enough to hear Gary McCormack, a resident of Christchurch, reading this poem:
What the Drummer said to the Drum
Sitting in my comfortable chair in Dunedin in the days following the earthquake I had felt an urge to write a poem in response. But in the end I felt that from said chair there was nothing I should say.
At the time of the destruction of the world trade centre in 2001 I was enrolled in a poetry writing course at university. That day in my comfortable chair halfway around the world I penned a poem. It involved a sleeping Dorothy in a field of poppies, winged monkeys gnawing at her breasts. The Lion roared. The Tin Man discarded his heart. I can't remember what the scarecrow did. The imagery seemed so apt. I am still embarrassed by it.
When it comes, as Gary mentions at the end of his poem, to making sense of it...
There's a blog I read by a theologian-philosopher Glenn Peoples. At times I feel compelled to argue with him in the comments over trifling points relating to larger issues he supports, but on the whole I respect his posts explaining various religious and philosophical subjects, and the depth of reading he draws on for these. I don't go to church, but when I did, after the music, I did enjoy sermons interpreting the scripture. Where I live, the Bible is still the source of many of our ideas on morality, the nature of our existence, and how we cope with adversity, so even if you would take nothing else from it it's still worth appreciating. So I read him.
Anyway, in his latest post, Glenn quotes a verse about a man born blind. The disciples question Jesus about him and the response is given - “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.”
Harsh if you're the blind man, but that to me is the function that disasters, whether in New York, China, Pakistan or right here on our doorstep and involving people we know serve for humanity.
Stories that are worth the telling are told again and again. Shakespeare is re-presented and remade (RichardIII - High Noon, The Taming of the Shrew - Ten Things I Hate about You, I'm going from memory here, correct me if the titles are wrong) And every child that goes to Sunday School gets their chance to fill a role in the annual nativity play.
This time we see our own countrymen taking up roles in the disaster story.
A woman is trapped in a collapsed building. Her fiance waits outside while rescuers search the building. They were to get married that friday. Miraculously she is rescued, largely unscathed. The wedding goes ahead in a church unaffected by the quake and all the invited guests are able to attend.
A man's family see him on live television being carried, covered in soot, from a destroyed shopping mall. Days later they have called every hospital they can think of and still have no idea of his whereabouts.
An "awesome maori guy" is caught on camera seconds after a building falls lifting huge blocks of masonry to rescue people from the debris. His name, by the way, from the Herald article, suggests he's actually a pacific islander in case he wanted that acnowledged.
Some dairy owners are reported as charging nearly double the usual price for bread and milk. (I seem to remember when something similar happened after the Edgecumbe earthquake, the shop owner in question was all but run out of town.)
A man whose family survived and was sitting at home wondering how to help is told just to sit tight. That wasn't enough for him so he canvases local businesses for donations of coffee and tea supplies and sets about providing refreshments to rescue workers. (Little things like this bring tears to my eyes.)
Families recieve texts and phonecalls from people trapped alive under ruins. It seems that some of these texters will not be rescued.
And there are reports of looters and drunkenness.
From the best of luck to the cruellest of fate, from self sacrifice to selfishness. Our people have found themselves arbitrarily cast in roles in a story that is retold on different stages around the world again and again and again. As a child I was proud to be given the role of Joseph in the Nativity Play, and then disgruntled when I realised it wasn't a speaking part. We play the parts we are given, though how we play them is sometimes up to us.
In the end I can probably make no more sense of this than Gary, who was there.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Christchurch
Just yesterday morning I was listening to a news report about how people put out of their homes by last years earthquake in Canterbury were coming to the end of the accomodation cover provided by their insurance. It set me to musing about something I had read about an earthquake that had affected Canterbury in the 19th century. I can't find reference to it in any of the places I thought I had read it now.
What I thought I read was that in the 1800s Christchurch was hit by a mildly damaging earthquake, followed within a year by a much worse one which knocked the tip from the Cathedral Spire. Either I dreamed it, and am more of a prophet than I thought... or it's in "The Brick Book" which I borrowed from the library to research things for my studies in construction, and which contains a section on masonry performance in earthquake conditions.
Anyway, enough about me. Whether I dreamed it and am a prophet, or I read it and noted something about Canterbury geology which nobody else has bothered to bring up, It happened again today. I felt it, waited ten minutes for the geonet site to update, texted a friend to say I hoped they were ok and then turned on the radio.
This is the earthquake we were all so thankful we didn't get last September - everyone was tucked safely in their beds at 4:30 that morning. This time the town was busy, and the workplaces relatively full. This time people died.
I'm not the sort that feels my sympathetic comments mean much in the face of something like this, but here, if you like, are a few things that come to mind that we can still be thankful for over this event.
12:50pm is right smack back in the middle of the primary school lunch hour, so the little kiddies were all (comparatively) safe outside in the playground. I heard a report from one of the school principals who'd been in communication with the other schools saying "they're all safe".
Our building code has, for a signifcant time now, enforced the inclusion of bracing elements against exactly this type of event in new buildings. We don't always get it right, but it was heartening to see behind the footage of collapsed historic buildings (and one relatively new one I do admit) a number of newer buildings still largely intact, and therefore capable of allowing the occupants out safely. We take the earthquake risk seriously when we build and it does pay off.
We saw on the TV something of the stoic kiwi I identify with - people calmly helping each other out and showing comfort and affection to the distaught with little of the staged hysterics the movies have taught us to expect. We still just muck in and help each other.
Alright... that's all I can think of. I watched the news this afternoon and seeing one of our most beautiful cities strewn with rubble for the second time in less than a year; seeing the cathedral fallen; seeing people milling, wearing a mixture of shock and their own blood; and hearing of a rising number of fatalities has the whisper of tears pressing around my eyes this evening.
My best wishes to all affected and to their families,
The Gedle
What I thought I read was that in the 1800s Christchurch was hit by a mildly damaging earthquake, followed within a year by a much worse one which knocked the tip from the Cathedral Spire. Either I dreamed it, and am more of a prophet than I thought... or it's in "The Brick Book" which I borrowed from the library to research things for my studies in construction, and which contains a section on masonry performance in earthquake conditions.
Anyway, enough about me. Whether I dreamed it and am a prophet, or I read it and noted something about Canterbury geology which nobody else has bothered to bring up, It happened again today. I felt it, waited ten minutes for the geonet site to update, texted a friend to say I hoped they were ok and then turned on the radio.
This is the earthquake we were all so thankful we didn't get last September - everyone was tucked safely in their beds at 4:30 that morning. This time the town was busy, and the workplaces relatively full. This time people died.
I'm not the sort that feels my sympathetic comments mean much in the face of something like this, but here, if you like, are a few things that come to mind that we can still be thankful for over this event.
12:50pm is right smack back in the middle of the primary school lunch hour, so the little kiddies were all (comparatively) safe outside in the playground. I heard a report from one of the school principals who'd been in communication with the other schools saying "they're all safe".
Our building code has, for a signifcant time now, enforced the inclusion of bracing elements against exactly this type of event in new buildings. We don't always get it right, but it was heartening to see behind the footage of collapsed historic buildings (and one relatively new one I do admit) a number of newer buildings still largely intact, and therefore capable of allowing the occupants out safely. We take the earthquake risk seriously when we build and it does pay off.
We saw on the TV something of the stoic kiwi I identify with - people calmly helping each other out and showing comfort and affection to the distaught with little of the staged hysterics the movies have taught us to expect. We still just muck in and help each other.
Alright... that's all I can think of. I watched the news this afternoon and seeing one of our most beautiful cities strewn with rubble for the second time in less than a year; seeing the cathedral fallen; seeing people milling, wearing a mixture of shock and their own blood; and hearing of a rising number of fatalities has the whisper of tears pressing around my eyes this evening.
My best wishes to all affected and to their families,
The Gedle
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Can anybody help me?
Google has failed me. I'm looking for the "nymph poem" by Sir Joseph Banks. Anyone out there have a copy?
A few months ago I was listening to National Radio (IknowIknow - Radio New Zealand National. But why do we have to constantly rebrand everything? How are we expected to know where we are any more) about the middle of last year and there happened to be a documenary programme about Banks and his life after the Endeavour.
From what I remember of it, Banks, in addition to being the botanist aboard on Cook's expedition to the antipodes, and later head of the Royal Society back in England, was the son of a wealthy landed family in Lincolnshire.
As a child he wandered the Lincolnshire Fens, at that time teeming with birdlife, fish and flowers and something of a foodbasket for the local people. It was this childhood that apparently gave him his enthusiasm to become a naturalist.
However, when he returned to England after his travels and gained power and influence, he was apparently instrumental in making possible the draining of the fens for farmland. I can't remember if he was in parliament, but he lobbied for law changes and such, and as a result the flora and fauna of the Fens were replaced in a relatively short amount of time with grass and good British cattle. I'm sure he made a lot of money.
Now, what I remember being so poetic about the whole story was that late in life Banks looked back on his childhood and seeing the changes to the Lincolnshire landscape he had brought about, felt a wee bit of despair. The fens of his childhood were gone.
A short extract from a poem he was moved to write was read out on this radio show. The Nymph of the Fens rises out of the water, described wonderfully, and laments the damage done to her home.
I remember thinking: "Gosh, that was quite good. I must look it up"
Anybody out there know what I'm talking about? ...or am I actually going to have to trudge down to the library and look in an actual book? (and-that-reminds-me-return-a-bunch-of-overdue-ones-while-I'm-at-it...)
A few months ago I was listening to National Radio (IknowIknow - Radio New Zealand National. But why do we have to constantly rebrand everything? How are we expected to know where we are any more) about the middle of last year and there happened to be a documenary programme about Banks and his life after the Endeavour.
From what I remember of it, Banks, in addition to being the botanist aboard on Cook's expedition to the antipodes, and later head of the Royal Society back in England, was the son of a wealthy landed family in Lincolnshire.
As a child he wandered the Lincolnshire Fens, at that time teeming with birdlife, fish and flowers and something of a foodbasket for the local people. It was this childhood that apparently gave him his enthusiasm to become a naturalist.
However, when he returned to England after his travels and gained power and influence, he was apparently instrumental in making possible the draining of the fens for farmland. I can't remember if he was in parliament, but he lobbied for law changes and such, and as a result the flora and fauna of the Fens were replaced in a relatively short amount of time with grass and good British cattle. I'm sure he made a lot of money.
Now, what I remember being so poetic about the whole story was that late in life Banks looked back on his childhood and seeing the changes to the Lincolnshire landscape he had brought about, felt a wee bit of despair. The fens of his childhood were gone.
A short extract from a poem he was moved to write was read out on this radio show. The Nymph of the Fens rises out of the water, described wonderfully, and laments the damage done to her home.
I remember thinking: "Gosh, that was quite good. I must look it up"
Anybody out there know what I'm talking about? ...or am I actually going to have to trudge down to the library and look in an actual book? (and-that-reminds-me-return-a-bunch-of-overdue-ones-while-I'm-at-it...)
Monday, February 14, 2011
No wonder I tried to lose that question sheet...
Well, Clive Barker is playing bridesmaid to US10039 measurement-residential, assessment part one, question two - plasterboard linings.
As far as I can make out, because all it says on the specification page for the plasterboard linings trade is that stopping to achieve a level 4 finish is to be carried out wherever the surface is exposed, BUT, under the painting specification it mentions applying lining paper to walls in areas S2, S3 and S13, I should measure for stopping to level 3 in those areas.
No cornice of any type is mentioned in either the plasterboard or the interior-joinery-and-trim specification, and, looking at the cross sections a square wall-ceiling junction is shown with no description. I'll assume that this means I must measure for stopping a fair internal angle at the wall-ceiling junction... in metres.
Now... Now that I have looked at the cross sections I notice that the ceiling angle changes in rooms S1, S11 and S12 half way between the external wall and the lines on the plan marked "beam over" so that's another thing to measure... and the "beam over" in question will require plasterboard sheathing (sheathing of beams and columns must be scheduled separately in metres... no wait... only if they are cast in one piece) and also an extra value item for working in narrow widths less than 300mm.
I don't think I have to worry about S1 which is specified to be lined with James Hardie Villaboard, at least on the walls... but I must remember to measure for a gib ceiling.
Everything else seems fairly straightforward, except that I'll have to check back and forth to the bracing plan on sheet 8 as the gib-standard will have to be substituted with braceline wherever shown on that drawing...
Now that's an interesting question... as an interior wall lining should I be measuring the villaboard in S1 along with the plasterboard trade? Fibre cement sheet is not covered as an interior lining at all in NZS4202...
As far as I can make out, because all it says on the specification page for the plasterboard linings trade is that stopping to achieve a level 4 finish is to be carried out wherever the surface is exposed, BUT, under the painting specification it mentions applying lining paper to walls in areas S2, S3 and S13, I should measure for stopping to level 3 in those areas.
No cornice of any type is mentioned in either the plasterboard or the interior-joinery-and-trim specification, and, looking at the cross sections a square wall-ceiling junction is shown with no description. I'll assume that this means I must measure for stopping a fair internal angle at the wall-ceiling junction... in metres.
Now... Now that I have looked at the cross sections I notice that the ceiling angle changes in rooms S1, S11 and S12 half way between the external wall and the lines on the plan marked "beam over" so that's another thing to measure... and the "beam over" in question will require plasterboard sheathing (sheathing of beams and columns must be scheduled separately in metres... no wait... only if they are cast in one piece) and also an extra value item for working in narrow widths less than 300mm.
I don't think I have to worry about S1 which is specified to be lined with James Hardie Villaboard, at least on the walls... but I must remember to measure for a gib ceiling.
Everything else seems fairly straightforward, except that I'll have to check back and forth to the bracing plan on sheet 8 as the gib-standard will have to be substituted with braceline wherever shown on that drawing...
Now that's an interesting question... as an interior wall lining should I be measuring the villaboard in S1 along with the plasterboard trade? Fibre cement sheet is not covered as an interior lining at all in NZS4202...
Danger
I started a book last night and it could be a problem. Reading one I mean. It was late when I started and there was a bit on my mind and despite that it was starting to grab me even though I knew I had to go to sleep. It's just lucky that somebody woke me this morning to give them a lift somewhere and I didn't get time to lay my hand on it then or that would have been me till bedtime tonight.
After I'd given that lift I came home to discover the rim of the toilet bowl had broken off again. I glued it together with superglue about three months ago, because at the time the landlord didn't sound that keen on replacing a broken loo, so it's done pretty well really. (As an aside I can say from this that toilet duck doesn't clean under the rim). Anyway it's not that much fun ringing up to hear the landlord wince at the thought of maintenance, so I decided there and then that I needed some araldite. We also needed bit of school uniform from town and some cricket gear and apparently some shelf brackets for shelves I'm going to put up, from Mega. So those of us that were left bundled into the car to go foraging. The book, for now forgotten lay by my bedside waiting.
It was a short trip, only about two hundred dollars long, and when we got back I put together some toasted sandwiches for lunch. While I ate them I thought with distaste about gluing the loo back together. I decided (buying some time) that I might be able to do some of the assessment for that QS course I'm doing by correspondence if only I could find the bit of paper with the questions on it. I had, for the moment, forgotten the book, which is by Clive Barker. Clive Barker is one of those authors I don't read often, but can't put down once I start reading.
Sadly the piece of paper was exactly where I thought it was. I had no choice. I laid a dirty towel on the puddle in front of the loo to kneel on and began drying out the broken pieces of rim with an heat gun. Then I mixed up all the araldite (my dad used to be so measly with it) and smeared it over everything I could think of and pushed the pieces back into places. My hands were all over it when somebody came in and asked me if I would make some more toasted sandwiches when I had finished. Do you really want that? I thought, looking at where my hands were. The book lay waiting. Do you know somebody once gave me a trilogy for Christmas and I didn't speak to anybody until the day after boxing day? No books for me at Christmas please, save them for the winter holidays when there's more of an excuse.
Well, it all seemed to be sticking and the araldite had filled them holes from missing shards quite nicely, so I got up and made those toasted sandwiches.... no wait... I got up and washed my hands and then made those toasted sandwiches. Then I sat down with the question paper, the plans, the course book, the take-off paper, the calculator and my copy of NZS4202 to look at the assessment. It consists of taking-off-quantities-for-sheet-vinyl-flooring-in-an-amenities-building-making-allowances-for-extra-value-over-coved-upstand-skirtings-and-enumerating-all-internal,-external-and-irregular-mitres-and-for-cutting-and-fitting-to-openings, all laid out neatly according to the conventions described in the standard and not missing anything out. I got up to find a pencil.
You know obsessive reading runs in the family... I remember when I was eight or nine my brother would come home from university exhausted. After sleeping for thirty hours or so he would rise and make his way to the bookshelves in the hall. When he'd selected ten or twelve books he would return to the lounge, pausing only to grab the fruit bowl from the servery, and lie face down on the three seater couch, his feet dangling over one end and his head over the other. To one side he would stack the pile of books and to the other he set the fruit bowl. I remember watching for hours on end in fascination as he rhythmically turned page after page. The pile of unread books gradually got lower and lower, and the stack of read ones grew. By dinner time he'd read them all and emptied the fruit bowl too.
Anyway I've now got half of that assessment done, and a list of questions for when I ring the tutor in the morning. Everyone's in bed and the lights are all out and I've just remembered that book. I won't be able to find it in the dark... but when I get home from work tomorrow it will be waiting...
All the best,
The Gedle
After I'd given that lift I came home to discover the rim of the toilet bowl had broken off again. I glued it together with superglue about three months ago, because at the time the landlord didn't sound that keen on replacing a broken loo, so it's done pretty well really. (As an aside I can say from this that toilet duck doesn't clean under the rim). Anyway it's not that much fun ringing up to hear the landlord wince at the thought of maintenance, so I decided there and then that I needed some araldite. We also needed bit of school uniform from town and some cricket gear and apparently some shelf brackets for shelves I'm going to put up, from Mega. So those of us that were left bundled into the car to go foraging. The book, for now forgotten lay by my bedside waiting.
It was a short trip, only about two hundred dollars long, and when we got back I put together some toasted sandwiches for lunch. While I ate them I thought with distaste about gluing the loo back together. I decided (buying some time) that I might be able to do some of the assessment for that QS course I'm doing by correspondence if only I could find the bit of paper with the questions on it. I had, for the moment, forgotten the book, which is by Clive Barker. Clive Barker is one of those authors I don't read often, but can't put down once I start reading.
Sadly the piece of paper was exactly where I thought it was. I had no choice. I laid a dirty towel on the puddle in front of the loo to kneel on and began drying out the broken pieces of rim with an heat gun. Then I mixed up all the araldite (my dad used to be so measly with it) and smeared it over everything I could think of and pushed the pieces back into places. My hands were all over it when somebody came in and asked me if I would make some more toasted sandwiches when I had finished. Do you really want that? I thought, looking at where my hands were. The book lay waiting. Do you know somebody once gave me a trilogy for Christmas and I didn't speak to anybody until the day after boxing day? No books for me at Christmas please, save them for the winter holidays when there's more of an excuse.
Well, it all seemed to be sticking and the araldite had filled them holes from missing shards quite nicely, so I got up and made those toasted sandwiches.... no wait... I got up and washed my hands and then made those toasted sandwiches. Then I sat down with the question paper, the plans, the course book, the take-off paper, the calculator and my copy of NZS4202 to look at the assessment. It consists of taking-off-quantities-for-sheet-vinyl-flooring-in-an-amenities-building-making-allowances-for-extra-value-over-coved-upstand-skirtings-and-enumerating-all-internal,-external-and-irregular-mitres-and-for-cutting-and-fitting-to-openings, all laid out neatly according to the conventions described in the standard and not missing anything out. I got up to find a pencil.
You know obsessive reading runs in the family... I remember when I was eight or nine my brother would come home from university exhausted. After sleeping for thirty hours or so he would rise and make his way to the bookshelves in the hall. When he'd selected ten or twelve books he would return to the lounge, pausing only to grab the fruit bowl from the servery, and lie face down on the three seater couch, his feet dangling over one end and his head over the other. To one side he would stack the pile of books and to the other he set the fruit bowl. I remember watching for hours on end in fascination as he rhythmically turned page after page. The pile of unread books gradually got lower and lower, and the stack of read ones grew. By dinner time he'd read them all and emptied the fruit bowl too.
Anyway I've now got half of that assessment done, and a list of questions for when I ring the tutor in the morning. Everyone's in bed and the lights are all out and I've just remembered that book. I won't be able to find it in the dark... but when I get home from work tomorrow it will be waiting...
All the best,
The Gedle
Friday, February 11, 2011
Terrifying Tim
For anyone who's interested the hedgehog problem seems to have been contained. The cat-biscuits are now on the shelf in the pantry, and, at least while summer lasts (Ha! Summer...) both cats are being fed outside.
I just went out there to get something. The tortoiseshell (Coco) was sitting looking quizzically at me through the glass of the door as if I ought to do something. Then, when I stepped out, there was a clunk by my foot of her dish returning to position and a desperate scurrying noise as the small hog tried to force itself in the dark into another too small bolt-hole.
It's nice to know I'm that awe-inspiring.
I just went out there to get something. The tortoiseshell (Coco) was sitting looking quizzically at me through the glass of the door as if I ought to do something. Then, when I stepped out, there was a clunk by my foot of her dish returning to position and a desperate scurrying noise as the small hog tried to force itself in the dark into another too small bolt-hole.
It's nice to know I'm that awe-inspiring.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Under siege
I have to remember to shut the kitchen door as soon as it gets dark now. There's not just one anymore. I swear I'll wake up one morning and find a whole crew of them lined up on the end of the bed looking at me.
What?
Hedgehogs. That's what.
As well as the enormous one I was telling you all about the other night, there's also a smaller one. The smaller one is not very bright. It turned up in the middle of the day the other day - snuffling along - it ambled out of nowhere into the conservatory as I was sitting with my afternoon coffee. Completely ignoring me it went straight into the kitchen and tried to force its way into a gap under the kitchen cupboards about the size of a matchbox.
Maybe it thinks it's an octopus? Did you know an octopus, regardless of its size can squeeze through any hole large enough to fit its beak (the only solid part of an octopus) through? <shivers> This is not true for hedgehogs.
Anyway hedgehogs in the kitchen are disgusting. (They're riddled with disease you know) And there was this one with its nose wedged under the pot cupboard door. I wasn't sure how I would move it, and whether it had got any of its spines through and if they would act like the barb on an arrow or a fish-hook and the thing would be stuck there forever. I didn't want to touch it, so I got a couple of paper towels and laid them over it.
"I'll just put these over you, stupid thing," I said. "I hear you're riddled with disease."
It tried to force it's way further into the matchbox sized hole. The spines came straight through the napkins of course, but it wasn't stuck and I gently picked it up and took it out and put it down with its nose in the cat dish full of biscuits.
"There," I said. "If you're going to steal food you should at least start in the right place."
It sat there immobile until I went away and then immediately scurried away behind the nearest plant pot it could find.
The big one is smarter. It can get in the cat door and knows exacty where the pantry is.
So last night I was sitting at the computer in my wee alcove in the dining room and heard a snuffling. I looked round. There was the same small hedgehog, coming my way...
It's just not on you know? Hedgehogs are outside thingies. What business have they snuffling their way around the food scarce regions of a people house?
I didn't bother with paper towels this time. I put my open palm down beside it . When it started to curl up with my other hand I rolled it onto the first. This handful was all prickles except for the soft fur of its cheek against the tip of my index finger. Once I had it I took it down the hall, through the kitchen - dodging the small trail of slimy hedgehog turds - and back outside. That done I shut the doors and checked the open pantry to see if it had been in there. Nothing. Just the open bag of cat biscuits and the flour bin on the floor.
I went back to the computer.
After about five minutes I heard crunching sounds through the wall. I thought I shut that door I thought to myself and went back out to the kitchen.
I looked in the pantry again.
There, in the shadows between the flour bin and the biscuit bag, was an enormous round shape. I opened the door wider. In the light I saw my original nemesis, the one from last week, one shifty brown eye regarding me. He had to go too. It's a bit harder picking up a larger hedghog because they're a bit more bolshey, and while the spines don't actually pierce your skin, the extra weight pushes them that bit further into your palms. Unlike the small beastie, the big one stank. Holding him at arm's length I put him where I had put the other one, and shut the pantry door.
And then, dry retching, I cleaned up the turds which I had been planning to ignore.
Oh they're darling little things.
and I was going to add "at this very moment there's one..." but there isn't. It's just the cat hunting a leftover bit of steak.
What?
Hedgehogs. That's what.
As well as the enormous one I was telling you all about the other night, there's also a smaller one. The smaller one is not very bright. It turned up in the middle of the day the other day - snuffling along - it ambled out of nowhere into the conservatory as I was sitting with my afternoon coffee. Completely ignoring me it went straight into the kitchen and tried to force its way into a gap under the kitchen cupboards about the size of a matchbox.
Maybe it thinks it's an octopus? Did you know an octopus, regardless of its size can squeeze through any hole large enough to fit its beak (the only solid part of an octopus) through? <shivers> This is not true for hedgehogs.
Anyway hedgehogs in the kitchen are disgusting. (They're riddled with disease you know) And there was this one with its nose wedged under the pot cupboard door. I wasn't sure how I would move it, and whether it had got any of its spines through and if they would act like the barb on an arrow or a fish-hook and the thing would be stuck there forever. I didn't want to touch it, so I got a couple of paper towels and laid them over it.
"I'll just put these over you, stupid thing," I said. "I hear you're riddled with disease."
It tried to force it's way further into the matchbox sized hole. The spines came straight through the napkins of course, but it wasn't stuck and I gently picked it up and took it out and put it down with its nose in the cat dish full of biscuits.
"There," I said. "If you're going to steal food you should at least start in the right place."
It sat there immobile until I went away and then immediately scurried away behind the nearest plant pot it could find.
The big one is smarter. It can get in the cat door and knows exacty where the pantry is.
So last night I was sitting at the computer in my wee alcove in the dining room and heard a snuffling. I looked round. There was the same small hedgehog, coming my way...
It's just not on you know? Hedgehogs are outside thingies. What business have they snuffling their way around the food scarce regions of a people house?
I didn't bother with paper towels this time. I put my open palm down beside it . When it started to curl up with my other hand I rolled it onto the first. This handful was all prickles except for the soft fur of its cheek against the tip of my index finger. Once I had it I took it down the hall, through the kitchen - dodging the small trail of slimy hedgehog turds - and back outside. That done I shut the doors and checked the open pantry to see if it had been in there. Nothing. Just the open bag of cat biscuits and the flour bin on the floor.
I went back to the computer.
After about five minutes I heard crunching sounds through the wall. I thought I shut that door I thought to myself and went back out to the kitchen.
I looked in the pantry again.
There, in the shadows between the flour bin and the biscuit bag, was an enormous round shape. I opened the door wider. In the light I saw my original nemesis, the one from last week, one shifty brown eye regarding me. He had to go too. It's a bit harder picking up a larger hedghog because they're a bit more bolshey, and while the spines don't actually pierce your skin, the extra weight pushes them that bit further into your palms. Unlike the small beastie, the big one stank. Holding him at arm's length I put him where I had put the other one, and shut the pantry door.
And then, dry retching, I cleaned up the turds which I had been planning to ignore.
Oh they're darling little things.
and I was going to add "at this very moment there's one..." but there isn't. It's just the cat hunting a leftover bit of steak.
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