Catching Mice

Living where we do in the countryside of the Scottish Borders, we are occasionally troubled with wee rodents.

Based on extensive previous experience I am equipped with a "live capture" mouse-trap (which inspired me to take Mrs Blog to the play of the same name in London for our twentieth anniversary three years ago).

The live capture mouse-trap variety is compulsory in the blog-household, where Mrs Blog would do me bodily injury and possibly murder if I harmed one of God's little vermin.

So having spotted a vole making furtive trips to and from the back of the Blog-house I readied the trap with a a handful of chocolate drops. For anyone who thinks cheese is the correct bait - think again, chocolate is the choice of the pro!

Next morning I noticed that the trap had been sprung and lifted it up to establish whether the claim "live capture" was appropriate.I could not feel anything running around in the trap. My heart sank. Mrs Blog was going to kill me for accidentally killing a mouse or worse still a fluffy little vole. With a heavy heart and the weight of trepidation on me I opened the trap .....

.... and found a slug!

Trip to Barra

This month Mrs Blog and I spent a couple of days on Barra (the Hebridean island and not Barra-in-Furness).

It is about twelve miles long and four miles wide with an airport where the runway is a beach. It has an "A" road which is a single track with passing places not unlike many other Hebridean islands. Knowing that transport from the airport to the hotel might be problematic I rang the hotel beforehand to ask about my options.

"Can you tell me how best to get to the hotel from the airport please?"

(Singsongy voice ) "Aye, you could take Hector McNeil's coach service".

"Thanks. Is there a taxi service?"

"Aye, Hector McNeil runs a taxi service."

Before I could stop myself and knowing what the answer was going to be I asked again

"Is there a car rental service on the island?"

"Oh yes, Hector McNeil's car rental service."

Which left me wondering if Hector McNeil had one vehicle with three signs - taxi, car rental and coach to stick on the roof!

Nuns and Machines

Went to Church yesterday and I thought I was pretty well awake by the time I got there.

The sermon was replaced by an appeal from an Indian nun, this can be good or bad depending on whether the appeal lasts longer than the sermon would have done. I closed my eyes to look as if I was in a deep spiritual reverie and tuned in.

"We need your help with the machines", implored the nun.

I sat up, intent, wondering where this was leading. In the next five minutes I heard that we need to help the machines in India, Africa, Asia and South America. There are special machines for children. Apparently. There is even a machine which teaches poor women in India how to use a sewing machine!

Then it hit me she was actually saying "Missions" not machines, I closed my eyes and went back to looking deeply spiritual.

Sleepless Sleepers

As I had to be in London yesterday quite early I was faced with the choice of travelling down the day before and staying an hotel or taking the Caledonian Sleeper. Based on cost and time with the family I opted for the Sleeper.

Safely boarded at 11.00 p.m.on Monday night I got into my pyjamas and hit the hay. I would love to say what a great sleep I had, but I cannot, because I did not.

Despite my restless night of sleep at 5.45 the steward knocked on my door to tell me we were 25 minutes away from Watford Junction and handed me my breakfast tray. I was not quite sure why he decided to wake me and tell me this but I figured he was doing the same to everyone.

I drank the coffee, chewed on the rubber croissant and avoided the yoghurt. The steward returned and told me we had arrived at Watford Junction. I thanked him, though I don't really know why.

Knowing that Euston was about another 20 mins away I got on with shaving, still in my pyjamas. two minutes later there was another knock on the door. This time a young lady in the train steward uniform appeared and said,

"You have to get off here!"

Before I could protest she disappeared. Still in my pyjamas and with white foam all over my face I thought that getting off at Watford Junction was not really an option after all.

A minute later the original steward came back.

"You have got to get off you're holding the train up"

"Where is the train going on to?"

"London Euston!"

"Good. That's where I want to go anyway!"

If I weren't the sort to stand up for myself I wonder where I would have been at 6.30 yesterday morning...